Saturday 29 November 2014

The Struggle of Being a Writer in a Bloggers World

It's always hard to see someone else doing incredibly well, at something you've always wanted to do incredibly well in.

It's an unavoidably human reaction, one which is usually followed by equally unwelcome guilt when you actually see how nice that person is, and how hard they've worked to get there.

But you know, I've come to think that the world would just be a better place, if we all started to be a bit more honest about envy.

Saturday 8 November 2014

Bloggers, Millenials & the Future of Our World

As predictable as the sun, the way day becomes night, my days of darkness follow my days of light.

But when stillness comes and my demons are slain, the light will come for me again.

Melodrama aside, I often cannot escape my despair for humanity.

Whether the constant barrage of disaster and dismay from the press, or witnessing first hand the way some treat each other, treat animals and nature, treat the world, sometimes it overwhelms me to a point where I feel physically sick. 

One of the most profound things I have come to realise recently;

There will never be peace on earth.

Thursday 6 November 2014

Little Victories

Yesterday morning I woke early, yawned profusely, and went downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee. I flicked on the kettle then jumped at the discovery of a giant bumblebee sat on my windowsill. 

I leaned in, unable to tell if it was alive or dead. 

I blew a little air on it and its feelers gave a little twitch in response.

Saturday 1 November 2014

The Inescapable Mourning of Days of Past

Do you ever get that feeling,

Where you're going about your daily life, a string of daily preoccupations and errands keeping you busy,

When all of a sudden, the whisper of a half-forgotten song playing in a shop you walk past, the smell of someone's perfume next to you on the tube, that old dress you dig out the bottom of your wardrobe... 

One small little cue enters your immediacy and suddenly your whole soul is assaulted with a specific memory which comes flooding back to you in a raging, uncontrollable torrent. And like a sucker punch to the gut, you inhale sharply with the brute force of your sudden mourning, not for the people, not for the place, but for a whole sphere of time in your life that once was?

He'd been in my dream.