Virtual Reality: Alive And Kicking
I am going to attempt to bring Virtual Reality back to life full force: one post a day, every day. That was my goal way-back-when, when I first signed up; and I’ll be damned if I let that escape me – better late, than never, right?
The current big thing in my life is portraiture (photography) and as it happens I’m booking a lot of shoots with people who are willing to help me build my portfolio, and in return I’ll be helping them build theirs. Seeing as this is what I am discussing with a potential model, right this instance, I will dedicate today’s blog to it and post information (for both my own purposes and your information).
Arranged Shoots:
Becky B. (~bolddog) – Wednesday, April 11th.
Details: Outdoor & Indoor (Local Area) – Will include ballet shots and 2+ outfits.
Lauren T. – Thursday, April 12th.
Details: Outdoor & Indoor (Locations in Norwich)
1. White/blue dress w/white heels.*
2a. White ‘work’ shirt w/belt and pink heels.*
2b. White ‘work’ shirt w/belt and white heels.*
3. Red/white striped shirt w/jeans and heels.*
4. Black strappy top w/jeans, belt and black heels.** Accessories may be used in some shots and variations of clothing may occur in the manner it is worn, etc.
Willing/Unconfirmed:
On deviantART:
=conorschild
*J2046
=sali-chan
=Tuksha
On Model Mayhem:
Friends, IRL:
Emma B.
Karlanell B.
I am part of the online model/photographer website ModelMayhem.com: Chloe Bianca
I am also hoping to create a second account on there, but for the other end of the camera. I do miss modelling; perhaps this is the way to get back into that. As soon as the account is created and there are photographs worth submitting to it, then I will post the details here and on my deviantART account.
If you are in the Norwich, Norfolk area or Sudbury, Suffolk area and are interested in a photoshoot, please see my deviantART account, or ModelMayhem account for more information! Thank you. 
Acute Adoration, Peyton
About ‘Acute Adoration, Peyton’:
Acute Adoration, Peyton is the other side of the story to ‘Acute Adoration, Matt’, which can be found on Simon’s blog. His is the male perspective of the story and mine is the female. Both are somewhat incomplete, mine moreso than his. Mine is still in the process of being written out (it is not even at the ending, as you will notice if you read both) and will then be revisited for revision, final fleshing out, etc. In the mean time, I will keep updates here until posted on deviantART.
Introduction:
Peyton kissed her mother’s flushed cheek softly, hugging her as best she could through the driver’s side window of her mum’s car, nervously stalling her entrance into the train station. Unaware of her daughter’s inward emotions, her mother beamed and issued the standard pre-travel lecture, “Don’t forget, if you need me, call. If you can’t get my mobile, then – “Peyton’s mind switched off, spinning instead with the realization she would finally be seeing him – Mathew – again after six long weeks. She nodded vacantly as her mother reached the stern end of her speech, “And don’t lose your mobile this time!”
She re-entered reality with a grin and presented her flip-phone to her mum, “I’ll trade for yours and lose that instead then, mum!”
“Very funny, Peyton,” She retorted, unable to repress a gentle smile, “Now go on! You’ll miss the train and leave poor Matt waiting for you. Have a good day, sweetheart!”
Eyeing the clock on the dash, she jumped back from the side of the car, into the middle of the drop-off lane and yelled out, “Bye mum, love you!” She set off, attempting to keep her dress about her legs as she ran through the doors into the opening of the platforms, eyes darting across the room in a frantic attempt to identify her train, which was leaving in three minutes.
‘Platform 1A,’ she thought to herself. Repeating it again she caught a glimpse of the sign and called out an abrupt, “Hah: 1A!” She grimaced slightly at the realization she had spoken aloud, but quickly regained her composure and walked calmly to the train; despite the dreadful feeling her legs would give way at any moment. She passed several train carriages, lost as she was within her thoughts, before spotting an open door. As she approached she couldn’t help but giggle quietly to herself, mocking the voice of a man who had once offered her a hand into the train. Under her breath she relived the encounter, “Mind your step, young lady – mind the gap, eye on the yellow line.” It had become her ritual, a silly moment of laughter to relieve the tension and anxiety within her.
