My 90’s Olympics (Hoops & bars)

By madamenreve

April 18, 2020

Category: writing

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Going around at night in your nightie in the garden is one way to approach training for being in a different childhood. I used to sleep in the onion shed, on a dusty shelf. Because of having short arms, the thing was to be swinging on everything a lot of the time, from branches to scaffolding poles. When you have short arms that don’t bend at the elbow, you can’t push people away, so your legs’ll have to do.

One day it went second level, and some rings were hung from a large beech tree further out from the garden, but not as long as a pony ride. A question to whether outdoor activity at night is somnambulance. There were quite a lot of children, who just packed into the land rover and it could’ve been the Von Trapps. We were all (unbeknowlingly) waiting for placements.

If it isn’t ordinary to have a cross country boyfriend who might be your trainer, nor is being put up for The Olympics. It’s like the Cirque de Soleil, but you’ve just had something said in your ear.

How much the prize money was was enough to buy a house or two, but where did the(y) people in them go (come from). A changing scenery to intermittent applause got jumbled in with election traffic. They want to give you a golden post box, and you aren’t allowed to read your (fan) mail.

When nobody stays in touch after an adverse reaction, the incredulity is held to you. How can people cheering in their true colours leave you so appalled? How can ducking out of what you did have a rigid explanation for being on the make to (anything). How can an inner echoing of your (own) name be why nobody (still) knows what came and who went.

Why haven’t you noticed the short scenes as reprising roles. Why did your cousin in Devon leave you a house that other people had a better right to? It’s actually meant to be Daisy’s when she’s old enough (the main actress for Mumma Mia). I was going to be the regent. Why did the Dollerie Brit pop parties turf you out for musicianal noise pollution. Weren’t you meant to be alone with anything. Why did you kick off a knee cap & go to Oxford prison? Why wouldn’t rubbing in be a reason to forfeit your existence. Why aren’t you able to love anyone without picking (on) them out.

(If) there is grooming to abandon then there is grooming to reclaim.

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