Eat My Scraps, Please

Dear Me

December 15, 2025

she said. if you ever write a book I’m buying it –

– how to build a girl – 

a recipe for disaster 

*ahem*

To some it is a crime,

If a poem does not rhyme,

To them, it is a sign of wit

If a rhyming poem one has writ,

But as you can see it’s pretty shit

When a poem is forced to rhyme. 

what else could make my ramblings art? I suppose there is a deeper part

of me that must agree it’s the emotion behind poetry that makes it what it claims to be I mean what use are empty words sans heart and ambiguity but really when you take a look it’s meaningless pretentiousness your profundity is pointless plus a lack of punctuation and a completely unstructured sentence adds some edgy chaos to a poem as everyone wants to pretend they get it but what is it there is no recipe to poetry but you can fake it ‘til you make it with a thrown-in flurry of question marks that can then be picked apart or pitched as art by some English teacher, while her class is asleep, she’ll preach, about the importance of creating art that educates, that means something, but why ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

You pick up a book. 

You aren’t really sure what it’s about. 

It begins with a girl. 

She finds an orange box.

Inside it is a book.

The pages are faded and whisper under her fingers as she skims them gently. They hold a lot of soul. She can tell. 

She shrugs and places this book in the front pocket of her smock. Next to the many Doodads and What’s-Its and Whatever-You-Call-Themz.

She would have stopped to read it, but she didn’t have Time. She was on her way to Somewhere and she did NOT want to be late. She had to meet Fathead. And one did NOT keep Fathead waiting.

Especially if they wanted to keep their life. 

So, she continued on her Way. 

But as she wandered, she Thought. And as she Thought, she Wondered.

What does this story say? 

Whose life lives among the pages? Attached to such a worn and mottled spine?

Whose thoughts loop, ink-scratched and incandescent, waiting to be discovered? 

She could not deny her curiosity. Besides – Nothing Much happened around Here frequently. She could walk with her nose in a book. Her feet would guide her. 

So, as she walked past doors and doors and doors, she slipped a hand inside her pocket and began to read:

From the smoke of a Frankincense incense stick and a pile of patchworked hash ash 

(try saying that after a few drinks) 

a fish n chip battered, dandelion scattered Cinderella was dreamed into existence 

she lives her notebook back to front 

Forced to cook and clean, 

when all she wanted to do was sing 

she’s built herself from bits and pieces 

so sometimes she’s got a one-track mind 

and leaves everything behind 

little breadcrumbs for herself to find 

as she walks the big brain loop the loop 

01/10/25

Good morning Olivia! Let’s write morning pages stream of consciousness and vomit up our soul so that we get so used to channeling this voice and that it happens very easily. I like this voice – it’s the weird(?) and fun(?) one. Or perhaps it’s just – whatever, I have given up on this train of thought – I am so grateful that I woke up feeling not tired. That is so good. I’ve actually just realized I should probably go eat now as I may not have time later. I’m quite excited for the fire service open day but I don’t think I am ready to commit my life yet → ask about age ranges? Can I wait until I’m thirty something? 

Olivia Fleming – acrobat. fireman. poet

    At your service 😉

Cool. I want to meet more funky people too. But I think I need to be a funky person for that to happen. I need to cook that egg. I’m going to call the fire brigade.

Stop writing about things and start doing them!

Does a dandelion in the breeze try to steer its direction? 

But you are not a dandelion, Olivia. 

No, I hope a buttercup, or Clare said a poppy. She is off doing something exciting. I want to be doing something exciting abroad… 

Black coffee with honey 

a small bowl of blueberries and yogurt eaten with a tea spoon 

A cinnamon swirl 

A piece of toast with a bit of Gorgonzola and chutney and avocado 

– Picky bird!

03/10/25

I had a dream last night I could sing so well and it was because I just let go and it burst out of me

words I have made up:

(I think?)

momency 

unsurity 

pedantics (noun)

blump & smurl

Jinkly    (that’s me!!!)

Oh, to be a cat on a moonlit pavement!

What do you see?

15/10/25 (12:10)

Locked myself out the house cos I was carrying so many bags

Representative of thinking so many things 

Same with my driving – he tells me I’m overthinking everything but how the fuck do I underthink???

00:11

Man the key is to just enjoy your life

It’s not that hard

Go travel and frolic, Olivia 

‘make something of yourself’ – what the fuck does that mean???? You’re already made

The act of becoming consciously aware that thinking is going on, 

stops thinking in its tracks

11/10/25

Today was a good day. I think I’m getting somewhere with my book idea. It’s complicated, (and not quite there yet) but basically the premise is that Overlord Fathead is going to kill you.  

The Girl stops dead in her tracks. 

WHAT!?

She reads this last entry again. 

Overlord Fathead is going to kill you.

Her mouth goes dry and her heart starts fluttering like a hummingbird BASH! BASH! BASH! against her ribs. 

What is going on!? She thinks. I must run away! I must hide! But where would I go? Fathead would find me. Fathead always knows. Fathead only ever could know. 

So do I walk on and meet my fate – blind? Or does my curiosity take the best of me?

What would You do, Dear Reader? If a book started talking to you?

You’d feel a little unsettled wouldn’t you? But You’d read on. You always do.

So, she tucks her fear under her tongue like a bitter sweet and continues walking. Her eyes drag down to the next line. 