Pulling the door shut behind her, she stepped into the small ‘hallway’ between the carriages and took a left, choosing to sit in the emptier of the two. Pausing for a moment, she straightened the fabric of her curve-hugging dress, chosen specifically with Mathew in mind. It was white, covered with baby-blue butterfly print and tied at the back with a delicate bow. ‘He loves dresses,’ she found herself thinking as she walked down the small aisle between seats, ‘I hope he likes me in this one.’ She passed a young couple, seated together and cuddling, whispering words of affection, before finding a free table. She always preferred the seats with tables; they gave her room and allowed her to fidget without disrupting anybody. It was also somewhere to set her book and phone down.
The train jerked gently and a muffled voice appeared through the loud-speakers, “Thank you for choosing One Railway Services. We are now leaving for London, Liverpool Street. Other stops on this line are…” Peyton gave up straining her ears to listen; she knew all she needed. She would be arriving at her station at 9:40 where she would, hopefully, find the correct tube lines to take her to the London Victoria station. The muffled voice disappeared and she noticed they had already left the station. Settling her head against the window, she let thoughts, dreams, hopes and fears take over her mind as the world blurred about her – leaving only the picture of Mathew, in her mind, in clear focus.
She fussed with the bottom hem of her skirt, twisting it softly between her fingertips – a habit of nerves for Peyton – and closed her eyes, quickly falling asleep to the lulling of the train’s movements.
Part One:
She awoke to a soft tapping on her right shoulder. Startled, she looked about to find only a woman with a quiet smile and gentle, wispy curls sat on her shoulders, “I believe this is your stop, Miss. I didn’t know whether to wake you, but I thought it best – this is the end of the line, after all.”
Peyton nodded, somewhat stunned that she had slept for the past two hours of her train journey. “Thank you,” She managed to whisper as she stood up, leaving her seat and straightening herself up, “I appreciate it – not everyone would do that for a stranger.”
The woman only smiled a little wider and stepped back, bowing her head slightly in a kind gesture before walking off. Peyton stood there momentarily, before realizing the rest of her carriage was empty, and exited quickly, almost jumping out of the train onto its platform. “London Liverpool Street,” She said quietly to herself, gazing up at the ornate ceilings and supports she loved so dearly, “We meet again.” Following the crowd of people before her, she had an elegant step to her walk, one she had always loved to flaunt playfully as she did now. Mathew’s words on the phone the night before had reassured her, and given her confidence, but doubts still gnawed at her stomach and mind, causing her to tremble lightly. She reached the entrance into the Underground and inserted her ticket into the machine, which took it hungrily only to spit it out the other end. Collecting it, she stepped through the now open gates and smiled to herself, taking in a deep breath as she made her way to the line.
Most of her time in the underground, previously, had been somewhat of a disaster – she had always been rescued by a friend or family member when she got her stops muddled up, or couldn’t understand the person at the ticket counter. This time, however, she found the journey and stops sailed past her in mere moments, the changes between lines smoother than any she could recall. Twenty minutes later she found herself standing at the Victoria station, her day-dream confused mind attempting to recall their ‘rendezvous’ point. She grinned in a goofy manner at the thought, but approached a man working in a nearby shop, “Excuse me,” She had said as politely as possible, “You wouldn’t be able to point me in the direction of Weatherspoons, would you?”
He laughed lightly and nodded, “I could, for such a pretty young lady.” He raised an arm, pointing the direction, “Just out there, just above the station – you can’t miss it.”
Blushing, she thanked him and set off past the WHSmith’s. As she left the station she felt a gentle breeze pass through her hair, smiled to herself at such a beautiful day. She nearly passed their meeting point when she noticed the sign and shook her head, amazed she had actually made it – and with time to spare. She took a step forward, in its direction, but hesitated for a moment. ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’ She asked herself, biting her bottom lip almost to the point of discomfort, ‘If he doesn’t show up?’ At this thought, her heart sank deeply; she wanted to see him more than anything and she hoped he felt the same. Not allowing herself to give up, she walked in with her resolve held firmly in her heart. He would not leave her to the city of London – nor would she scare so easily.
The smoky room made her cough and she searched for the non-smoking section. Noting it in the corner, she made her way there through the large number of businessmen and sat in the table at the corner, where she could read the book she had brought with her. It was her favorite: ‘The Magician’, Raymond E. Fiest’s first installment in the Riftwar Saga. She’d read it many times before, but the magical world of Pip and her strong want to believe in a fantasy realm found her reading it time and again. It never lost its charm for Peyton. Placing her few belongings in the seat, the book set on the surface of the table, she considered getting a drink to ease the stinging in her throat. “I hope he won’t mind,” she mumbled and walked back into the smoke at the bar. Cursing the smokers silently, she asked the young man behind the bar for a glass of lemonade with no ice. He obliged and she paid, carefully taking it back to her table.
