Monday, 30 December 2019


Daniel stopped typing, as he tried to wipe away that tired feeling invading his thoughts and ever-present weary body. Taking a sip of the water, to his side, he stared at the screen in front of him. The words, freely appearing or, should he say, simply falling from his thoughts straight into his fingers. He’d felt better, the days and nights seeming to stretch to the next, with no real end in sight.

Decisions, riffling through his mind, the words seemingly at the tip of his tongue yet so very, very far away. He didn’t enjoy the decisions that he had to face, those life moments where most ran for cover, but he was also hardly a person to run from what had to be done. Flight or flight, with fight becoming the focus of his present life. There was no point in running away from anything, or anyone, despite it often being the honest and easiest choice. To him, at least, he was fighting right now.

The words appeared and he continued to type. One after another, they flew onto the screen making his thoughts into real, realistic, impressions of his mind. If he could make all of the words into action, that might make things easier, but sometimes better written, than actioned or even said amongst a room of people. He wondered whether this was the etiquette of a well-mannered man, or the idiocy of a society silenced by formality and grace. The answer escaped him as, right about now, he’d gladly sit within the middle ground. His earlier years being firmly placed within the white side of life, the right versus wrong, only to slowly descend to the darker side.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Never and, so it be told that, the grey would be where he would stay from this point forward. The hypocrites of life often screamed from the heavens, concerned about  a person’s misdemeanours, whilst committing the same heinous crimes of the vocal nature. The snakes and shakers of life. The vipers and thoughts that crawled within each person’s soul, haunted him. In his world, everything would be fair, just, but that wasn’t being realistic. You had to play the game; the games that people played. The selfish creatures of habit and formality, with his own mind simply exhibiting the exact, same, venomous traits.

His fingers continued to type. Faster, as the seconds escaped his remaining energy. The sun, long forgotten had descended from his sky many hours previous, with the dark being kept at bay by a simple, small, solitary desk lamp. The simple things in his life. A white screen, a clear canvas, a keyboard and not much else.

He escaped. He knew this to be a fact, a truth, a mesmerising moment that he enjoyed. He could be anyone. A lover, a warrior, a peacemaker or even a troublesome envoy. It mattered not as, when the screen switched off, he was back to whatever was out there within his world. He loved both worlds or, at least, tried to do so.

The words continued. The keys clattering as they often did. No secrets hidden within his words. The bold, brash, extravagant truths becoming reality. Each purposely written passage finding an escape into the real world, encased within a form of communication for whoever, whatever, or whomever may have the chance to explore his thoughts.  Normally, he’d proofread the words, the echoes of mistakes being removed to create something closer to his form of perfection while, often, the errors still finding their way into reality. He allowed such moments as, of course, he was far from perfect.

He saved the file, naming the file something sensible in case a future event required his thoughts, to reminisce whatever existed upon the soon to be printed page. He clicked the button and, with the ease of life itself, the page appeared upon the printer. He folded the document, printed upon recycled paper, twice. He’d undertaken this process many, many times, but upon this occasion there was no need for an envelope.

He smiled. Happy. Emotional. The year had been a year of change, of progression and, in a few ways, regression. Two steps forward, one step backwards. He didn’t hold the negative close to him as, being realistic, the altercations and ramifications would only, realistically, make him a better individual overall.

He looked at the paper, sat upon the desk, the light from the small lamp throwing an ethereal glow upon his written, printed thoughts. He’d said what he needed to say. To the world, to the universe, to each individual, to each heart and soul that had crossed his path within the year. It was done. Over with. He could let go, he could now walk away, from the year 2019.  Ever forward, ever onward, the endless march towards whatever, or whomever, decided to be within his world.

Tuesday, 17 December 2019


I admit it. I accept the consequences and liability for all my actions. Proof or no proof, it’s all there in the black, the white and ever so glorious grey. I’m a sinner, that sin, that thing, that I cannot and may never ever and will not, manage to overcome. Place me in chains, chastise and bless my soul, as there’s nothing, me, myself and the eye of the onlooker can change.

Take me to your river, wash away my sins and after that, I’ll just return and do it all again. Ladies and gentlemen, or whatever you’re known as today, you’re free to be whatever you like but I, as I’ve said, have sin written into the very core of my fingertips and ever vibrant lips. It’s exclusively for all, no refunds or replacements.

I’ve been deaf to the proceedings, to all this subjective proof placed at my very feet, but that’s okay as I’m exceedingly aware of my wrong doings. Lock me up, stop the inflection of my days and I’ll embrace a new path. I’ll become a preacher, a man of solace and retrospect, the ablutions of my mental state and wealth of person becoming all that wakens me. Or, be whatever it may, give me a loaded gun and I’ll end the sentence for you all, on this very day.

I can tell that the judge, jury and executioner have all resolved their differences of opinion. No matter which grace filled words I’ve expressed, you’ve seen behind the wealth of behaviour and the hidden layers and masks used to show my repentant desires. I couldn’t help myself, the beauty of another swaying the votes towards the only outcome. I’ve loved, lost, been forgotten and given my very soul before reaching this very moment.

The arbitration failed, the asylum of my mind becoming bankrupt within the world. There’s no longer any chance of a delay for these proceedings, so convict me, shackle my body and throw away the keys.  I kissed the lips of temptation and spoke words of such fever, waiting for the direction of any furore to keep me awake at night. Blame me, shame me, shout your words and stare at me, as long as you’re aware of your options.

