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Let's generalise people for a few minutes shall we? I'd like to think that people can be lumped into three categories. These are, the Brain People, the Guts People and the Heart People. Before you start thinking that I am going off on some sort of zombie dietary preference scheme or listing a collection of new-found fraternity-led cult groups, let me clarify a little more.

There are certain people who behave a specific way in life, the Brain People like to think about decisions and actions before actually acting upon them. They like to analyse and cautiously weigh up the pros and cons. Then you have the Guts People who don't think about their actions or behaviour, they just go with it. And lastly, you have the Heart People who follow their instinct which may require a little bit of help from the top (the brain) and a little help from below (the guts) in order to proceed. Heart People are literally the middle ground people and this suits quite nicely, what with the heart located right between brain and guts, physically speaking.

I'm a Brain Person and I have to be honest, it's pretty damn infuriating. I mean, I love that I have the ability to think things through fully... It's pretty useful and all that, but boy do I hate overanalysing things! It is literally exhausting. It would be nice to experience one day as a Guts Person and proceed with reckless abandon. I could stick my two middle fingers up to the world and say 'fuck it, I'm doing it my way today.' Nevertheless, as a Brain Person, I am inclined to stop and think about that action before pursuing it. Talk about frustrating. I read an article not too long ago about how on average, we have about 50,000 to 70,000 thoughts a day. My first thought (no irony intended) was 'there is without no doubt more traffic in my brain than a measly 70,000 thought count. These researchers need to recruit more Brain People. Heart People seem to have the best of both worlds, with a little access to the brain and a little access to their guts they can move through life with relative ease. They can be happy that they made an informed decision and followed it through with the courage sparingly provided by their lower region. They can be blissfully at ease and without regret that they didn't miss out on an opportunity because they spent too much time thinking about the consequences and didn't have the guts to act upon it. They have the best of both worlds. The brain and guts are just too far apart, they don't have the magic power of the heart in order to be accessible to one another.

I am thinking that I may need to develop some sort of lobotomy procedure that prevents me from going over the 70,000 thought limit and in turn will hopefully cause me to metamorphosis into a Heart Person. However, this is going to require a lot of planning and a lot of thinking. Leave it with me, I'll let my brain chew upon it.
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It doesn't matter that you skilfully performed that famous 'trip dance' when you fell over your own feet in public, hoping that no one would notice or that the old woman who screeched 'I am not an invalid!' when you offered to help her on to the bus the other morning made you feel no larger than a penny. It doesn't matter that you waved to the stranger who you thought you recognised only to discover they were waving to their friend behind you or that your shopping bag split on the journey home, causing apples and potatoes to shoot out in all directions and inevitably forcing you to face the cumbersome decision of letting them roll away forever or scrambling to pick them up in red-faced silence. It doesn't matter that you spent the whole day with your trouser flies down on the same day you decided to wear cartoon alien boxers or that you tried to push the door which had the word 'PULL' in large capital letters plastered on the front of it. It doesn't matter that you found yourself plugged into your headphones and Wilson Phillip's 'Hold On' came on shuffle playing loud enough to be heard on public transportation when you are surrounded by people who are indiscreetly trying to hide the smiles creeping on their faces. It doesn't matter. I don't feel I have been successful in completing my day if I have not sent red-hot-lava-like blood rushing to my face or wanting one of those inexplicable sink holes that you hear about on the news from time to time, opening up beneath me and plunging me into the perfect hiding place. A small dose of humiliation from time to time keeps us humble and keeps us human. Despite the soaring sense of mortification each time I find myself dealing with another 'situation', I don't think I would have it any other way. I like my ego kept in line, thanks.
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We work in circles. Social circles, work circles, society circles, life circles. We don't seem to work in squares or triangles or heaven forbid, a hexagon or a dodecahedron. 'What goes around, comes around', they say. But does it really? Is it really that simple? The bad people will get their comeuppance and the good people will reap their reward. The great big cosmic hands move and manipulate the pieces in this game of life. Setting us up for the end. Check mate. Justified. I guess I've lived a relatively short life but I might need a little more convincing in this illusive concept known as 'karma'. You only need to switch on a television set or pick up a paper or walk down the street to see for yourself that thing may not necessarily be that simple. Maybe I have the blinders on or maybe life doesn't work in circles, maybe life is a little more three dimensional.
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An excerpt from the novel I wrote as part of NaNoWriMo 2014. Currently in its first draft stage...