Cinder-Stein! – The lesser known sister of Stella Artois. Not to be confused with her child friendly counterpart, Cinderella. Rather than glass slippers we have Dorothy’s ruby red twinklers – will they help you see the way home? I don’t know. But my eyes, like the Stella Artois logo, are cherry stoned and lined with gold. 

Places i want to go:

like a wasp in a can of Stella

*Modem!!

Next summer have a van and go to festivals in Europe? Croatia and Albania and Portugal…?

Horses in Spain!

I want to do the psytrance festival scene before I feel too old 

New Orleans

Road trip through America? And/or Canada?

Berlin

Arambulo , goa

Morocco

Brazil

Australia third year – kimberly /bungle bungle/Gibb river/ Krajina (the wilderness !! so untouched so beautiful)

Uluru           Great Ocean Road

You can have adventures and meet people everywhere!

“… I’m so full of bagels and cider”

Not a bad thing, that

If you ask me

I will listen to you every second of every day 

Even when you have nothing left to say 

And that silence I will write on my belly 

Underneath the valleyed curves of your name 

A joke

Knock knock

Who’s there?

Doctor

Doctor Who?

Exactly! Hahahah… ….. no.. 

but seriously it’s Doctor Knock Knock

Doctor Knock Knock..? 

Who’s there?

What?

What?

In a train lady voice:

“Please, mind the gap between

Your thoughts and where they come from”

I like to shop in small stores

With small people 

And small doors as I tiptoe through

the warrens of small thoughts

With tiny shelves of intricate things like that porcelain figurine 

With the pale skin

And a freckle 

by fragile lips that turn blue in the cold 

picked and peeling 

back the layers 

of

pink silk satin

and gently combed hair 

Not a doe eyed stare 

but electricity and scrap paper rustling in her(my!!) veins

the definition of quintessence is :

Merriam webster – 

• the fifth and highest element in ancient and medieval philosophy that permeates all nature and is the substance composing the celestial bodies

• the essence of a thing in its purest and most concentrated form

• the most typical example or representative 

Oxford : 

• the most perfect or typical example of a quality or class.

“he was the quintessence of political professionalism”

the aspect of something regarded as the intrinsic and central constituent of its character.

Bloody hell we can add poet and motivational speaker to the current list of chef philosopher dive master guru cowboy and whatever else I don’t know

I want to swing from your coat tails and onto the chandelier

I want to live inside the sensation that is nails on a blackboard 

I want to take acid on a beach and look at my fingers and discover I exist

I want to rub myself in honey to lure the bears 

I want to know what your skull looks like 

I want to call up a pizza place and ask if their refrigerator is running 

I want you to eat the knot in my stomach 

I want you grab me by the collar and shake me until the loose pennies fall from my ears 

I want to stand at the top of a mountain and s c r e a m until my lungs turn blue and the sky opens up to swallow me whole so I slide down its esophagus to begin it ALLLL again

Self-inquiry and surrender are complementary processes. Surrender is letting go of all your desire for things to be other than the way they are. Ultimately it is letting go of all effort and of all thinking. 

– Ramana Maharshi

Do Veganuary?

• Milk 
• Apples 
• Veg (kale, mushrooms)
• Etc. 
• Coconut milk
• Tobacco?
• Sweet potato
• Non gluten bread? Crackers?
• Peanut butter
• candles
• desiccated coconut 
• mint mini magnums

13/10/25

Listening to CHROMATOPIA 

What do I want to rap about!?

Light my incense & a J

Not much else to say

I can’t speak 

(X) got me so weak

And the night is dark 

The streetlight on her red dress so true

parceled up in a fur coat to you

on your doorstep, shivered & cold

a gentle teardrop – dear! drop the act

I know your story

I know you’re for me

come sit on my lap and look back

at how far you’ve come

& dream of how far you’ll go 

I know you’ll put on a show

(some time later…)

I’m just dipping things in sauce & seeing what they taste like–

the sauce also tastes pretty good too drunk straight from the bowl*

*Sugar & high red blood cell count?

Expending energy while eating?

my puzzle ramen bowl, slow me down

So I can think

and taste

and drink in your aroma

Turmeric & colors that don’t belong

but they do because I made them

How do you like your carrots?

Boiled.

And then eaten with two teaspoons

I am really enjoying this experience –

The ramen–

Not the carrots – that was imaginary. 

You’re also imaginary, Dear Reader,

Sometimes.

If I want you to be.

Oh man that actually slaps 

the ricotta with the curry ramen broth & some sandwich pickle.

Let me try again to make sure.

Oh, maybe not – ahaha

Ah, yes an Olivia town Scone – half a slice of 50/50 cut into squares with sandwich pickle & ricotta. Population: 1.

Oh ! how unlucky me. 

Feeling so lost I get to discover myself inch by inch

Side note: actually not feeling lost at all anymore which is really nice! Long may it last!

And if there is ‘the one’?

Well he’s not any of these guys

So why am I bothering?

Should I just wait

Depends if Line 1 is true or not. 

Is love just a mutual acknowledgement of oneness?

5th September

Cheers life! I’m sitting on the roof having breakfast.

Aldi laundry stuff, toilet paper, and get a brightening skin serum, card and presents

Australia Poem – written 01/25

Carrot and walnut cake 

Acoustic guitar 

I can’t see the 

stars for the moon

Or a red striped umbrella 

Faded and tattered 

Like the wings of a butterfly

Curled and sleeping 

In my pocket 

As I (take) off my jacket 

(took) 

And (saw)

(soar).

She closes the book for a moment. This story wants pausing for now.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden