Friday, 6 October 2017


With a thunderous rapture, a cacophony of events smashing the brief second of silence, the brush moved with ease and effort. The canvas, A3 in size, is held tightly to the ground from a stand built to last, painting in whatever circumstances life decides to throw my way. With each movement, each moment of purpose, the picture forms and speaks to me.

I'm alone, on this mountain called life, viewing the valley ahead of me, being brave, fearless, vehement emotions beaming from every single slice of my skin. I'm here, right now, surrounded by the very nature that breathed life into my veins all those years previous. Nature, all around, feeding me, believing in me, wishing me to be all that I can or should be. The canvas, an expression of my mind’s eye, a place to create, to express, to clear my mind of the daily folly.

The rain starts to pour, covering the land all around me, washing away the weight of the world. Many words could have been spoken, in vain, in anger, but now all that can be heard is the ear splitting sound of said rain. Washing away everything, cleansing my soul, flattening the electric tension from the world.  I'm trying to feel free, apart, separate from the daily toll and toil of life. I'm here.

The rain kept on thundering to the ground, but with each stroke, with each deciding line, a splash here, a moment there, I'm creating the forward view onto this canvas of mine. I'm in control, I'm aware of what I'm creating, no matter how many clouds or moments, it’s my story, it’s my picture drawn in my own special, eloquent and specific way.

I don’t care about the rain, I'm ignoring the spurious thunder, I'm ignorant to the cold forming over my shoulders, as this moment is all mine. Stepping back, just a step, I can see the colours, merging, being formed from the rain adding their own take on my creation. It doesn't matter, it’s hardly a sin, as outside forces often try to reform whatever you wish to take place. It’s a liveable circumstance, it’s how I expect things to be, but that picture, it’s still there, alive, part of me, no matter how it’s changed or maligned by life.

I close my eyes, imagining my picture, the lines, the expressions, painting my heart out, while taking in the ambiance all around me. It’s the moment, it’s right now, it’s how I envision the finished picture whilst also knowing that it might not quite be what I wanted. It’s okay, it’s fine, as life is creation. Life’s a revolution of time, set to come back again and again. Maybe I’ll repeat this moment, next week, with completely different emotions, moments, but that’s what life’s about. Experiencing, expressions, trying the unknown whilst chancing and changing the known.

Another splash of rain, another stroke from the brush, the seconds ticking as the clouds allow a peak towards the sunshine. The thunder is over, the rain is at a stand still, with a new moment waiting behind the wailing. I've painted my heart out, I've done what I came here to do, to experience. I'm awake, I'm open eyed, despite the clouds, the rain and thunderous shouting.

Maybe I'm the canvas, maybe my words are the paint, forming, creating, showing each of you what I, we, you, could be. Maybe we’re the brush, taking control of our destined picture. We’re capable, all acceptable to each other, within the limits of our own sized canvas of life. Maybe we’re the view ahead, controlled by a higher power that holds the very brush that creates our lives or, just maybe, we’re none of the above. Maybe we need not be defined. Maybe we’re an abstract creation.

Either way, no matter the picture, no matter how smudged we become, no matter how the conclusive picture reveals itself, at least we tried. It’s complete, the journey for today, the task of the moment and, above all, I have something to show for the very seconds spent on this journey. I know that I'm alive, I know that I can even place myself into the picture.

The whole world is your canvas, no matter the weather or location, all you need to do is close your eyes and… paint.

Sunday, 17 September 2017


Resting my head, onto my hands, as my legs rest on the cold concrete slabbed floor, I realise that I'm here for one specific reason. I can look back, to the past, the misdeeds, the missteps, the never-ending cursing of faith or ability but, when I've finished procrastinating, I'm still the reason why I'm here.
The rain, smashing against the walls outside the cell, seldom bringing comfort but at least it affords a moments relapse from the silence. That, alone, can be such a deadly place to be. Alone, solitarily confined within your own mind, waiting for a respite, but that seldom arrives once your own mind starts to tick away at your patience, strength and resolve.

I often, while lying there, cold inside, think back to the decisions that I’d made. Should I have turned left, maybe the right side of right would have been best left alone, but we just sometimes do not know which way is left before looking to the right. Straight forward, the usual fast forward of life, grasping, shouting, thrusting forward with such strength in order to enforce the resolve of conviction, sometimes just destroys the very bridge you've created with our bare hands. It’s tough, it’s tragic, but it’s life. My life.

