"Floral Normality"💗 +MIXTAPE

FREE MIXTAPE & The C Thing? ALL Talk is Strictly Forbidden..!! A Little Letter - Playlist - ( & more meaty musings) 27.10.24

Oct 27, 2024

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Sunday - 27 October 2024

Today’s Mood Music: Balearichase MIX.xx Mixtape (2024) by Chasey Delaney

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I apologise if you have had this mix included in a previous letter, I have no idea if it’s already been shared with you. I really like the vibe of this one, which is unusual for me because recently, I’ve felt like my latest efforts to make mixtapes haven’t been up to scratch or on par with my past endeavours. This one is really nice and I have another lined up for November (it’s not new it has already been recorded but it’s called End November so I think that’s apt enough to share/ or re-share again next month. If I am still here. :/

After THIS Section, Talk of ‘The C Thing’ Is Strictly Forbidden:

I won’t go down that dark corridor of thought and I swear that little hint or my despairing disposition is going to be the only inkling of me waiting for updates on my Cancer health scare situation. Honestly? I’m not trying to play it down one bit, I have been a loud patient - screaming it from the rooftops in urgency that I am going through this. My partner and family are probably sick up to the neck with hearing about it. I have spared no thoughts for how upsetting it is for those others. I have been making lighthearted fun of myself (which are ‘sick’ jokes that nobody is enjoying), I have been talking facts and stats, and findings from research, there hasn’t been a day where none of us hasn’t mention something about ‘what’s going on’ - it has become the elephant in the room! I hate it now. So. Here is a letter of lightness, just me being me. Coming out of retirement from writing my usual themes. I have to accept now that the version of me I was trying to escape from wasn’t that bad at all. For a little short note and heads up about my decision to return to purging my words up from the soul and spilling my guts again. See this quick newsletter below: (posted today 27.10.24 on The Daily Chase).

The Daily Chase! Newsletter and Podcast 💗

"No Time To Do ME Differently."

8 months ago · Chasey Delaney

HELLO! sorry for the So Serious expression! This is me at 11am on 27 October 2024. Just about to write a short intro letter, before we get on with the ‘more meaty musings’ side of things.x

SUNDAY MORNING - 27 October 2024

Dear Chasers💗

You know what? It feels like this is home. My first ever publication JustClingingOn has been the one constant place where every time I come here to write something, I always feel at ease. My other endeavours, spin offs if you like, are also filled by friendly ‘faces’ and feel like a safe place to speak. The only difference is that sometimes, especially more recently, some of those lovely people have chosen to leave me. I understand why. There are a number or reasons that might explain ‘good reason’ not to keep me on their radars.

I used to do an Aural Contraband feature for one, and I know a few people signed up for that part only. I can’t do that music feature at the moment and its been off the agenda for a good few months now. I also stopped putting out ‘daily’ posts, which for a publication that offers ‘Daily’ isn’t a very good reflection of my reliability and makes my words become less trustworthy. I could go on and try to unravel things.

I can’t mention the C thing but I really understand why people might avoid reading about that kind of ‘journey’. It’s a bit of trigger, mood-killer, upsetting.. whatever. I get it. That’s why I want to avoid the topic until absolutely necessary too. The one idea I have that explains why my subscribers / followers have been unsubscribing to me is probably the most likely reason. I write a load of toffee! I mean, shit. I am boring. I am inconsistent. I sound so profane and unintelligent. I am an embarrassment and a bit fucking strange! Ha

It’s fine. I know everything is a possibility. I won’t bang on about my losses. I won’t over-celebrate my wins. I’ll just be here doing my thing. I will be writing more about anything that wants to leave my fingertips, whatever bleeds out from me on the keys. It’s everything I am and that has always pleased me.

I went to a food bank yesterday and late last week. We were struggling. I’m just going to say that FEEDMYCITY in Manchester is the kindest, most welcoming place of this nature that I have ever visited. I had to include them in this piece because they have helped me so pleasantly, unconditionally in my current unlikely time of need. This is another way of me extending my appreciation.

