B-Children

 

I woke up this morning got out of bed and the “sun is shining the weather is sweet * sings bob Marley* make you wanna move ya dancing feet” ! YES! breakfast on the balcony for madame Blaqua.

Whilst sitting on my cheap arse Ikea outdoor setting i couldn’t help but wonder “what on earth is that smell?” no it was not the smell of my pomegranate tea infused with chrysanthemums, nor was it the smell of the rubbish truck going past.

Omg I said to myself I know what it is… It is the smell of INDEPENDENCE!

You know the type where you don’t have you’re parents around nagging you to do you’re chores, telling you  to leave the fridge alone because Africa has put a bounty on you’re head because you’re the reason they suffer in poverty and of course you’re parents are tired of paying levy’s to the Shakazulu tribe to keep you well protected from the mighty ShakaKAHN mafia who live in the black mountains.

Anyhow you get my drift.

I was seventeen when I let go of my parents apron strings eight years later I’m asking myself what would i be if i was still hanging on to those apron strings? I couldn’t imagine what life would be like for me if I was still at home with my parents.

Now I guess you’re all going to flood me with emails when you read this one, but hey no worries I will just forward them on to the complaints department situated in India where you’re complaints will contribute in helping stimulate their economy, give my regards to Apu and tell him to save me a doughnut!

So I guess where all this curiosity has stemmed from this morning is how I have a friend who is in his late thirty’s and still hangs on to his parents apron strings for dear life.

Now before you all get your panties in a twist over how this type of behavior is OK? just know that I am merely sharing an experience that is currently in action and I of course am just the on side observer so my opinions are valid and there’s the red X icon in the top left corner if this is all too much for you. *smiles*

Continuing on with my thoughts of intrigue I would like you all to imagine that you are a parent and you love you’re children dearly and you only hope to see them succeed one day, this is any parents wish as I am sure they all bend over backwards to see a smile on you’re face and hopefully their unconditional love for you inspires you to choose the right course of action for yourself and your life.

So while you are imagining this..imagine you are a parent who is now ready for retirement and you have a dream of one day buying yourself something great just for your pleasure and it has been so long since you have been able to put aside some money for yourself to enjoy a little happiness that you think you deserve…for example you are thinking its definitely time to buy that car you always wanted because walking the cobbled pavements all you’re life has really left you with a pair of crusty club feet.

WELL THINK AGAIN DUMB-ASS!

Because the Shakazulu tribe from Africa is on you’re front door step ready to burn you’re house down because your child has not been paying their bills.

You sigh in agony…*sigh* you consult with all those around you for guidance, you really don’t get the sympathy you so well deserve.

So there goes you’re dream of having that car… and while paying for you’re child’s debt you notice that your club feet have actually fallen off so now you are up to you’re knees walking around like an Oompa Loompa.(Please feel free to Google a pair “Club Feet” if you are a parent and you’re child has financially left you feeling limbless I feel for you.)

So there you have it a little in sight to a story that is in motion from the Blaq-Art diaries.

My note to the B-Children of today, appreciate you’re parents and their hard work for you! love them unconditionally and show a little respect and if possible try to live life in their shoes just for a little while.

Now back to my delicious Birch er.

Good Day to you all!

Blaire Blaqua.

BEURRE NOIR!

Beurre noir

Frappez-les avec moi baisers

Liez-moi avec du vin

Une douzaine de roses rouges

Avez-séché au fil du temps

Seasons honorer les terres

Océans diviser nos mains

Des prières sont dites en vain

Lorsque facebook révèle notre honte

La douleur est le nouvel amour

Mais je me battrai pour toi, mon âme

Même si je tourne en Bubamara un troll

Nous avons un peu de temps

Ignorer mon désespoir

Pour vous ma chérie

Je souhaite que vous étiez ici

Solitaire sont mes nuits

Il me tarde de vous entendre ronfler

Oui, je suis souriante

Pour toi mon corvée quotidienne

Un jour, nous allons aller à la pêche

Et vous verrez

Comment beurre noir complimente mieux un oeuf

Sous un arbre.

Image

Blaire Blaqua.

Bow to the Benign!

Oh how distasteful your remarks are dear great one!

You are the disease that is non progressive

benign is your status as you sit in your office

stagnant and dry like straw

allow me to elaborate about the respect you seek from me

Zero.

Is there a reason?

Why of course dear great one!

The granule of splendor in your earl grey

Has over spiked the insulin within you

Hurry now.

Prick your finger and test for the diabetes

That will never leave you!

Mmmmm diabetes!

Captivated in your cocoon of lard

You’re face pale and smooth like the

Croat who rejected you’re marriage proposal

Calm those dilating pupils

Dear great one

You’re comprehension levels

Are not a prerequisite in this era

That you do not belong

Continue to line the fat mans pocket

mmmmm fat mans pocket!