Lifting my heavy head, with cramping neck and trap muscles reminding me of the strain, I reach forward grasping at the thick black bars ahead of me. If I had the strength, the resolve, I’d use every ounce of my energy to escape this place. The bars, their imposing picture, become a constant reminder of the space just beyond my confinement.

The trouble with all of this, the very crux of the situation, the pondering insights into this very state of mind, is that I'm probably still here because a part of me doesn't want to leave. It’s safe, confined, away from the world, a palace of misery with no golden slipper at the end of the road. If I could turn anything into something else I just might. My companions, the stone walls, the dust, the shallow mattress, are all so perfectly safe. Maybe I'm deluded, promising myself that there’s bail just around the corner. A solution, a rescue, someone to take my problems away from me. Heaven knows I've placed my faith in others before, prescribed to them my perfect prescription of cocktailed comfort, but we all know that I'm the only one that can escape this place.

Using the bar to steady myself, I rise, slowly, to stand as tall as I possibly can. At any point, at any time of life, I can stand as I have just done, I can change my thinking and proclaim my innocence. It’s possible. I can dive, from this place, into an ocean of freedom. Sure, of course, I might not be able to swim once I get there but, amongst anything else that can be said, I’d prefer to try than die as I am in this place. 

I know the solution, I know the issues within and the cause of this cancerous position that I'm in. I realise that my dis-ease will form the disease that finishes me off, so right now, this very second, I have to decide. I have to take a single, solitary, motionless second to change something, to change anything, but most of all I have to realise that this prison, this very place, is all in my own solitary mind. It’s up to me to simply… Break free.


So many people suffer from mental issues and, thankfully, there are millions of people that do care and ‘can’ care as many have been through situations or can at least try to appreciate or connect to those feelings.  There is hope and there always will be. Talk. Talk to yourself… Find an answer.

-6,188 suicides were registered in the UK and 451 in the Republic of Ireland since records began.
-The highest suicide rate in the UK was for men aged 40–44.
-The highest suicide rate in the Republic of Ireland was for men aged 25–34 (with an almost identical rate for men aged 45–54).
-Rates have increased in the UK (by 3.8%), England (by 2%), Wales (61.8%) and Northern Ireland (18.5%) since 2014 – however increases in Wales and Northern Ireland may be explained by inconsistencies in the processes for recording suicides in these countries.
-Rates have decreased in Scotland (by 1.4%) and the Republic of Ireland (by 13.1%) since 2014.
-In England and the UK, female suicide rates are at their highest in a decade.
-Male rates remain consistently higher than female suicide rates across the UK and Republic of Ireland – most notably 5 times higher in Republic of Ireland and around 3 times in the UK

Thursday, 31 August 2017


Waiting, patiently, daydreaming, while playing with a cuff link, he stood next to the door as people walked past his view. He wanted to tap his foot, giving in to his impatience, but he knew better than to allow his mind to take over his view of the current world. People watching, resolving their situations, playing a game within his mind imagining how each of them interacted with the people alongside them.

To his left, the table closest to the expansive glass building front, sat an elderly couple. Both silent, they themselves people watching, having lived an extensive life travelling the world. Perhaps they’d really seen it all, with nothing left to say other than timeless silence, but at least he could see that they were still holding hands. Both of them, viewing the world, taking in the youth around them, probably thinking that life was simpler back in their day. It was, more than likely, with a stiff slap across the head if you stepped out of line. He let a very small, silent, expressive smile appear on his lips for the briefest of seconds before composing himself.

The couple at the table, to his far right, by the cashier’s desk, looked vaguely dissatisfied. Probably annoyed at being so close to the main walkway or, more than likely, they’d had an argument. The man sat leaning back in his chair, arms crossed saying nothing as she tapped a rhythm of intent onto her phone. She was messaging, not texting as that’s yesterday’s thing, which meant a dinner picture probably sending itself into the world. All it would take is one second, one moment of compassion and understanding, for both of them to smile again but, of course, that would be far too easy.

Just next to the desk, the lift doors opened, with people flowing forth in their quick rush to be somewhere else. These were the high rollers, the type that wouldn’t stand for such a restaurant, despite it already being far above what people would call normal. This place was special, but where they arrived from, it probably all seemed mediocre. Divisions, lines, scales of balance, all meant to keep people segregated in an invisible whisper of diversity.