Sitting on the seat beside that with her belongings on it, she took a few small sips from the glass and studied the cover of her book. It was old and warn, one of the originals from before she was born – that was what she loved most. Peyton had an edition, which was not separated as the modern ones were, which the author – and herself – preferred. Running her fingers over its raised title, she smiled and opened the book to its yellowing pages, eyes dancing over the author’s incredible words.
Peyton was a quick reader, and soon found herself having covered over a chapter – her glass of lemonade empty and her heart and stomach nervously yearning for Mathew’s appearance.
Unbeknownst to her someone made their way through the heaving crowd of men, as she had, to her table, and stood there as nervously as she sat. Feeling his presence, she looked up from her book and blinked, grinning like an idiot as her heart raced from within her chest. “Oh! Hey, Mathew!” She exclaimed. “Have a good journey?” She continued, opening her arms to him in a warm gesture. Her smile became shyer as she noted him glancing over her dress, but was quickly reassured as he dropped the bag he was holding to meet her embrace.
“Journey was alright,” He responded surely, and she felt ashamed of the nervous fears she had throughout her own – he was so confident. She sighed as the embrace was broken as he offered to get drinks. She nodded gently, knowing that he knew what she liked without needing to speak it, and sat back down to await his return.
Sitting together, their eyes intently explored one another and it was rare a smile was not shown on either of the faces. She noted the fact that her cheeks were starting to hurt and attempted a serious, blank face in effort to ease that, but only caused the two of them to laugh and joke even more.
She wondered how it must look to the others surrounding them, ‘Do they think we’re together? Can they tell he’s older? Do they know how much I…’ The thought was cut off abruptly when she realized he had finished his drink. She finished hers not long after, and they left together for their tube journey to Hyde Park.
Part Two:
Peyton felt comfortable and secure in the silence between the two as they walked through Hyde Park. She glanced left and right at the others walking in the park, or sat in the green of the grass for a drink and some shade. Most of all, she glanced towards Mathew and drank in his stunning handsome appearance, feeling her heart lurch in excitement every time his eyes would catch hers. It was on one of these moments she felt a sudden boost of confidence and slipped her hand into his, gripping it softly but firmly. He wrapped his fingers about hers, entwining their hands together as though laces, and she felt a sigh of content swell within her. She let it out through lips, which formed an overly happy grin.
As they walked, she felt a slight moment of tension between them as they averted their eyes from each other only to see couples kissing and cuddling in the sunshine. She was slightly surprised when he asked, “Do you think we could make this work?”
She blushed as her thoughts raced, overcoming her mind and body again; something was holding her back from an immediately positive response. Suppressing them, she smiled confidently and replied with a vague, cryptic answer, “Anything is possible.”
“Well, I would like to make it work,” He suggested gently to her.
Again she found her heart and mind tugged by fears and worries and she stuttered a poor excuse, “But, what about the distance?”
She noticed the affectionate determination in his eyes as he responded, “Distance is no challenge: I really, really like you.” She felt as though he wanted to say something else, his pause indicated some other form of meaning or want, but he continued, “If we both want it to happen, then… Then I shall do my best to make it…”
Unable to respond with words, or discuss this with him even if words would form at her whim, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his: a soft, tender kiss. She felt him react, the strength and warmth of his arms surrounding her and traveling her back, the emotion in the kiss returned. Encouraged, she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him as close to her as she could in that moment, trembling lightly as she felt his heart beating against hers – almost matched in pace. Stood in the middle of a bike lane, their moment of passion came to a rather unexpected, sudden halt as a cyclist came to an abrupt, harsh stop to prevent himself from colliding with the couple – lost within the kiss.
Embarrassed and shaken, but giggling, Peyton poked him firmly and jumped back, setting off at a run as she called out, over her shoulder, “Tag!” He laughed in response and ran off after her. She continued to run, feeling her breaths coming quickly and sharply as he gained on her and squealed in delight as his arms wrapped about her, swinging her about himself playfully, adoringly. Her eyes were caught by the intensity of hers, but soon strayed down to his lips as she softly bit her own, attempting to hold back from kissing him again. Her heart, however, found the temptation too strong and she half-cursed it for falling for him as their lips met again, the kiss lingering uninterrupted this time.
