Thursday, 14 December 2017


Sometimes, or even many times, the creative process can fail. I need to bite, to feel a subject, before pressing the keys on a keyboard. I can start but quickly realise that I'm simply not 'feeling' something. Sometimes it's difficult to finish a Blog.

Here's a collection of words that didn't quite make it to an actual Blog post.  I go from the moment I start typing with Blog posts so I have to be fast. It's all about the feeling, as mentioned above, the actual emotion at that moment in my heart. Every... single... time.

There was once a time when I actually had to venture out into the day, to say hello, to speak actual real words that could be heard in person but that was a long time ago. We’re now in a new age, the Twitter, Tinder, social age of connecting without barely even lifting a finger.

It’s madness that I can copy in a hundred people, the never ending friends list, sending many words of worth or, at times, words that barely make any sense. There’s no room for grammar, soliciting wasted moments when all you need is a letter. It matters not that the word, or letter, conveys barely any understanding but that’s okay, that’s perfectly fine, as it’s all quickly forgotten.

The stream keeps on moving, endlessly, capturing vacant thoughts, reposts, copy and pastes, with barely any new media assembled to ensure a smile. We’re passive, aggressive, ever ready for a fight and quicker to vanquish something that shows success from another. We’re guilty, we’re all there, with the digital eye ever asking us to submit more and more.

But, when that is said, I’d prefer the analogue way, the olden days, of actual dates within a day, to share, to laugh, to smile with an actual person.

I always wanted one, a life, that thing that so many purported to own and share on a daily basis via social media. It seemed so serene, magical, filled with happiness and smiles of glee. Each picture, every single word, living a never ending dream of clean surroundings and soul feeding bliss.

I always wanted one, that life, with every solitary moment, each emotion, captured, distilled, created in a maximum shape of 2048px wide. Such beauty, such providence, a spiralling monument of momentary collages. I can, almost, taste the life I need to live, the life I want in so many ways.
I always wanted one, the life, where my moments were displayed to the world like a canvas full of fractures and faint ripples. I have shattered dreams to share, broken souvenirs, with doubts and fears hidden behind a smile or prevalence.

I always wanted one,

Suddenly, from the inner wishes of my soul, I decided to chase the moon that seemed to be surrendering in the dark sky. Jumping as high as I could manage I reached ahead, with all of my energy, grabbing hold of a star flying fast through the same sky. Swiftly, with ease, zooming away with the world’s wishes.

From the distance I spied a mountain, filled with forbidden fruit, a valley of wishes and fantasies. As the view approaches, appears, then vanishes behind me, surrounded by the star’s glow, I make a thousand wishes within a few seconds and moments. I want to be something that’s between black and white, something else, something… better.

I can see it, way away in the distance. The moon, glowing, smiling, casting a kind of solemn refection onto the world. It’s my destiny, it’s what I’m shooting for, where I need to be. Maybe I’ll float within the outer space, for a while, basking in the calm and silence of space. It’s hard to breath, it’s a place of splendour and fear, but that’s okay as I’m on an adventure of space and time.

I’ve mentioned flying, a few times, which seems to be a valid inflection of my spoken life. If you’re not flying then you’re grounded.

With all the strength I have in the world, I grasp, I hold, I try to retain you in this world but that’s not going to work. That’s never going to happen. The energy, the fire, it’s not enough and never will be. 

As a child we held hands, day after day, knowing that all the help I ever needed in the world was right by my side. I simply never, ever knew, that one day that hand may actually, forever and one more day, vanish from my reach. I’m strong in the world. I’m a bridge for others in this place, yet that came from you. You’re my blood, my life, which can never be forgotten as long as I can open my eyes and see the world.

There’s a lesson, there’s a momentary pause, there’s the life I’m in, within, that reminds me that I’m no more special than any other person. But, to you, I’m your Son, your life, the very reason why you still smile. 

We all must let go, at some point in our lives, as that’s life. There’s no preparation, there’s no saviour, there’s no book that will ease the answers before the question even appears. Time. The luxury of it all. Seconds. The moments we take for granted. Never look back at what you didn’t do, the things you said, as that’s all forgiven when a Mother looks at her son and tenderly whispers, “I love you!”

When you look into the eyes of your own children, if you have them, they too may one day have to say goodbye and that, that thought, is an extreme black hole of madness waiting to stab your heart until you bleed tears. It all comes back to time. How long? How much? What can we pay for more? 

There is no more time. There never will be.

I have to let you go

The darkness crawls, aware, knowing how and what I’m feeling. Looking through the large glass windows, surrounded by man made plastic, into the night sky, sleep evades my every single thought. I’m awake, I know why, I cannot state the how, but this is the case no matter what flows through this heavy mind of mine. I cannot stop thinking about you.