“For the record, I haven’t been spending money of cocaine or anything undesirable for a couple of months now. We have just had a lot of bills come up all at once, extra costs of living to deal with and just for this month have run out of funds.”

I have no idea what to write about at the minute. So I shall cut this letter short. I will sign off. Write some more after a short break. I made a ‘HIP-HOP playlist’ for listening to while writing. I shall end the entire post with that. Scroll down later for the some talk of MY ‘Floral Normality’ whatever it is. Take it Easy! x

Kind regards,

Chasey Delaney -x-x-x-

Well, no flowers grow on the other side either. I think I could do with a dash of ‘normality’ right now, whatever the fuck that may be. My normality today continues to consist of a screaming dickhead shouting at the game he is playing on the main TV.

Unnecessarily chatting bubbles and rhubarb with himself because he is steaming pissed and it’s all my fault because - I am his NEW reason to binge drink and get blackout drunk.

I wouldn’t mind him doing what he wants to do, I have nothing against drinking alcohol itself. I just hate the dickhead he becomes when he drinks it.

It’s the exact same routine, he drinks 6 or 7 cans and has a bit of a laugh, shows me a little more attention than usual, gets louder and louder, booms out his dickhead racist opinions and disgusting diatribe.

Then I soon become the target of his aggression. He promises me faithfully that he won’t kick off at me, and me like fucking idiot cunt that I am gives him the opportunity to fuck me over again and again.

When he is drinking my life gets put on hold (so should I thank him?) OK, that was me making a little sick joke. I need to do my daily living and if I am told the worst about everything. It will have been these days that counted the most.

I should have been blessed with peace and love and floral normality. By floral I mean pretty, sweet, kind, caring, beautiful. Whatever.

The only type of metaphorical flower I am feeling and experiences in a fucking funeral wreath. He’s been doing my head in with stress and anxiety. I don’t expect to be bathing in milk like Cleopatra all day, or having silk sheets passed to me by a toilet fluky to wipe my shitty arse with. I don’t actually ask for much.

I do everything the same way. I do all the same chores, jobs, housework as always. It’s standard. Nothing needs to change. In fact I want to embrace the familiar and harness the lack of change while I still can. I’ve never asked him (or anyone else) to do something for me that I am perfectly capable of doing for myself.

He is constantly asking me to do these trivial stupid things, pass him this thing, look for that thing he has misplaced, turn the light on for him, adjust the settings on the fan, make him a brew, or go shop, or get his drink(s) out of the fridge, or pick up his flip flop that’s fell off his fucking fat-lazy-bastard foot while he’s stuck to the fucking sofa looking up at me doing this shit.

I don’t even get wound up about it on a ‘normal’ day but today, when all I need is a bit of a fucking break to write the way I write best, about awful things but with a good spirit and jest. My patience gets thinner and thinner. I resent him for everything.

I am now ‘hiding away’ in the room-of-doom which is a sort of sanctuary now. Our bedroom. It’s cold and I’m half under the covers, balanced precariously on my elbow and my neck aches. I just slumped down across the bed, fuming at being told to ‘hurry the fuck up and drop dead’.

Now, of course, for an ‘ugly cunt’ like me it’s water of a duck’s back. He sits in there now, mouth like a sluice. He knows I hate his racist slurs.. not at anyone here. It’s the use of certain words and phrases and the kind of jokes that skinheads from the seventies, those initiated into racist groups, would applaud.

I might sound like I’m being over-dramatic. I feel like my feelings are being shit on. My views don’t count. He should save all that shit for people who find it funny and want to hear it. He knows it makes my blood boil.

The thing is he already knows that him acting like this is going to make me feel this way. Angry and upset. So he is sat there choosing to annoy me now.

He knows his fucking audience but if his dad was in the room with us, no matter how may drinks he’s had, his mouth would be that of an angel. He wouldn’t act or speak or behave so nasty, vile and bad. I can’t relax doing this now, I won’t be able to do anything until he is crashed out later tonight. So I hope you all forgive this -VENTING - which was supposed to be some ‘abstract musings’.