How much food can you eat while someone else is starving?
How much can you sleep at night while someone else has no home?
How much can you cope with your friends while someone else is being beaten?
How much can you do in a day when a supercomputer could do it in a second?
How far can you run while someone drives on past?
How do you breathe with all the pollution in the air?
Why do you do these things?
Do you enjoy them?
Give me iron.
Steam my engine.
Rocket to the moon.
Riding my cognition cycle.
Beetroot and sour cream.
Warm and wet.
I fall off my bike and tear up my knee.
A door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway.
Put down the book. Get back on.
I’m tired of all this sunny weather. Give me perpetual autumn. Cozy nights wrapped up in thick jumpers next to warm fires. The movement of falling leaves. The cold breeze against my face. The washing up a treat for my hands after eating some comforts.
A fallen star is just some grit to harden my chicken’s egg shell.
A positive move. Just smile more.
Just smile more. It’ll make you happier.
Smile more. It’ll please them.
Smile or forget.
Nothing is forgotten because it was never remembered. Not truly.
…give me strength.
They let their intelligence detach from their sense of helping others and helping themselves. Their needs and reactions.
If you lose yourself in knowledge you must first build yourself up without knowing anything.
I sink lower into my chair. Both slouched and hunched. Uncomfortable but listless. Aggrieved, I listen.
It sounds correct in their example context. Yet I apply this to things unexpected and I cannot react. It would seem like wisdom to seek the truth but how can they see it with eyes closed. I cannot react. I am lost.
Washed ashore with the driftwood I look for patterns. Repetition. Things to get used to. Things I can cope with. Trust in virtue. Trust in self. Be disobedient. Disregard all you know in the moments it gets too much. In the moments you need to.
The war of semantics in my thoughts can be tamed with acceptance. Temporary as it may be. It is a machine. It needs maintenance.
Putting square bricks in round holes, no longer. I can fly. I am abreeze the clouds. Lifted.
We seem to pick up those still afloat. Let’s do this.
Ignore it now and eat some chocolate.
There are bellies to fill. A tiger on a wall. Fire risen from the wood. A roar of thunder. A torrential downpour. Feeling shaped from thought. Not from knowledge. Survival.
The periphery is the container where I keep all my knowledge, my memories, and my habits. Everything I can conceptualise lives here. Who I think I am, who I think you are, and my cat.
The centre is where my waking state lives. My feelings, my senses, and everyone else’s. It is nicer in the centre than the periphery.
We will all die.
Money will become meaningless.
We will regret not doing nice things more often.
Nothing is more valuable than a smile on a loved one’s face.
Everything is burning
A spark in the darkest mind
He should have kept it in the ground
Now it’s nearly gone
The children won’t be able to pay
Trapped in his grip of debt
Created thanks to his greed
Castles of gluttony
Belong to families few
Their defences of riches
Will one day burn too
I listen to the whispers from the rocks. “Don’t step on me. Step on the soil; it is silent.” The soil cannot speak but would it complain if it could?
The grass here grows long. Thick and dense. Stems snap and screams; more screams fill my head.
Should your voice be different? Of course, but it isn’t, at least, not always. You say “hi”. I can’t hear myself think which is just as well. I’m scared of what I might be saying.
The cars go past my window far too fast. “Honk honk honk” someone toots. I cannot see out but it has been raining. I can hear the tyres slice up the water with a harsh crescendo that diminishes into the distance.
Leaves are falling. That’s nice.
I am writing nonsense again. Good. What to say? What to do?
Why I am breathing so loud? I sleep still. All but for the bellows squeezing back and forth. Until I turn and turn and turn.
The air is cool. No wind to speak of. Feeling my heart beating away in my chest.
Bright blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Every tree, every leaf, perfectly still.
My mind is buzzing with everything I’ve ever learnt. Not all at once but it’s all in there somewhere.
My cat is mellow today. Affection is going a long way. Thinking about last week’s confusion seems a long way off.
My flat is a mess but the speakers are singing to me and I have a cup of tea in my hand.
(This is a very negative rant. Feel free to skip this. It’s triggering and best avoided unless you are doing some psychological investigation into self hatred or something. For the record I don’t feel like this very often and was written with misdirected anger which produced a false reflection of my state of mind even for that moment. This rant is my worst possible way to see my reflection. My worst thoughts aired.)
Fuuuuuck! Just melt away like I know you will. Droop low enough to touch the floor. Or fatten up to fill the cracks. Time will age you before you hear a tick because you are a stupid fucking idiot prick.
Don’t worry, nothing will wipe away that vapid stare. Your face aloof because no one’s there, the lights aren’t on because no one’s home, you’re slow and dumb, why do you think you’re forever alone?
You’ve never succeeded, you’ve never won, you lose on purpose because your life’s a pun.
You’re starting to love yourself. You fool. No one loves you. Why would they? You fool. Obviously they must be idiots too.
So why do you hate yourself after so much progress? You don’t achieve anything; you just have process. All you do is try to cope, everybody thinks you are a dope.