The television blared with the canned laughter and applause of some inane game-show that relied on contestants being able to remember the answers to general knowledge questions in a previous round only to give them as the answers in the next round. She came round to the host asking the question, 'name the author of the best selling work of fiction, Frankenstein?' And the answer being given as 'Elvis Presley.' The room slowly came into focus and she partly wished that it hadn't. There was an overwhelming sense of disappointment when being met with a yellow nicotine stained ceiling and a room that would look better suited on a demolition site. She rarely dreamed any more, she would often black out and spend countless hours unaware of her name or her life and that would be for the best. Dreams would come at a cost, they would tease her of a life that she did not have or launch her into horrific situations in which she was never able to escape, no matter how fast she tried to run. It was easier for her not to dream. As the room began to solidify, she became aware of the familiar head throbbing clamp-like hangover that seemed to drain the juice that her brain floated in and make her want to gouge her other eye out. She would often remedy the situation with a handful of aspirin and a large mouthful of alcohol. The stronger the better, and this applied to both the pills and the alcohol. This time she came around though, she felt somewhat different. She had a sense that something had changed. She sat up and placed the empty bottle of Whisky down by the floor. Everything in her immediate surroundings looked the same as she remembered. Same wallpaper that was peeling away at the edges, same faulty television set, same loose spring sticking out of the sofa cushion, a metallic serpent intent on trying to pierce her skin. She stumbled around the room and made her way to the bathroom, making sure her singular eye did not make contact with the mirror positioned above the grimy sink. She had stopped looking in the mirror a long time ago. There was no need to see her face or what she looked like, whatever was reflected back would not be recognised anymore. Upon leaving the bathroom, she could not shake the feeling that something really was not right, as though something had been knocked out of alignment. An oven left on? Another bill unpaid? The front door unlocked? It was not a new thing for her to forget to do something but this felt different. More permanent. She touched her forehead hoping for the answer to materialise and just as though someone from the heavens had shot the answer to her on a golden arrow, a name appeared in the forefront of her mind. Jesse.
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I find myself residing here, in the mouth of the monster. Ready to be swallowed whole, ready to navigate the messy, acidic belly of the beast. Ready to be slowly digested, guts exposed, bones brittle and weathered. At least it is warm here. At least I am sheltered from the elements.