I swear to tell the truth, nothing but whatever you’d like to hear, with my affidavit standing for this test of time. I’m a sinner, an adherent of such moments, as this is what I was born to do. You can all sit on your fancy chairs, passing judgement, all based on tails and fails from my presented life. You’ll never know the real me, exposed, open, vulnerable, as that’s for me to know and for you to never find out. I didn’t manufacture myself, as I was moulded, sculptured, by the actions and tribulations of others. The actions and factions being understood, accepted and, eventually adapted to.

This is the moment, that final verdict, where you all look at the floor as a singular person brandishes the verdict. The many following the few. The weak being willed by the strong. It’s take or be taken in this world. It’s hold or be withheld. Forgive me, belittle me, but I’ve done what I’ve done from the very instinct written into my soul. I desire, I need, I wish and I most certainly want. No matter the outcome, even if the deserved punishment is for but one of my fails, I will still be vanquished for even the things that I’ve never even whispered of. Such is the way of the world; such is the cruel twist of fateful reverence.

I’ll stand tall, I’ll hold my head up as high as I can, knowing my own sins and consequences as clear as a sun filled day. Say it, talk, exclaim your preference and let it be known. I read their faces, each and every single one of them, as I’m adept at such measures. I’ve known such emotion that even the most stern person can no longer hide their inner monologue. I’ve heard it all, when it comes to the heart and soul of a person, despite often ignoring my own messages. I smile, a little coy, wicked, naughty smile. I can change. I can become something else but today, on this very day, I think not. I’m a convicted sinner, I’ve been blessed with a gift, a balance within, that allows such gloriously, spontaneous, beautiful and embracing… sin.

Monday, 9 December 2019


Daniel rested into the seat, relaxing, taking in the entire room as his eyes slowly glanced around. Sipping his drink, wondering, realising, that today was going to be an amazing day. He knew that he still had a few issues to work through but, saying that, they didn’t bother him as he was tired of trying to fix everyone else. It was his time, his precious solitary time to work towards something better. He, above all, was a fixer within the world. All through his life, he was presented with moments to find solutions, to resolve whatever appeared within his path. Emotionally, physically, professionally and maybe even spiritually.

He lifted his hand, looking at the skin surrounding his fingers. They’d been through so much, touched, lost, held and let go. Upon each fingertip there were scars, the moments that he’d never forget. The scar of letting someone he loved, in the younger years, vanish without a trace. Taken from him, removed from the country, only to return a married woman. The four years, that followed, of anguish and loss, burned into his very soul and heart.

He’d learned, realised, that love wasn’t something that would last forever, despite still holding onto that dream for far, far too long. Naive, not yet that worldly individual that he thought he was back then, he’d eventually moved on. The four years of loss, never to ever return. Lost, abandoned, forgotten and faded.

Next, he looked at the scar of falling in love with the wrong person, a person that wouldn’t have worked at that time. He was still innocent, fragile, expectant to find that love he’d finally returned for. The fool, the play written with someone else’s words, casting him aside as a side character in another’s life. Another scar, another wound of wonder and hurt.

He smiled, remembering the moments of tears and stupidity which, of course, were all experienced with his blessing. He could have chosen to stand tall, walk away, run from the madness that he allowed into his life, but that life and those moments hid actual problems that he needed to find.

Solutions, ablutions, ready for whenever he would realise what he needed to do. Daniel glanced at a few other scars, smiling, understanding, as each new experience eventually resolved into something good, for the others that moved from his life. He played a part, as his previous thoughts pertained to. He’d have it no other way.

Sitting there, smiling, he placed his hand upon the side of his head, feeling the scar from where the life-giving tube sat, when he was born. Next to death, that two-pound ten baby of premature birth, alone, fighting, holding on to each breath that could have been his very last. He closed his eyes, thanking whatever force kept him alive. Decisions, revisions, the luck of the moment or more, he simply did not know. The rain pours, the rain falls, but through such dreary moments, life is born and the world is refreshed.

He once again sipped on his drink, the smile still staying exactly where it should be. He had many, many scars. The fold of his arms, covered with needle marks. The scars upon his knee, the large scar on his abdomen, were all memories of how he managed to reach this very place. No physical scar remained within his mind, as the real scars were caused by his own idiocy with regards to others. He trusted, his moral code being something from a time long forgotten, despite constantly breaking that code to seek some type of self-deprecation.  He wasn’t anything special, he knew this, he felt the realisation, through the very scars written upon his skin. Each time he held someone, it burned into him, as if he were some type of devil made real.

Now fully relaxed, the thoughts still calmly flowing through his mind, he regulated his breathing to reach a place of perfect calm. No matter the solution, the cause or disadvantageous effect, he’d resolved the final niggles that remained within. He was a blank canvas, a place to explore and to become something new. The problem, the one moment that caused him concern, was the very fact that no matter what he did, no matter how many scars he came to terms with, each other person within his life would still have scars, moments, tribulations, which meant that he’d open himself to new moments of pain, or hurt. His smile grew as he knew, he damn well knew, that if you were afraid of getting hurt, or watching as another etched their name onto your skin, then life simply wouldn’t be living, without gaining scars.

The next question, upon his lips was, of course, how deep that scar would be. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care, as he loved every… single… one of them.