Painted ghosts 

Poetry

They drift in and out of my life each day.
Their faces adorned with stark, lurid colours.
Warpaint, as they go about their business.
Are they even real?
These automatons. These androids from outer space.
And whilst their expressions are seemingly blank and impassive, they are also revealing.
There’s a crack or two beneath their cool facade.
But what does it mean?
Are they just lost in thought or, almost imperceptibly, communicating with me?
Do they even see me?
Or am I just grey background? White noise?
Perhaps I’m the ghost and they’re the most tangible thing in this world.
Wearing their warpaint proudly, like armour.
For each day, to them, must surely be a battle against the grey ghosts of patriarchy.
The menfolk who leer and lust, all licentious and salacious with their gaze and their thoughts.
For I am one. I should know.
Maybe as men we should paint our faces, too.
For our own insecurities are buried, perhaps even more so.
Hidden behind layers of bravado and testosterone.
The knowing nod to a fellow male.
The slightest of hugs.
The tough guy handshake.
Beer. Curry.
For we are men.
And we’re out of our caves now.
Our spears have been replaced with smartphones and laptops.
We’re just a few clicks from killing that woolley mammoth. That saber-tooth tiger.
Or ordering some more crap on eBay.
(assuming we can stop watching porn for more than five minutes)
So maybe colour is what we need?
Brush strokes of empathy across our face. The eyeliner of compassion.
The mascara of understanding and acceptance.
God, this is starting to sound like the weirdest fantasy game ever.
But there’s hope in these ramblings.
There must be.
For these painted ghosts and forgotten men.
All trapped in the ether between realities.
Drifting through life with abandonment.

Top 5 actresses that look like cats

Best Of lists

We’ve all thought it. Well, er, some of us. Look at her eyes, so feline, so alluring, she can’t be human surely? Definitely some sort of alien. Well, whatever these ladies are, I like them. Those exotic creatures with the feline features.

So, for no reason at all really, other than I felt like sharing, here are my top five cat-like actresses in film and TV at the moment:

Olivia Wilde
The Change-Up, Alpha Dog, In Time, Her, Cowboys & Aliens, Tron: Legacy, House

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Amanda Seyfried
Alpha Dog, Chloe, Jennifer’s Body, Dear John, In Time, Lovelace

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Natalie Dormer
Game Of Thrones, Rush, Hunger Games, The Tudors

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Olivia Munn
Magic Mike, The Newsroom, Iron Man 2, X-Men: Apocalypse (out 2016)

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Mila Kunis
Friends With Benefits, Family Guy, Black Swan, Jupiter Ascending

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The lothario

Poetry

Pacing the street I stop; crouch on my feet and watch my prey.
Feeling my heartbeat drop as I dodge the alley’s urban decay.
Then I grin.
My heart full of sin as my first victim comes into view.
Tottering on tiny shoes like a porcelain doll.
She’s a tasty morsel, of course I fix eyes on her as my ultimate goal.

Good Lord… she’s so helpless.
Stalking her’s no game of chess but a turkey shoot.
There’s no sport here. The point is moot, I must move on.
I slink down the alley my lust not sated, I’m just not done.

Then I spy another.
This one here, she’s a wildebeest.
Chatting to her friends half asleep, she’s a basic target.
This is too easy.
I hang back and weigh up my chances.
Whilst I’m king of the urban jungle and these streets are mine, at times I must know when to face defeat and when to draw the line.
But it’s fine.
Not every hunt should mean it’s killing time.
Half the time, all I’m looking for is a sign.
Something to break the cycle and shake things up.
Some real sport to test me, where I get to prove I’m the best breed.

But what’s the point of being top of the food chain if you’re constantly tormented like you’re having a bad day?
However, I refuse to be thwarted.
I’m lean, fighting fit and ready to hunt.
Bring on all foes you mothers I’ll face many at once!

And the night is young so let’s see where things lead.
The truth is… It’s hardly a good night’s work if on some level I don’t bleed.
But that’s the life of a proud old lion.
None of this ‘let bygones be bygones’, I’m taking you down.
We’ll fight round and round until one of us hits the ground.

Have to say though, I kinda like my battle scars.
I’ll rattle your cage with my aggressive ways and leave you broken and marred.
Right this minute though the time to talk is over, I’ve now fed.
Time this old lion bowed his head and went to bed.
Because I’m contented.
And right now I lack incentive.

Tomorrow though, that’s another story.
Back on the beat stalking the street in search of my next quarry.
So stay on a swivel if you don’t want it to be you.
If you don’t… a grisly fate will await you, you’ll end up as my food.