With a quick glance to his right, taking in the view, he caught a glimpse of a gentleman glued to his phone walking slowly to the male conveniences. Probably an Entrepreneur, wanting to be noticed, judging by the level of noise being made by his voice. Brash, with a stylish hair design, new, spotlessly clean, to the point of over indulgence. He'd caught the eye of a lady standing over by the bar, threw a wink and a smile her way, then opened the door and vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. The lady, returning to her drink, smile falling from her face, looked discomforted and, of course, alone.  Good looking, striking even, with just under shoulder length hair and an outfit to much her ability to gain male attention. The shoes, obviously matching her bag and accompanying accessories, added the extra significance and charm.

Returning his view, to carefully look ahead into the area, he brought his attention to himself. A quick look downwards at his shoes, which were still viciously clean, a wobble of his tie, meant that he was still as he should be. Clean, crisp, equally fresh as the start of the night, waiting for her to appear for the second time. He didn’t mind the wait, not even for a second, as this was what he was made for, his purpose, to ensure that they both experienced the night as intended. Warm laughter, a meal where they could both flirt over a glass of wine, while wondering when and where they could both be alone, again.

The door, beside him, opened with a small whoosh of sound and he quickly composed himself. She was beautiful, magnificent, to him, in every single way. Each time he saw her again, every second, just seemed to be that experience that he longed for. He knew, no matter what, that he did have a job to do but this was more than a job, it was a lifetime. All other situations, all other people, no longer mattered as much as they did before. She smiled and, as she placed the final small implements back into her purse, they both started to walk towards the door.

With two quick steps he’d closed the gap between them and the exit. With one swift motion, while checking the area outside, he opened the door with a smile. She smiled back at him, saying ‘thank you’, as he followed behind her closing the door as he went. He carried the smile with him, realising the ease at which he respected her as this, after all, is the least of what a husband should and could do.

Wednesday, 23 August 2017


With steady hands, being minutely careful, the knife gently pressed against the artery and the importance of the situation suddenly became clear. One wrong move, a flinch, one small miniscule movement and the situation could be lost forever. The beads of sweat appeared across my forehead, my heart suddenly banging against my throat lining, reminding me, grasping at my thoughts, enlightening me to the dire position that I’d managed to get myself into.

The damage, as is often the case, was 60% inflicted by another, 30% self-caused and the remaining 10% an utter mystery. Even with eyes wide open, even with the smartest of minds, the best of intentions, we simply leave ourselves open to so much pain and suffering that it’s a wonder that any of us venture forward into the world.

The beeping sounds, emanating from machines and possible others in the room, all began to spin inside my mind. An impossible task, hardly considered a professional at such things, but I could never be chastised for not trying or at least caring. I'm a fixer, a problem solver, a solution finder and that’s remained with me since I solved my own issues. Despite life trying to remove such things from my consciousness, it’s still there, yearning, asking, trying to find the world to make things right. Either way, in this day and age, people seldom ask for help when presented with the Social Network of attention. A new age.

Looking at the void of another person’s heart, I swallow my fear, maybe even a miniscule taste of pride, readying myself to scrape away the disease inflicted by another. We speak such tepid words into the world, with vapid feelings, thinly veiled shouts for help, all the while knowing that what we think forms how we heal.

This person in front of me, right now, had entrusted her safety to another, interlocking their hands together, their lives, only to find that people can often change and become such monsters. It was too late, once you've fallen for the wrong person. It’s a shame as we’re all searching for something. Someone. A place to call home. We often fail to leave, until it’s too late, due to fear or a host of other ideals.

Scraping away the evil attached to the arteries, carefully, trying to erase the years of abuse, I suddenly see a clearing of hope. It’s possible, there’s light wherever we decide to look, if we decide to see such things. The trouble with life, with people, is that we sometimes simply don’t want to heal. We want to submerge ourselves in the pain, the loss, the ever-comforting dark whispers of a forgotten familiar friend.

I can see you sliding backwards, into the dark place you've called home for far too long. Leave, run away, get out, destroy that place, it’s but a creation of your own mind. Release yourself from that place. There can be windows where you only see a wall. There can be a door within the dark room of nothing. You control you and once you decide, you can be freed. You need not one other person than your own heart. Your mind. The strength given to you from the moment you were born. Survive. Thrive. Become more.

Although the task is an arduous task, a mountainous pursuit, no matter the outcome, I will always try to heal a broken heart. Although you need no other to accomplish this task, right now, for these seconds, I’ll help and guide until you’re able to move forward.  We, together, can repair some of the damage and the rest is up to you. Never stop fighting. Never stop believing in yourself and, at all times, repair your thoughts and heart.