Dec. 28th, 2014 05:00 pm
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Sometimes it is just about getting to the end of the day. That, in itself is an accomplishment, another hurdle, another date crossed off the calendar. A pat on the back and you can send yourself off to bed. Sometimes that's all that can be managed and that's okay. It's okay that you didn't change the world today or you didn't fill your quota of good deeds. Sometimes you just need to put yourself first and the rest will fall into place. And if it turns out that everything else suddenly becomes a shit-storm of the grandiose kind, then you just face forward, pick up the pace and make it to the end of the day. Commend yourself on making it through another twenty four hours on this planet. It is nothing more than wasted energy to prepare for bad news and the eventuality that things will go wrong. Time spent compiling escape plans and scenarios will not prepare you nor will it soften the blow should events turn somewhat pear-shaped. You never know, that blow may never even happen. If you find that getting to the end of the day seems like too great a challenge then focus on getting through that moment, that minute, those next few seconds because one thing is certain, time never stops. A moment never lasts and everything changes. If you find that you can fill that time with good things and can make a difference then go forth and conquer. Always appreciate the achievement of making it through the day and when you find that getting to the end of the day becomes an easy/easier task, then fill those days to the brim with shared joy and you might just find yourself changing your world.
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There is much to celebrate and yet there is much to look back upon. These are the last moments before an inevitable change. They drift in and out of focus, bittersweet and poignant. November draws to a close whilst a dark and forlorn December is ushered in with cold winds and short days. The bare walls and cupboards speak only in echoes and I pack my life away in a multitude of boxes, stacked high by the bedside. I think to myself, 'this is the last time I will walk by this very river' or 'this is the last time I will walk through this door'. There's a sombre silence that hangs high in each empty room, like clouds of distant memories, of thoughts and of conversations. This was a home, a place of escape and fortitude. There's a certain sadness in letting go and saying goodbye but this is the process and this is what shapes the next era.
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Some days are better than others. Maybe I should re-phrase that. Some days are okay and some are down-right shitty. I think today falls between the two. I seem to only come in to contact with the most inconsiderate, rude people in existence. Maybe, I have a flashing beacon that attracts these sorts of people like flies to a decomposing body. And yes, I am that decomposing body. At least for today anyway.

It would be so much easier to not have to participate in the world. I would be quite content in locking myself in my room for years on end. Hell, I would even consider a zombie apocalypse. As long as it meant I could live in a cave. In peace. Away from those people that are intent on making other people miserable.

I need convincing that there are some good people out there - they must exist in circles that I never encroach. I need to read some Hallmark cards and listen to Enya to try and neutralise today's events.


Oct. 18th, 2014 02:00 am
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There are days when I am convinced that I am the relic of the person I used to be. The teenager with the naïve heart and wilful tongue. The restless spirit that clung to the electric impulse of adventure, readily absorbing stories with never-ending eagerness, eternally unsatiated and unsatisfied with the idea of finality. I am not that person anymore. I am not quite sure who I am. It was with that very statement that I set about my journey of self discovery. I was unprepared the unfolding of events that transpired during my voyage.
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Change. Change. Change.

It is inevitable and as irreversible as an oncoming train. It may take a little longer sometimes to take shape. It might feel like nothing changes but each day, something is eroded or re-moulded. It may be something we have control over or it may be something that takes the reigns and throws us off the cart. From the smallest of matters to the world-shattering 'breaking news' matters. Change will happen and change does happen. You just have to sit back and ride the wave.
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Sleep has become a stranger but I am more accepting of my flaws. The weeks don't seem to last as long as they used to, it's almost as though Monday follows Monday. I am trying to reconnect with old friends but beginning to realise that I don't have as many as I used to. Maybe that's something that comes with getting older. The heat is stifling and I dream of snow drifts. Too much time is spent wondering 'what if' and not enough time spent being 'pro-active' - whatever that means. I blame the heat. Music and wine seem to provide my only solace. Let's hope I can rest these weary eyes.
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Have you ever not been good enough? Have you ever felt as though everyone around you has a plan and a direction in life? Have you ever drank too much in the hope that it will unlock some unconscious inspiration or at least squeeze out an ounce of self confidence? Have you ever doubted yourself? Have you ever been afraid to relish the chance of taking a risk or declined an opportunity of doing something that might make your heart beat a little bit faster? Have you ever bit your lower lip to prevent yourself from saying something that might cause conflict? Have you ever been terrified that you stand too far out from the crowd and that you can not relate to the 'general public?' Have you ever not been able to articulate what it is that you really want to say? Have you ever tried to sleep your days away? If so, I think you and I could be friends.
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Sometimes just moving forward is good enough. There is no competition for air or to be first, to be acknowledged or to have your voice heard. Sometimes putting one foot in front of the other is enough. It takes you through to the next moment and from there you move to the next. Sometimes that is the only way you can live. It is the instinct for survival.