They sat and shared those moments of happiness and caring together, part of the time spent watching kites caught by the wind in the skies. Every pattern she memorized, between glimpses of his face and smile, in which she memorized the details of him. In that moment, Peyton set her mind to it, that one day herself and Mathew would fly kites along the coast of her favorite beach town.
She lay backward to gaze at the sky and smiled welcomingly as he joined her, slipping his hand beneath her head for support, the other taking its place at her side, holding her. Wishing to feel and know more of him, she turned onto her side, leaning and cuddling into his body. With her face nuzzled into the space between his neck and shoulder, she sniffed lightly, inhaling the smell of him. ‘If only I could wake to this every morning,’ she spoke inwardly, in silence, to herself, the thought only brought to its end by the gentle placement of a kiss on her forehead. In longing, she tipped her head backward to meet his lips with her own and kissed him sweetly before withdrawing into the warmth of his body and the sleep her comfort brought.
Peyton rolled over in the bed, facing away from him. Thought consumed her attention as she looked out of the window at the rising sun – was it rising for the making of their new relationship? Bringing her fingertips to her lips, nibbling – but not biting – at her nails, she forced the words from their lodging in her throat and into the air for Mathew to hear.
“I think I love you,” Peyton spoke at almost a whisper.
She listened almost fearfully for his reaction, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms about her stomach. She felt movement beside her and then the heat of his hands on her wrists, lovingly prying them from her sides. She rolled back over, slowly, to face him and felt the color rise in her cheeks. Mathew was smiling, his own face colored lightly with joy as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers with a force of longing, of want and need.
Pulling away, he whispered tenderly in response, “I think I love you, too!”
There was a sudden, gentle nudge against her and she stirred, blinking as she woke. She stretched, groaning quietly at the prospect of being awoken, and looked back to him. Attempting to force the dream from mind she spoke, “It’s cold.” Her body was trembling lightly in the cool wind and she smiled at him in surprise as he rubbed his hands over her arms in attempt to warm her.
“Looks like rain,” he offered in response, “Fancy wearing my hoodie?” He opened his bag and began rummaging through it, quickly adding, “I brought one just in case.” She nodded a little, confirming it with a shy and quiet ‘mhm’. Pulling it over her head and slipping her arms in, she thanked him with a sheepish grin as her face appeared through neck of the hoodie. She felt the warmth instantly and looked down at what she was now wearing. It was black and in white lettering, read Coventry University. Her heart warmed upon the realization their close bond was tightening further. Looking beyond him, she noticed the graying sky and clouds and decided he was right; it looked like rain. They began to gather their things and he helped her up, ‘A gentleman, this one,’ entered her mind and she smiled broadly at him as they left in a mad-rush attempt to escape the coming rain.
Part Three:
They reached the station soaked through by the rain, which they hadn’t managed to escape despite their efforts. She bit her lip and worried he wasn’t warm enough, beginning to feel slightly guilty about wearing his hoodie. They soon found the almost-warmth of the underground, though, as they reached their North-bound Piccadilly Line. She noticed as they left at Leicester Square, the lines were becoming busier again – commuters returning to their homes after a day of work, or shopping, probably.
They walked hand in hand under the golden haze the sun was covering the city with. Peyton glanced around, smiling to herself as she watched people passing and wished she had brought her camera – or that he had his – so they could remember the day through more than just their recollections. She felt a stirring in her stomach and felt content and glad in the fact they had both decided it was time to find somewhere to eat. She squeezed his hand gently, gripping it more tightly at the realization it would be their first meal at a restaurant together, and followed his lead through the increasing crowds of people.
They arrived at what seemed a rather aged restaurant and entered through its doors, awed somewhat by its appearance. As they stepped through, Peyton felt the warmth of its location and looked around; it was busy. She noticed Mathew glancing around as well, people-watching, taking in the surroundings. She smiled warmly and sighed, her heart overwhelmed by him. They both brought their attention forward as a waiter introduced himself, “Good evening, I’m Mark,” his eyes glanced over the pair as he asked, “Table for two?”