With careful caring hands, I lean forward, touching your heart, reminding you that everything will be okay. You, after all, have survived this far into life so we can, honestly, survive the next few hours. A smile escapes through the fear, the solemn tears drying under your eyes, with hope threatening to keep your heart afloat. There’s hope, always, in all life.  Readying myself, taking stock of the situation, I hold your heart in my hands and brace myself. It’s time to hear the entire story, warts and all, with both sides possibly making an appearance and, within myself, a small part of my own heart escapes and connects with yours.

This is life, real life, with a person’s issues being larger than any other life. It’s expected. It’s permissible. It’s called being human. Now, please, tell me everything... .

Tuesday, 22 August 2017


I heard a whisper, maybe even barely a thought, that seemed to want to resound throughout the world. The universe laughs, already at peace with the balance that we crave instilled into every corner, lacking on this very world of ours.

I heard a few words, nearly breaking through the deafening silence, created from spouting the same said rhymes and rhythms. It seems that the more people scream, the more they shout, asking to be heard by all, the more we switch off, fail to listen or even become swept away with the life we, as well as they, lead each day. When I was younger, listening through the silence, watching, waiting, too young to truly appreciate, I wanted to understand but didn't know what, the where, let alone the why.

A sentence forms, it appears in front of me, wondering and asking to be understood. I'm failing, am I succeeding, not sure of the reasons why I need the message at all. I'm lead by the words spoken on an elongated box, or the spouted poison spread through the on-line frequencies. Misunderstood, maybe, disproportioned, of course and misconstrued all day long. The words are created by others to control, to make you obey, play nice, to stay nasty, to mistrust and scorn others.

I’m close to visioning a paragraph, a strong structure of letters forming the many words. The font increases, becoming bold, starting to seem ever so heavy. We’re not built for such depth, the words that can free hold so much weight that it threatens the very world that’s been built for us. It’s heavy, foreboding, always keeping us on a knife edge yet happy with our new purchase.

I ignore the further whispers, replacing them, blanking them, ignoring their ever presence in my world. I block the weight, I remove the guilt, standing tall from my own two feet and morals. I do hear the words, I see their meaning, while others remain oblivious, but I am, we are, just the few within the very many. I could exhale my words, as I do, as I am with the typing clicks from this very keyboard, but there’s a limit to the truth that can be heard.

I raise my hand, blocking those heavy whispering vipers in the world, I've finally had enough and can no longer listen with the mind that I have. I respond with kindness, I realise that I do care, which is something that the media doesn't want. I summon my own thoughts, my further whispers, forming my own stability from within. Smiling, understanding, I proclaim to the world,

“If there were a thousand words, spoken in a thousand cities by a thousand people, hopefully, surely, the message of love would spread throughout the world.”

These are the whispers that we need, those are the kind of paragraphs that can conquer the hatred, the injustice, the idiocy of the way the world works, the kind of sentiment that the universe would be proud of.

Let’s start whispering.

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

Vie Heureuse

Stepping from the train, onto the solid surface, I drown away the surrounding noise with my innermost thoughts. I've been here, many times, on many occasions, travelling from place to place but on this day, this very day of days, I've returned to that one special place that holds my heart. Steady, calm, with nothing but a selfless smile across my face, I start the ever knowing walk to the destination ahead.

I recall the first time I arrived here, to the same hustle and bustle of daily life, people shouting, pushing and clambering to jump onto the train. Maybe most of them were escaping, back then and now, as a paradise to one could often be a hell for another. Either way, so far, not a great deal had changed. They say that when you travel through life you miss so much, with closed eyes, but for me, on occasions such as this, I try to slow time to ensure I take in as much as possible. A people watcher, a location learner and one of those that wants to experience as much as possible.

Walking from the train station, to the world outside, the sky loomed overhead, which for once was thankfully filled with blue instead of a grey. I turned left heading up the street. I’d often travel light, knowing that each destination would possess the required extras. We, as a people, can clutter, gathering as much of something or everything as possible. Travelling light meant no fuss, no error, always ready to run in case of being late or a taxi needing to be chased. To be ready, to know everything around you, meant a connection existed between you and the world. I’d like to believe that such a thing could exist but, as with many ideals and actions, as long as it made me believe in a better way, the task was accomplished.