The concept of next week or tomorrow becomes a faded premise; an idea that can not be fully understood like gravity or why some people like coffee flavoured chocolate. You do the best you can with the present moment and that is enough to allow you space to breathe. Sometimes, the very thought of 'next week' or 'next month' fills you with catatonic dread that it blocks the present and poisons it with its toxic intentions. So you don't flip the page on the calendar and write down what you plan to do three Tuesdays from today. You don't buy the winter jacket while the summer sun is showing signs of fatigue or make a list of Christmas presents whilst carving pumpkins on Halloween. Sometimes, just moving forward is good enough.
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Life can be pretty horrifying. That's what they refuse to tell you when you are small and fresh from the womb. Some of us learn pretty quickly just how horrifying it can be, whilst others glide through life blissfully unaware with the blinders securely fastened in place. Some days provide more challenges than others and require patience and casual reminders to yourself that there can be more beyond the superficial cuts and grazes. But it is never going to be easy. Especially, not for the ones who learnt those prickly lessons earlier on.

Forward can be a difficult direction to take but you bite the bitter fruit and you squeeze away the tears and realise that it's the only direction to go. You realise you learnt those lessons for a reason. They became your armour and they became your motivation. You use what you have and show them that you are still in the game and even though those scars still sting, you don't show an ounce of pain on your face.
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This is an anonymous thank you.

Your words inspire and bolster my belief that everything will work out okay. The road may twist and turn and the unexpected may choose to travel the same path as the expected. And there are days when the ceilings creep lower and the walls close in but you offer assurance that there are still stars and skies outside the brick and mortar. You have my upmost gratitude and though you may never know, I dispel my thanks out to the universe in the hope that it may reach you with a fleeting moment of warmth.


Mar. 18th, 2014 04:30 pm
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It's so easy to feel burdened. We go day-to-day carrying the events from the day before and the day before that with us. If we are not careful with what we pay attention to, these things become our burdens and serve only to hinder us and hold us back. The key is paying attention to the good experiences and the positive events. These are the driving forces of the human spirit and keep us grounded. The odd negative or constructive criticism can also provide fuel but we must learn to let the majority of negative events go. Situations take place, bad things happen, the trick is acknowledge it and then dispense of it. The greater the weight of these past events, the harder and more challenging it is to move forward. It's like they say, 'the past is the past for a reason'.


Mar. 16th, 2014 06:30 pm
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Despite the lack of commitment in the true sense of the word,
I have resolved to finding the mundane my ultimate past-time.
Reeling in the weight-gaining materialism of the 'bucket-culture'.
Here I am, exhuming the bitter parts that we had long since forgotten,
wishing for a cremation, a ceremony, a send-off.
They still linger beneath these fickle layers of skin.
Haunting me. Persuading me. Consuming me.
What happened to that exuberance of committing to worthiness?
To celebrating the flow of the juice of the soul.
Sky-rocketing like sex, the pleasure-tingling experiences tasted on a spoon.
They have been laid to rest and the rot smells putrid.
Hush, hush these swirling desires.
There is so much more to be gained from abstinence,
Says the devil perched to my right.
This schizophrenic torture remains a burden and I am lost in the flutter of possibilities.
For longing to live again, vexes me.
The sacrifices are too steep.
First steps are always the most difficult.
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We never really break old habits. We just learn ways to distract ourselves from them. If we dig deep enough or stop going against the grain, they will be found stored away in little boxes at the bottom of our souls.


Mar. 16th, 2014 09:30 am
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The hardest part of all is claiming something of your own.
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As the Rolling Stones once informed us, you can't always get what you want.

But sometimes it would be nice.
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Sleep. Holy mothballs, just one block of un-interrupted, deep, healthy sleep would crack this cemented frown and maybe even turn it upside down. Just eight little hours is all I ask and I will be able to move mountains.

Coffee. For when the sleep doesn't work and the brain and limbs need to regain functionality. Black coffee if need be. Hot and filled with jittery, sweat-inducing goodness.