A quick message from the tumor that hangs off you’re face

RESPECT IS EARNED! NOT GIVEN!

BENIGN IS YOU’RE STATE

I BOW TO CONGRATULATE YOU!

Blaire Blaqua.

Bitch Booster

Irritated

Constipated

And Masturbated for you.

Insidious marks the spot X like a pirates Treasure

on the periphery of my cranial

exhaling existence

there it sits “damaged”

precision and perfection.

Menthol inhalation of intoxication

is what my last fourteen dollars

brought me.

Skinny is the model

but there is no apple in these jeans

to be seen.

Turkish coffee you are evil!

like you’re inherited nose

irregular on the face of that

Italian mother

who feeds her husband those

flavoursome meatballs

swallow and savour

textured minced meat “Dear Sir”

“I concur”

the cow appreciates

the speed of you’re mastication

indicating the level of your experience

in the bedroom.

Blaire Blaqua.

Mitrovica Kosovo

One bedroom Mitrovica.

Three paces east a door was attached that opens and closes. Brass metal handles of this door might tarnish ones hand leaving a stench of a rather ravishing oxide that could be seen as ones private business should he have forgotten to wash his hands after relieving himself upon a ceramic throne that flushes with little water to spare. For every drop must be sparingly accounted for thanks to those who like to control even the bile that needs to be excreted amongst all the Serbians who live across the bridge that separates them from those of uneducated origin and decent.

Frustration decorated the room with candles that weren’t for praying but used as tools necessary for light when blackouts occurred during the malicious cold winter nights.

Even the Saints so neatly hung on the wall looked exhausted in their golden glory watching their son trying to sleep on his futon sofa bed pushed up against one side of the room to create an illusion of space, a lost soul lay there in silence cursing every living being responsible for the utter darkness he was forced to witness encouraging his illusions of amnesia for he felt that he was in a dreaming state as his body and mind ached from his Insomnia so visibly etched around the circumference of his dilating pupils.

Camouflaged in the dark amongst all the clutter that could be seen as a Gypsies paradise a plastic cage with a metal door was home to a German Shepard who embraced her claustrophobia as normality.
Tiffany adored her master who lay sleepless in the dark; she let out a groaning howl as if to say I wish I could help you.

Prescribed sleeping medication lie dormant inside the walls of his interior letting the insomnia rule every molecule of his genetic make up.

Thinking of what to do to take his mind off his current reality, taking his notebook that was falling to pieces he switched it on as it had enough battery power to last until the electricity returned, he didn’t have Internet connection but learning to connect to his neighbors wireless was as common as a fart in the wind.

Destination Facebook scrolling through all the smiling faces and what seemed to be a happy bunch of people living their lives in the sun and basking in gods good glory did nothing but irritate Sasha’s soul as he too yearned for the chance to be happy and free from his gilded cage for he was not too fond of living in his Bangladesh of Serbia or so he liked to call it.

The time was now 3am in the morning and still there was no electricity, lying there with no interaction available Sasha’s eyes fixated upon the candle sticks that were drowning in hot wax the flickering flames danced with any shadow of movement on the ceiling creating an unnecessary ambience of hell.

Blaire Blaqua.

Blaire’s BFF

Blaire’s Best Friend For Life.

How is it possible to find someone who was an exact mirror reflection of my soul?

Well people this is happening and on all levels possible somehow today I was humbled by a man many years my senior and it came to be that he was my initial research project and now somehow I have become the test subject.

How the tables have turned dear best friend but the facts and truths remain the same and that is we have a bond like no other that I know and to tell you the truth as much as it may scare me we could be the only two that know about each other on this planet.

If you really are a mirror image of my soul than accept to be apart of two or three worlds in which we can adapt to quite comfortably.

Our skins are like the coats of armor belonging to the chameleons in the wilderness constantly changing colors to adapt to their environments.

Today I leant on a tree and he whispered back to me encouraging words that made the fibers of the roots I stand upon weaken amongst layers of textured earth beneath me.

My tree suffers from a cancer hidden in the reproductive area of my trunk, all my leaves are falling, my branches are hollow and weak and the ambience of the willow inside me is sleepy.

My dear best friend your tree on the other hand is tall like a Californian sequoia strong and fearsome native Indians dance around your tree, the nutrients in the foundations you were built upon continue to offer sustenance to those who need it.

I am surprised to be so taken away at how petty I have become in leaning upon you in my times of need only to learn that there are other trees out there who have been destroyed for pleasure cut down for no reason and forgotten because no one gave a damn.

Dear best friend thank you for reminding me that I am still standing, and that I should appreciate the little things life has given me even if the only birds that visit my tree are sparrows and owls.

How I adore the eagles that nest on your tree and all those who come to admire the real beauty that you so naturally possess.