People around me started to vanish, fade into the background, as my location wasn't exactly in the main area of town. It was secluded, off the beaten track, a prize to find and own. The magic in each location was seemingly handed to you, but the real magic was often behind the scenes. Life can be hidden, swept away, degraded into the b-roll of creative video. I, personally, would prefer to see everything that’s on offer. Warts and all. Show me the worst with the best, the great with the decrepit. Don’t hide. I know it’s there, even with each person, I know that we have things we’d prefer to hide, but even the grandest building, the most beautiful location, has cracks along the surface. It is life, it’s the experience, ready to be lived, loved and adored.

The buildings started to close in on each other, the path ahead shrinking to barely accommodate two people walking side by side. Silence, a range of colour from the overhanging clothes, drying with the aid of the sun, I could smell baking of some kind. Wonderful, filling, beautiful baking. Natural, real, all adding to the ambience and attraction of this place. A feeling of warmth flooded through me, into my veins, holding my heart with care and remembrance. Recalling the previous times I’d visited here, with each time affording something new, original, breath taking, I once again reminded myself of the reason why I returned here again and again. Beauty wasn't just the kiss from a lover’s lips, or the fragrance of a body, it could be absolutely anything at all if you chose to see it that way. Slightly overwhelmed with a slight rush of emotion, recalling the happy times, the sad moments, I stopped for a second. Just a small second.

Taking in the brickwork on the floor, the cat nonchalantly looking at me through the window, the background noise of a person cycling from left to right, I carry on moving forward. Ever forward. I remember a wise old man, all those years back, giving me some wise information. He told me, ‘no matter what you do, use each day to move forward. Even if it’s one single small step. The future doesn't matter as the future is but one second away’. He was right, he knew this to be true and according to the world, it made sense. In the blink of an eye the whole world could change.

A smile started to appear across my face as I neared my destination. Once in a lifetime, maybe even twice if you’re lucky enough, you could share a dream with someone. You can bloom, grow, become a better person and to me, this place, is where I became who I am today. We only ever used careful hands with each other, we only ever expressed our thoughts with kindness and love. In a thousand miles, with all the wonders of the world, this one little space, right here, meant more to me than all of those wonders.

Standing there, in front of the door, taking in the dark green painted wood, the quaint door knock, with the engraved lion head, I smiled another smile and laughed a little as all of the thoughts came flooding through. Raising my hand, placing it onto the door’s surface, a few small tears escaped through my eyes. The emotions ranged from grief, love, loss, pain and more. None of them removed my smile. This place, albeit a memory as I’d not lived here for 10 years, was ours for over 45 years until that day, that final day, where you left this world for a new adventure. 

We’d said goodbye, as I held you in my arms, looking through the window and listening as I’d done since the train arrived. I’d made it my purpose, my living objective, to eventually settle here. All my affairs were concluded, dots crossed and everything signed, I’d left the current life to return to this place. Free, ready, the remaining years set to be reminded of you. Removing my hand from the door I reached into my jacket pocket, finding the key, returning to place the key into the lock. Turning, with time seemingly pausing, all sounds erased from my current mind, I could hear the mechanism turn and with a small push the door opened.

A small moment of hesitation invaded my mind, be it fear, loss, it did not matter. Today was right now and each day, before this day, had led to this moment. Stepping forward, embracing the destination, I walked into this home of homes. Turning, slightly, I looked back into the street, remembering, recalling, all of the moments of that life. Slowly, with thoughts relaxing in my mind, I closed the door and exhaled slightly. A new life, a new start, began today on this very day.

I recall the first time I arrived here, to the same hustle and bustle of daily life, people shouting, pushing and clambering to jump onto the train. Maybe most of them were escaping, back then and now, as a paradise to one could often be a hell for another. Either way, on that day, everything changed. They say that when you travel through life you miss so much, with closed eyes, but for me, on occasions such as this, I try to slow time to ensure I take in as much as possible. On that first day, I’d met you.

Vie Heureuse – Happy Life

Wednesday, 26 July 2017


The tapping noise, emanating from all around, echoed through the house, through the halls and into the room where Daniel sat. Motionless, calm, sedate even, just listening to the ambience. Moving two of his fingers the pencil tapped, with the rhythm of the rain, on the page. Breathing in through his nose, slowly, then out of his mouth, he could feel his heartbeat slowing, the beats, all merging to the tapping of the rain, the pen and life. Tap, tap and another tap. Calm, almost creating a fever of pure silence, other than the zoned beats, he opened his eyes and decided to move from this exact spot within the house.