Auditory dessert. More specifically, 'Hunting For Pearls'. The latest iamamiwhoami offering has to be played at least three times a day, I am happy for it to accompany breakfast, lunch and dinner. 'I shackle myself, I risk it all'. Just. So. Damn. Good.

A run in the rain. I normally would not want to go running when the heavens have opened up. There's nothing worse than running through a large puddle and bracing the cold water as it startles the skin on your lower leg. Today however, it would be refreshing. Cleansing even.
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'Until he extends his circle of compassion to include all living things, man will not himself find peace' ~ Albert Schweitzer

I have often debated whether or not I should post anything about this subject matter as it more than likely presents a minefield of various different reactions. I have landed in numerous debates around the dinner table about this topic, where I have tried to put my point across or explain my views but a lot of the time, it is either undermined or glossed over. The very last thing I want to do is to come across preachy or condescending and I can understand why some people may get defensive or don't want to talk about it. I used to act the exact same way. However, if it makes one person stop and re-think their lifestyle and make a change then I believe it to be justified.

It was a warm, sunny day in early summer in 2010. Not a cloud in the sky. It felt like any another other standard day; I awoke the same way, drank my coffee in the same manner and went about my day as I usually did. Unbeknownst to myself, I would not be going to bed as the same person. I had been browsing the internet for some part of the morning and I stumbled across a post on Facebook with a link to a video by Paul McCartney. An ex-Beatle was about to change my life. The video was called 'Glass Walls' and I distinctly remember Paul's introduction, '... I have often said if slaughter houses had glass walls, everyone would be vegetarian.' The next fifteen minutes broke my heart. It literally felt as though someone had slashed open my own chest with a rusty blade, torn out all my internal organs and thrown the bloody mess into a meat grinder. This video had reduced a grown man to tears and made me swear from that moment onwards not to play a role in any part of that process I had just witnessed.

The strange thing is that I had always had some form of awareness about how the meat industry worked but I had found it was quite easy to detach myself from those events that took place in the slaughterhouses and farms. The neatly packaged, processed meat that can be purchased from any supermarket did not resemble the living creature it once was. It was easy to not form the connection. I had often shrugged off stories from vegetarians and vegans in the past. I did not want to acknowledge the truth and the last thing I wanted to do was to change my eating habits because someone was trying to make me feel guilty or bad about it. It was difficult not to get defensive and claim 'well everyone else does it' and 'it's unhealthy not to eat meat'. I am a little bit embarrassed looking back at those comments now. I had spent twenty-five years quite happily not acknowledging what had happened to the food on my plate. From the moment that video ended and I swore to myself 'never to eat meat again' I threw out all the meat products I had previously bought and started researching vegetarianism.

The transition was relatively easy. I did my homework on the topic and with trepidation, I looked further into the meat and animal-product industries. I was shocked to read that humans are not evolved to be carnivorous; that in fact our teeth are blunt and square and our jaws 'grind' in order to better masticate vegetation rather than sharp and pointed teeth prevalent in carnivores that are established to tear at flesh and chew. Our large intestinal pathway is not developed to process meat as with carnivores who have small intestines to quickly dispose of the flesh to prevent it going bad and causing disease. Humans also don't have claws like carnivores and so forth. I was fascinated to discover these facts but also somewhat upset and angry that I had not received this education at a younger age. I also learnt that some vegetables, nuts and seeds have high protein content and there are an abundance of health benefits as a result of not eating meat. A whole new world had opened up.

To this day, I can not comprehend the torture and barbaric treatment of sentient beings. My stomach turned as I witnessed 'factory workers' and 'farmers' secretly filmed while they cruelly beat, kicked, stabbed, threw and tortured these helpless animals. Seeing calves being taken away form their mothers and hearing their cries and seeing the fear before they are killed was unbearable. It was beyond difficult to view and I still can not understand how a human-being who is supposed to be capable of empathy and compassion act in such a way. I will never understand it.