I apologize for the strong southerly winds that carried the cries of what is left of the sprit that dwells in this broken vessel.
How this mist of unchained melody must have spread like a plague of unwanted rain upon your foreign lands today.

Dear best friend despite our differences I chose to lean on you and I expect that one day you will lean on me and with that bond I have chosen you as my inspiration in life to rid myself of the unchained melody wrapped around the belly of my existence.

Thank you for being my best friend and thank you for loving me unconditionally.

Blaire Blaqua.

Blaire @ Stefan Braun

Batman and her sidekick Robinja decided to let “ze” hair down to kindly grace Belgrade with our presence lol…

After a few drinks and some Mango tobacco at a small Sheesha lounge in Belgrade, filled with many different flavours of smoke and not to mention the ultra blue lights that either make your teeth seem “so” white or emphasise the lint on your clothes making you look like some of the locals from the bush hmmm…”No this was not your average spin class” haaa…

Inhaling and upon exhaling I had to laugh at my sidekick and his inability to comprehend directions to our next destination which was none other than the most talked about club in Belgrade… “Stefan Braun”

“Oh yes Stefan Braun” the owner of the Sheesha Lounge told us go down the road take a right follow that until you see the theatre for “porn” (omg) then its the street next to that “you cant miss it” it’s in a large building level 9.

Leaving his kind hospitality Batman and Robinja ventured in to cold dark alleys of the night and what I still don’t understand is how a street that was five minutes away took us half an hour to get to! (omg)
At times like that I was pining for GPS like “hard out” but hey what use is my GPS if the taxi drivers one doesn’t even work lol…

So after all the stuffing around and annoying the people that were out with our seriously lacking directional skills (giggles) we found it and no we didn’t stop for a quick flick of Porn although it seemed very appealing to my sidekick (lol)

I must admit this place was very well hidden between the Banca Intesa and brightly lit up Cevapcici take away.

Walking up the stairs you could hear the music as a lot of young men were coming in and out, we finally reached the entrance and upon entering it was like I was in airport security, “in fact it was”! they didn’t ask for I.D just searched my bags for narcotics and weapons. But still it did feel like we were in some type of government establishment.

After security there were three elevators not the fancy type in fact the last time I saw elevator’s this ancient looking was in London. I was the only woman in our elevator squashed amongst all these young men as well as my side kick Robinja who seemed to be drooling at the lip like he knew what to expect.

We had reached level 9 and I never knew a elevator door to not open automatically, instead you had to turn this door handle like a normal door then outside of that one the elevator doors did not exist how very “harry Potter” But the mysterious factor dissapared very quickly as we were greeted by a line of very beautiful women who were there to give you directions on how to act and where you should put your jacket and what designer labels you are wearing tonight?

I was a bit apprehensive about the Balenciaga going behind the counter But thats the Batman attitude for you.

Walking into the lime lights in search of a stiff drink there was a bar riddled in smiling faces and creative cocktail specialists”booya” i’m down.

Oh no hold wait you are not allowed to sit anywhere because all seats are reserved for VIP (haha) yes I did learn this the hard way (omg) i’m still laughing about this.

So standing at the bar we were looked after by a nice girl who made our first round of cocktails very nice and very expensive, next to me was a stool and like anyone at a bar you think oh yes I can have a seat…haha “think again” I was told that I cant sit on that stool because it was reserved for the owner.

(omg) “dont want to steal Mr Brauns chair” so I stood there like a good girl placing my blackberry on the counter along with it my Batman ID head popping with out a care with my sidekick Robinja we decided to enjoy the cranking atmosphere great music and energy all over the place but wait hold on dont think you can put your drink anywhere like on a table or anything (haha) security will come and confiscate your drink (haha) (omg) the weirdest club on this planet (I swear)

I can honestly say I had never quite been to a club where you had to have a reason to sit or a reason to try accommodate your drink while hanging out with your friends.

Anyhow I was that intoxicated to care thanks to our bartender who tried inviting my sidekick back to her place upon her discovery that he was Canadian “how very QUA of you darling” maybe next time when you get that upper lip fixed!(jokes) according to Robinja this was the usual hospitality and he probably would have entertained the idea if Batman wasn’t in town (lol)

My intoxication did not stop me from noticing the very well improvised ambience like the Hugh Hefner draped fabrics trying to hide the very well spray painted white boom speakers attached to the corners of the rooms, heaps of neon and a truck load of beautiful women so men “you’re in” (lol)

Overall it was a great night out the best part was the taxi ride home but hey I wont go there I might send that video to the porn theatre across the road from level 9 and ask them to donate the earnings to Mr Stefan Braun and his interior (lol)

“Hey Mr Stefan Braun If you’re ever in my town I’ll give you a seat for FREE”

PRIJATNO

Blaire Blaqua
xxx