Peyton looked to Mathew as he answering with a firm, kind, “Yes, please,” and slipped his arm around her. In that moment, she felt not a thing in the world could stop a happy relationship between the two – they could make it if they tried.
They ordered their meals and their waiter, Mark, quickly returned with a bottle of Domaine des Baumard and they slowly drank the wine until their meals arrived. Upon their arrival, Mark smiled and placed them on the table carefully before leaving Peyton and Mathew to their candle-lit meals.
When they had finished, Mathew offered his hand to her as she stood from her chair. She smiled and took it, allowing him to help her out, and kissed him before they left together. The sun had set, but the darkness was lit by the night-life of London and the people who made up its population. She wished she could stay longer and explore it with him. She felt her heart sink upon the knowledge the last train home would depart too soon for her to do so.
They took a taxi-cab back to her station. Once they were both seated, she cuddled up to him and closed her eyes, content as he wrapped his arm about her – no doubt in her heart that she was his. He squeezed her gently and her smile broadened as she attempted to get even closer to him, not wishing to part so quickly.
They soon arrived at the London Liverpool Street station and exited the taxi. Peyton stood on the pavement, glistening from the rain which had become a drizzle and waited as Mathew paid him. They were both grinning about something, but she couldn’t make it out. Instead she slipped her arm in his as they made their way into the shelter of the station.
Part Four:
They checked the platform number and time of departure and found themselves running to platform four, with only a few minutes until she would be gone, on her way home. They passed hurriedly through the ticket machines and their gates and stopped short on the other side. Unknowing of what to do, or how to say goodbye – she didn’t want to – she turned and kissed him passionately, closing her eyes tightly shut, and felt his grip tighten, pulling them closer together.
Pulling away from the kiss reluctantly, she opened her eyes and smiled up at him, feeling tears stinging at her eyes but attempting to hold them back. “I shall see you soon, right?” She asked him with both uncertainty and hope in her voice.
“Of course you will,” he reassured her, “Ring me tonight, okay? Just to let me know you got home safe?”
She smiled at his concern and nodded, sniffling a little as she responded, “Yes, I will.” She kissed him goodbye and turned for the training, fighting herself not to look back, for if she did, she would have run to him and stayed. Once seated on the train she forced herself to smile as they waved to each other. She never stopped waving until the train had fully departed from the station, and then she whispered, “Goodbye,” to the window, knowing in her heart that he would hear her somehow.
Virtual Reality – Days Four/Five
Virtual Reality
Lost without her family.
I wrote a poem today, based upon something my mother and I spoke about. Details can be found on my DeviantART journal, here. This poem almost completely disregards how well the reader can understand it, because for once, this poem was meant for everybody to understand; it’s intended for my little brother and I (the linked title takes you to its page on DeviantART where there is a full description, where you can comment if you’re a member, etc):
Your corn-field yellow
hair tickles at my neck,
my fingers gently torturing
your sides. I breathe in,
trying not to chime in your chorus
of laughter; all I do is gather
the scent of your shampoo: orange,
and too-old-for-you cologne.
I push you away, too hard and
you fall. The weatherman said
there would be rain, but I never
realised it would be yours.
You take my hand and I notice
how dark I am in comparison. The sun
hasn’t had long enough to bronze you,
though it has bleached
your corn-field yellow hair.
My song for the day is Hero – Enrique Iglesias. Reasoning explained in dA journal. Sorry for missing yesterday’s blog. I had other things to do. I am still beating Miguel, though, I think. I must turn in for sleep now. Until the next blog! Take care.
Virtual Reality – Day Three
Virtual Reality
When is enough, enough?
Tonight I will be without a long post as I must sleep. I return to school tomorrow after a week away, having been ill. I wonder, sometimes, though about how things are. Why are these things how they are? Is it fate? Is it a higher being? Is it our own doing? Is it all coincidence? And when is enough, enough? Why? For what purpose?
All of those sorts of questions.
Goodnight.
Virtual Reality – Day Two
Virtual Reality
One step into an unknown direction.
It’s my second day here, as Virtual Reality – or, unreality, should I say. Although twenty-four hours haven’t passed, I am going to consider this a new day, because I hope not to continue posting my blogs in early hours (such as one, two, or three AM) of the day. However, that is what I did last night; and then some.