I think there is definitely a stigma attached to vegetarians and vegans but what we have to realise is that we all have a choice and choices are not always easy things to make. I have been subjected to a lot of judgement and jokes because of my eating habits and lifestyle choices. All I ask is that people open their eyes and mind and acknowledge the truth. That is all. Whatever choice they make is up to them and that is not my business. I will not pass judgement or make jokes. My only regret is not being aware or having this information at an earlier age but the important thing now is that I am and I do.

So here is a link to that very video.

Please be warned, it is very graphic but I urge everyone to watch it just once. Maybe an ex-Beatle will change your life too.
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I'm taking up the spare seat in the confessional box and hiding that beaten old copy of the Bible under the threadbare cushion. I'm not a religious person but there is something that I have been hiding. I thought I could neatly fold it up, seal it in an envelope and place it in a box which would then be buried twenty feet underground in an impenetrable safe with no lock or key. Unfortunately the secret is already out to some people and I fear it will only be a matter of time before everyone else is made aware of this piece of sensitive information.

Okay, so here goes...



I am turning thirty in a few months.

There I said it.


The number three followed by a perfectly circular zero.


One big flashing number painted in red and projected in to the sky like the Gotham's bat-signal. I might as well get used to saying it.
The 'getting older' part is not the issue. I have somewhat accepted the ageing process despite the seemingly increasing cons of spending more time on this planet. I guess the issue is this; I expected to be at a position in my life where things were 'in place'. I would have made a career breakthrough or at least be on the beginning rungs of a some form of successful profession. I would have a house and children... Actually thinking back, I may have also expected to be married to a beautiful wife too... Evidently things change.

Thirty was meant to be the secure age. The age when things made sense and life was would start to bear fruit. The truth is, it never felt more terrifying and more confusing. It seemed to make more sense ten years ago. Maybe I should have had a plan? Maybe I should have made more changes? As more and more of my peers settle into marriages and begin picking out colours to paint their children's bedrooms whilst accepting employment promotions and hosting barbecues in their perfectly preened back gardens in the summer months, I guess I need to ask myself the question: is this the life I wanted?

We all have different expectations and nothing is ever permanently formed in stone. People change. Events happen. Lessons are taught. Realistically, it would be impractical to ascertain every goal by a particular age. Or maybe it is completely practical, maybe the goals have to be better formed? Whatever the answer, there is no changing the inevitable journey of getting older. Wrinkles will form. Weight will cling to the bone. Hair will be peppered with white and silver.


Why resist?

I am just going to have clench my teeth, I will grin and bear it. I am good at doing that. There is still time yet. Right? I have to learn not to subject myself to this notion. All things happen in time. It takes longer for others. Every day is a new journey. See... I am already reeling off the generic, positive affirmations that become more prevalent with age. It is already happening.

Okay, breathe...

It's just a number. It doesn't mean anything. It's just another year like all the rest.

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The greatest thing about music is that it is experienced differently by everyone. Music latched to emotions, memories, situations, for strength, for courage, for boredom, for stimulation, for inspiration, for ambiance.
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Calling on illusions.
They are the diamonds and the heartbeats and the basic nourishment that flows through the guts.
Calling on superficiality; the bitter dilution of the blood, the leash of the soul and the distorted perspective of a reality that is meandering down the sink-hole.
Dance in the mouth of the monster.
Whisper your prayers to the plastic idols and the angels and the mother.
This is the garden where we break our bones and throw them down the wishing well.
To give up our spines to make our wishes come true.
Nothing is achieved from nothing and everything is achieved from nothing.