You’re not so bad, you try your best, yes you’re getting good at lying, next!
You’ve still got brains, you’re pretty smart, then why don’t you use them you boring fart.
Go to sleep. You look tired. You have never been someone I have admired.
Wake up soon. Don’t look at me. Forget everything about yourself in your dreams you’re free.
An enormous furnace of radioactive burning gas just pitched up on the horizon and blasted my bedroom full of luminous energy. Fuming! It’s almost everyday at this point…
I’m not sure you will like me once you have met me.
You will see I am a featureless dummy holding up a mirror to the world.
I hope you realise you are not so bad after all when you look at me.
You might forgive me for having little substance of my own.
I find myself on the floor again. I kick myself one more time.
Brittle and unkind. No intent towards others just to my own expectations and desires.
I need to want the things I already have.
I’ve got to draw a line between things out of my control and my own thoughts and actions.
I’ve got part of my brain exposed to the world. It’s a strand. A cord. Red raw. Sensitive doesn’t go far enough.
There’s a clip on it. I’m feeling the pressure, hearing external noise amplified.
I need to make distinction between incoming sounds and outgoing frequencies.
Without this filter there is just unsynchronised resonant discord.
Detach the clasp. Ease the pain. It’s not my fault. I can handle this now.
Time makes the highs low and the lows high.
The esteemed are just the flavour of the month. Change occupies all.
Ambition at an all time low but I feel bliss sat next to a cat.
Adapt to the situation don’t try to change it to fit you.
Water dips and flows into every crevice of the rocky sea shore but is slowly shaping the hard, strong cliff wall.
If you are like that, you are life sustaining, the lowest of low, making all those around you feel high.
Feed your friends and treat them well and they will return the favour. A painted glass teardrop can mean a thousand things. It can be treasure. It can be crap. The value is not in the pieces you hold; it is inside of you.
A tic is an sudden, repetitive, voluntary response to an unwanted urge. It is our way of measuring time.
What is this chaos?
I didn’t choose to be born.
What is happening?
I see patterns that are destined to go awry.
My brain is not clear and calm.
Driven by a predetermined tick.
Pushing through the things I do and am going to do.
An addiction is holding on: Don’t stop me yet.
These stories start with a moment of intense change.
Curves flatten out and plateau.
You can be the catalyst for me to refresh.
A starting point in every moment lived.
To feel loved is to forgive yourself.
The guilt the blame the shame.
Start again and learn.
A wobbling cycle where the circles slowly get more unstable.
What is this chaos?
A dream. Nothing more.
What is happening?
Something worth experiencing.
I want to share my feelings with someone. My cat isn’t the most receptive… He was lovely this morning though. Laying next to him at night is nicer than laying next to no one. He follows me around and looks after me. He’s a good boy. Sorry this has already gone off at a tangent.
I miss holding someone. Just feeling another person’s warmth. If you were here I’d hug you as much as I could.
Life here is not idyllic. It’s grim… but the noise of burglar alarms and police cars, smashing glass and drunken kids is sporadic against the constant chirping chatter of the sparrows and the starlings. The regular sound of the passing buses is synced with my internal clock. The sound of the gears shifting down, the rumble of the engine, the hissing brakes and doors opening is like a regular tick of a clock in my head.
Not far away are rugged hills home to lizards, bees, butterflies, herds of deer and endless moorland. Once hallowed ground built upon by bronze age people, it has evolved through attempts at farming, transport, water management but now rests as wild land.
I’d love to take you on a walk around here. To have you see what I see. Smell what I smell. Feel what I feel. I hope to one day soon when we are both well and happy.
Bend the Angel’s will. Corrupt her pure heart. Steal her divinity for your creation. Oh my dear old thing; unholy perfection is at your fingertips.
Protect your processes. Nurture your weakness. Curb your strength. For once life is not absolute truth; subtlety is awakening.
God is infinite. Your lifetime is not. Nor are all words ever written. Unlearn everything you know; virtue shall lead you further than knowledge.
Everything came from nothing. The nameless empty. The unperishing void. Not bleak nor sad; for nothing is in everything.
Create something beautiful. Crude but complex. Naive but fully layered. Give your all; save the world. Go forth.
Tries to see good in the negative.
Whilst experiencing difficulty in the positive.
Music, painting, drawing, writing, reading.
Sport, running, walking, playing, taking part.
Often anxious. Rarely judgemental.
Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad.
Tries my best. Likes a rest.
This is me. Down to a T.
Sitting down. Drinking tea.
My biggest delusion also felt the most real.
Grief is the bite of the wind on your cheek. Life is the brace of air against your face and your hair standing on end.
Intertwined like two strands, they stood at the bus stop hand in hand. A familiar memory stood next to you is still there years after you saw them last. Look after your mind. Reign in fear and hate because you might be alone at the bus stop one day.
The breath goes in and out. Your breath becomes someone else’s whether you are on your own or not. Keep breathing, that’s what living is.