Ode to this blogger, he’s a harmless old bugger, With an awareness of life that gets floppier, A self-hatred that grows and gets klutzier, And a body, getting ever fleshier and wobblier! A memory that is no longer a memory… A brain that adopts ideas much loonier!
A cancerous bladder, getting ever leakier! A sex drive that gets measlier and measlier… Dead as a dodo, really; even his memories are foggier! Bending downs is not easy; now he’s got paunchier, He could do with a hearing-aids amplifier… Today, his many wee-wees were a lot splashier?
His sanity and logic are much less secure… His cataract and glaucoma eyes, his to endure, No signs yet of any operations, that’s for sure! He doesn’t believe he’ll live long enough for a cure… He’s searched to find someone he can nouriture… But he’s given up now; why? He’s not sure…
Mind you, he’s not looking to arrive at his cloture… That’ll have to wait a bit, his final sepulture! For a while, at least, though, life gets squalider… Inchcock’s never been tops or an orchestrator… Although he was once a bus conductor… There’s one thing that would give him pleasure!
This’s important to him… before his foreclosure, He doesn’t want to be richer or shrewder… But summat, that goes against his very being & culture… Not experienced before, it will put him in rapture! To get something right, just once – before his departure!
There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!
Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?
Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?
Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…
Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…
Inchie: Worrya mean?
Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…
Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?
Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?
Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…
Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?
Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…
Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…
Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…
Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?
Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker!
Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?
Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!
Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?
Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!
Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…
Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?
Inchcock: Grasp what?
Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?
Inchcock: I am, you!
Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?
Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!
Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?
Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?
Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?
Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?
Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?
Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!
Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.
Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.
Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.
This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…
Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:
Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!
Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?
Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…
Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!
Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane… Alright, I’ll piss off then!
Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!
Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?
Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind
He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…
Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!
Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!
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Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.
The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.
Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.
Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)
I hope this guide and advice to Sanity is anecdotic,
Making it humorous, truthful and not dogmatic…
I reckon that the secret and trick,
Throw in some limited, sporadic slapstick,
Trying to make it read what it is, authentic,
Allowing bits to stray off subject, get frenetic,
Getting it to rhyme can ruin the grammatics,
All a part of my unfortunate written gymnastics!
Getting hopeful of success is something you must never do! Accepting failure, that is really the way forward for you, You must never think that victory is possible, or due, You’ll be disappointed and start feeling blue… When Whoopsiedangleplops and Accifauxpas accrue, Expect the worst at all times; hopes must discontinue! Or depression will ensure your dreams are slue!
When disablements arrive, and the mind wanders off, too,
You’ll never again be capable of using a corkscrew!
Toileting involves bleeding, and will it or not pass?
Even multiple distress will affect you having a slash…
Accept it; good luck is not bound for you!
Accommodate failure from pain and hassle; there’s no rescue!
You’ll feel much better when you do!
I know doing as I suggest may seem uncanny, silly, I tell you because I think it is my duty… To pass on my failures and inform you see… From old age and ailments, there’s no bouncebackability, So I use the written word and my verbosity, To help the ankle snappers later in life, from getting panicky…
It’s normal for aged proletariats to wear a toupee atop, You girls may turn out to look like Hetty Wainthroppe?
Which suits me; she gets my remaining desires on the hop! You’ll be less likely to manage a mutton chop, But may get someone to nip down to the wineshop Of course, your needs for fun don’t just stop… However, reviving certain areas will be a dead flop! Which may well bring forth the odd teardrop, Sadly, you have to give up the old Bebop! As did your Dad and Grandpop! And, the Lads will have to give up being a fop!
One thing you’ll get better at is the bellyflop…as such, Falling into bed, and with any luck… No injuries, so you don’t look a schnook! No loose bladder movements to blot your copybook? To hope you sleep better, by hook or by crook… Best to have Guinness or gin midduck!
To me, Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger are small fry! Peripheral Neuropathy, on my right side, to undignify! And Saccades in my right eye… Often they may cause a tear and outcry… Not often, though, only when they intensify… While I’m trying to get some shuteye! Press on we must, do or die… That sounded dour? Writing that… but did I? Slipped in by my Alto Ego? I’ll give him a black eye!
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A Bit Of Fun
I came across the name of a mountain.
Does anyone care to guess or tell me where it is in the world?
Of course, I knew straight away. No, I didn’t look it up on the web either… Okay, I did!