Feb. 24th, 2014 08:30 am
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Writing is like wading through your own vomit.
It is the only way to physically see what is inside of you.
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It is in the small hours when the walls close in and the wires in the brain ignite. The perpetual chatter that remained dormant during the day suddenly begins to crawl and scratch beneath the skull and the idea of sleep can only seem like a dream in itself.
The head hits the pillow and the eyes are squeezed shut but the volume of the ticking clock and the babbling of the brain begin to wage a war. It is 2 a.m. Forehead beaded with sweat, heart rages in the chest, it is too warm, it is too cold, the blanket bears heavy, the skin feels furious and screams are forcibly swallowed.
The days events are picked apart and probed in minute and defined detail. Conversations are replayed and the things you wished you had said are rehearsed. But of course, this only serves to make the heart pound faster and the bed grow more uncomfortable.
It is 3 a.m. legs twitch, the body switches position, it is too hot, it is too cold, blood surges through arteries and through veins, eyes are clamped shut, floodgates of thoughts wreak havoc as they snap across synapses. Memories, ideas, guilt, agendas, birthdays, schedules, things to remember, things to forget, important events, things to do before you die, things not to do before you die.
It is 4 a.m. and you admit defeat. It is too late to have anything that will resemble a 'good night's sleep'. The day starts in three hours and you have only just begun scrutinising the tragedies of your first year in high school in the attempt to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong. There is ringing in your ears from the ticking and the tocking of the clock and you have swore to yourself you will smash it to pieces with a hammer in the morning. If only you could... just... get... to... sleep...
It is 5 a.m. there is birdsong. That is the final call. The siren. The denouement. Daylight begins to flicker through the curtains and the exhaustion hangs heavy in your face and bones. You ask yourself 'what was the point?' and you continue the argument while the chirps breed from branch to branch.
It is 6 a.m. Sleep! Victory! It happened! Finally, the eyeballs have rolled back, the heart is now a gentle thud, the muscles un-wring... 7 a.m. The shrill shriek of the alarm rips you away from that peace. You shrug, 'I slept' you tell yourself.

Something is better than nothing.
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How do you make sense of things?

I don't.

The idea of trying to make sense of everything is infinitely vast. The void that can never be filled. I attempt to make sense of the things I can but I really believe that the truth is this; 'not much makes any sense'. A lot of what we perceive is nothing more than coincidences and random happenings that resolve in the 'here and now'. However, this is not to say that lessons can not be learned and that there is not room for progression. Maybe the random production of events is all part of a planned outcome.

Who is to say?
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Music. Good music. Preferably something upbeat but sometimes this depends on what the weather is like. Sun tends to bring rock or electronic, spring-like weather entices the singer-songwriters, the poets or the folk artists.
A decent breakfast which tends to mean a large cup of coffee, extra hot and a peanut butter bagel.
Hugs. A communication between two people. These are a necessity.
Fresh air. Life force, another necessity. Essential in fact.
Smiles, laughter, the medicine of the soul.
Kind words. Whether received or given. These are the reminders.
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Dear Winter,

I am over you now.

Back in September I was ready for your icy chill to descend upon us so I could wrap up in several cosy layers and finally put those 'back-of-the-wardrobe-bound' hats, gloves and scarves to use. I romanticised the idea of sipping hot drinks by a large, roaring fire-place whilst your cold fingers cloaked the outside world by night. I had anticipated a light dusting of snow during the holiday period so that the Christmas lights on the outdoor trees shone just a little bit brighter and December resembled one of those standardised 'festive-white-Christmas' pictures they print on the cards you can buy from a supermarket. However, I have now reached the point where I am tired of having cold feet that never get warm and braving the freezing gales that seem to shred through my skin. Those dark mornings when leaving the warm, womb-like comfort of bed feels like a torture practised only in hell. I can not bear another day of jumping over and avoiding slippery, frost-laden walkways like a character from a video-game or nursing a nose turned red from the bitter breeze. I am done with you. Thank you for gracing us with your presence but it is time you allowed your good friend Spring to take the driver's seat and hurtle us in to somewhat more humane climates. Dare I even tempt Summer to come along and offer up a warming cuddle? Farewell Winter and Bon Voyage.

Yours Sincerely,

A cold person


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Not an Oracle

January 2016


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