In coffee cups

‘it was caffeine she was after, not her fate’ – Elif Shafak, The bastard of Istanbul.
Genius writer
Is it my fate I’m chasing,

in all these copious amounts,

of coffee drinking.
Is it an answer from the unknown,

I’m waiting to be shown,

holding to account,

a coffee bean,

a baristas hand,

to black and gold elixir sinking.
I need an inkling,

a semblance,

a sign,


to steer me,

show me,

and enhance my thinking.

Elif is the #muse of the day. 

Relationship with words



I’m trying to sleep.


and leave me alone!




Wait, wait please come back.

That’s my hourly conversation with words or something along those lines.

I have a seriously dysfunctional relationship with words. A love hate relationship.

Psychotic even….

Picture War of the Roses. That’s me and words.

One minute I’d be pandering to them, begging and pleading for some light and the next I just want them to go away. The influx is too much.

Notebooks of all sizes. One that even slips unassumingly into my back pocket like a mini gun a woman slips into her garter.

Large ones as big as my appetite for words.

Medium ones, just enough to show people I am writing something but small enough to look like a work diary.

On the phone jotter app

On the phone notepad app

The PC that is always on.

Calligraphy pens and paper/books.

Only thing I am missing is a typewriter. Gotsta get me a typey

Are you as addicted as I am?