Once I had my first pages and blog entry set up here, I returned to my favourite community, DeviantART. There were countless laughs (and God knows what else) last night (or, morning, as it were) and mainly because I had more caffeine than can be good for me.
I, eventually, turned into bed at exactly 7:27AM this morning. The sun was out, but the fog was low, and though the birds were singing merrily I knew it wasn’t going to be the most amazing day. However, I did not leave the #PoetryPlease chatroom until after the completion of a collaboration between myself and two other deviants:
Dancing With Scarecrows
autumn winds come with gusto.
brittle plates of gold await
the crack, which comes with crusty feet,
like fine china chips.
scents of the year’s first hot
cocoas ravish my senses, run warm
tendrils to encompass
my frost bitten mind
and pumpkin spines intertwine
with the scarecrow’s. twisting
in lockets and figure eights, leaves
are swept from the gum-greyed
pavements, adorning the display.
It’s nice, and all, but I feel it is lacking in meaning. There were three of us involved, and I believe that each of us might have been attempting something different. The third deviant, however, had to leave before it was finished, and so the ending found a deeper unity than the beginning. I’m not going to complain about the finished product, though, because it is far better than I expected due to the ungodly hour at which it was written.
Today I spent four hours sleeping, from eight until twelve, and then babysat my younger brother for an hour or so whilst my mum and my grandparents went out. When they returned I hung around for a bit before we went out to Riverside, where I bought my webcam – finally. I have been intending to purchase one for some time now, and am quite happy now that I have bought it and got it in working condition. Wonderful little things they are, until they freeze.
I have already received a birthday present early, because my grandparents won’t be here next weekend for my birthday – the card sits upon my window sill, and it makes me smile. I love them so very much. I am officially at the count-down of (just shy of) a week. In two hours and twenty minutes it will be a week (including the day of). Part of me cannot wait to be sixteen, but most of me realises that not much will change.
There is currently nothing further that I can throw into this blog entry, except any rants I have in regards to my poor immune system (poor immune system? pfft, what immune system?) and how much make-up work I have got to complete (not to mention the speech I must write for Wednesday’s and Thursday’s intake evenings). The only thing left to say is:
I PWN JOO MIGUEL!
(My blog for the day was posted first.)
Virtual Reality – Day One
Virtual Reality
Where does it all start? Why here? Why now?
Virtual Reality has been around for years, certainly, but for me it became a big part of my life when I joined a ‘little’ place called DeviantART. That was the twelfth of August, two thousand and five. Perhaps it’s silly that I should remember such a date, but that doesn’t really matter. It was at DeviantART that I settled into the shoes of a writer (or, pseudo-writer, as it might be) and truly began to explore the written languages. I also found a few smaller communities, within DeviantART, but none inspired me more than PoetryPlease.
During my time in the PoetryPlease chatroom I met a fellow by the name of Chris, whose DeviantART username is RenascentPhoenix. It’s through him that I found this place, WordPress. Sure, I have had blogs before, but I always tended to forget that they were there, or I would spoil them somehow. Hopefully this doesn’t happen here, because it could be interesting to keep a daily blog – even if only for myself!
I’ve already mentioned DeviantART, but I haven’t told you anything regarding my own account there, or what it is I use the website for. DeviantART is, of course, a website where people post and share their art, of all forms. I, in particular, use DeviantART to share my poetry, prose, photography and traditional art. My account username is crazynloveless, which probably won’t come as a surprise to you, considering my blog page’s name! In this blog I will also link anything I have posted on DeviantART on the day of the blog, for those of you who read this but aren’t deviants, though still interested.
Today’s deviations consist of:
‘An Atlantic Divorce’ is a mini-collection of five poems, all of which encompass one journey of a divorce. This small collection was originally created for a contest with the theme: divorce. It soon became a project that I really took interest in, spending much time writing and workshopping it. I must thank ordie for his help in workshopping these poems with me – without him, they wouldn’t exist as they do!
‘I Am P.P Trained’ is a stamp created by myself in jest of something which was said in the PoetryPlease club. It is something which I use in my own journal, and is available for use to any other member of staff at the PoetryPlease club.
‘Emotionally Ironic’ is a poem created in response to a prompt that was given to me by a friend. He told me to write of a “sponge of emotion”. I thought about it for a few moments, but quickly set to work with this as the outcome.
This is it for day one here at Virtual Reality.
Take care, until the next blog!