As with many thoughts in this world it started with something so innocent, a moments momentary glance, a whisper that seemed to be passed across the room like a magical voodoo spell with intentions to play with my mind, body and possibly soul. Forget the mention of my soul, it’s as if I no longer have such a thing, as it’s yours. Cursed, the long-forgotten emotions left behind within the void of past situations. I’d misplaced such thoughts, banished them towards a place that could never be found again, in the safe knowing smiles that I’d no longer be a slave to the fruits of this life.

They say that the very first hello, that singular moment of impotence, when the air escapes your lungs and forces your heart into a place of suspension, is one of those life changing instances that seldom happens to most of us. You turned and in one instant I had to stop. Gathering composure, reaching for a smile to appear on my lips as I ask my stance to behave, I approached and began the usual play of words.

I’m still here, looking at the ceiling, glancing across to the time displayed on the wall, wondering how I’d managed to get to this place, again, once again, the place that I’d wished I’d never approach. 

As the words flow, from my lips, the soft echoes exhaled from my mind, I can see that you’re not quite aware of the deception forming around you. I smile, ever so slightly, while mirroring your stance in a way to create conformity, symmetry, a bonding of moments and intentions. We’ve already discovered so much about each other, the same interests, the same visions, the various moments that we’ve shared, in this life of ours, while walking separate paths. Until now. Right now, here, together, minutes after saying the very first hello.

A few more moments fly past, words moving as they should, from person to person, respecting the flow of conversation, never interrupting other than to laugh or show a facial expression or two. I can appreciate, I can envision, but I’ve heard it all before. The same differences in all of us.  We’ve all seen a sunrise, possibly walked a few mountains in our time, kissed a few fools, slept with a few misses and regretted a second or two.

The drinks vanish, with renewed glass re-appearing as the hour strikes its hand against the clock. Time, flowing as it does when you’re having fun, within the objective, doesn’t care for what we have to say. It’s all forgotten before the words even appear within our minds. I know that I’m wearing a mask...

Staring at the phone, wasting time, thinking, excluding the thoughts that I should be thinking, I wait that little bit longer. It’s been awhile, an age, which feels like years, since I last listened to your voice. 

It thrills me, excites and fills my blood full of warmth and calm. You’re special, you’re ‘that’ person in my life. I miss you. Love you. Need you. But, when all thought is said and flutters through my mind, the words are nothing when compared to actually being with you. Around you, holding that hand of yours and, of course, battling through this world that’s been graciously given to us.

For everyone, for everything, find the warmth this Christmas and never, ever, let it go.  No matter the distance, or time… give love this Christmas.

Or £50. I’d also like £50.  Thanks.

Focussing across the ring, I know that you’re there, celebrating an early victory and relishing your jubilant outcome. I’m not one for confrontation but, when that’s said I’ve heard what’s been done, I’m hardly a shrinking violet and will protect what’s mine. This means, right now, that I’m here and I’m going to fight for what it’s all worth.

Vile words, pretentious assignations with others, it’s all been going on for far too long and, as I stand, I smack the gloves together knowing what I’m about to do, no matter what, needs to happen. Standing, slightly hoping from one leg to the other, adrenaline spikes and I’m called forward. The words of the ref resound in my head, meaningless moments, all vanishing as you stand in front of me.

The bell rings, echoing through the room, as the resonant shouts, screams and insane advice are thrown into the air.  Stepping forward with speed, you’re upon me as I defend my head. Words, slapping around my ears, doing little damage until you throw a solid jab into my...

Frank leaned over, opening the drawer, pulling out a small photo album. With sorrow filling his eyes, the moment suddenly slowing to a standstill, he places a hand onto the album and smiles through the sadness. Looking away from the photos, smile vanishing as quickly as it arrived, he handed the leather encased collection over to me and started his story.

They’d met, 42 years previously, in a busy market. He couldn't actually understand, or even recall, when he’d even visited the market on that precise day but, nevertheless, he was thankful for being there. Walking slowly, not really interested in all of the various items, ranging from old compact discs, to VHS tapes, he wasn't really that interested.

As he approached the exit he heard a commotion behind him and, looking behind, he caught sight of a woman complaining about a purchase with her back to him. In those days he was a big chap, bulky, as he worked out and, being honest, he didn’t really bother with hair gel so it seemed to just stick out a bit. It made him look tough, or stupid, but he didn’t mind either one really as he knew who he was at heart. He turned, walked over, to stand behind the woman. He glared at the guy who, catching Frank’s eye, quickly and quietly exchanged the item.

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