Walking along the long hallway, running his fingertips across the wall as he walked, he softened his gaze to again listen to the sounds around him. As his gaze softened he also turned his attention to the wall. Hundreds of small bumps smoothed past his senses as each fingertip glided. This was an old house, a prestigious house, lived in, a warmth emanating through the rooms and wooden rafters. He smiled as he imagined the happy times, the solemn times, the heart breaking moments and, of course, the love most certainly moulded over time.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Daniel glanced at the stairs, then started to climb the steep vertical mass of wood while holding onto the old banister.  Each footstep created its own unique sound, ensuring that no-one could ever sneak around this house. With each squeak he smiled a little more, actually trying to bypass the noise by placing a foot to the side of a few steps. Nothing worked which only added to the poignant ear moving moments.

Reaching the top of the stairs, slightly cramped, he lifted his arms slightly to press against the loft hatch and, with one swift movement, lifted the hatch and placed it to the left of the opening. Vanishing from his view, with a further tap of his hand, he braced himself as, with one leg positioned onto the small window sill next to him, he lifted himself into the loft and wobbled slightly as he lifted the rest of him into the loft. Mission accomplished, now surrounded by wooden beams, he stood, slightly stooped, looking out of the large window a few metres in from of him.

Lying on his back, the large window behind, with pencil and paper to his side, he again closed his eyes and just listened to the calm. To many the sound of rain would hardly convey a sense of calm but, to him, it meant that he could embrace his imagination, connect to his creative side, think of things that only a child would imagine. Earlier he’d day dreamed of flying, dreamed of souring into the heavens, but that was then and this is now.

Once again tapping his pencil onto the loft floor, in sync with the beating rain tapping away all around him, he imagined and caressed his thoughts. This house, like many homes, must have been a home of love. Each day, each weekend, every single year, a couple would sit, together, holding hands while laughing about the silly things they’d done in their youth. This wasn’t a place of conflict, a rhythm of pain, or solace, as the rooms were far too warm for any of that, this was an ideal made real. The paintings, in many of the rooms, displayed a wealth of prosperity. The rooms were painted with calm colours, noting nothing of a confused mind, with a garden meticulously maintained.

The rain kept on pouring over and around the house, never ending, never ceasing to create a rhythm of life. Daniel imagined that the couple, who owned the home, would hold each other in bed, just listening to the calm around them, rain or otherwise, as they shared their time together. It was a beautiful thought, a thought that he’d like to create, right there, right now. Mentally, most certainly physically, with his emotions agreeing, he would buy this house as soon as he possibly could. It didn’t matter that a few of the wires needed replacing, it wouldn’t bother him that the fences needed a lick of paint, as what he was looking for was a certain feeling. The rain spoke to him, in this house, unlike the other houses and, basically, he wanted to move into an emotion instead of bricks and mortar. This was for him, this would be for the both of them, as he had the final choice of the three selected by his partner. This was the one.

He truly, to his very core, knew that emotion played such an important part in life. No matter the rain, the clouds of life, no matter how many stairs they had to climb, as long as it was together they’d reach the finish line and, on that day, that very day, as long as it was raining just like today, with his hand in his partner’s hand, he’d smile until the very last second.

Closing his eyes, one more time before he knew that he had to attend to certain business aspects, he again listened to the rain. With each beat, he heard purpose, he could feel the smile and energy around him and he knew, he damn well knew, that today was going to be a fine day for rain.

Friday, 21 July 2017


Looking through the window, into the street ahead, noticing the trees move as the dramatic wind tries to enforce its will onto the world. Alone, almost banished to this place, I need to become something new, a little bit more, of a thing designed to withstand this world that we inhabit. I might just need a hero.

As a child I used to dream of flying, taking those initial steps backwards in order to create space, before running as fast as I could until the sky embraced my moving arms. In my dreams, my waking mind, it all seemed so easy. Life would lift you, kiss you when needed, rising your body to a place of tranquillity and escapism. I’d fly, over the rooftops, into the sky, feeling free above everything.

Life, unfortunately, grounds you, holding you there, forcing that will of subservience onto us all. I can feel the lines, not just across my face and under my eyes, as the lines are cracks forming within my resolve, I can feel them within my very soul. I stand stoic, as much as possible, as probable as it can all be, but to rise above all of this takes that small slice of energy.

Looking to the sky, asking for a healer of words, an action that resolves all inner conflict, I realise that the world is the one that is hurting. We’re hurting. We’re existing within a construct designed to keep us busy, defined, contained, restrained and controlled until the very day we pass from this world.

I return to the flying day dream as a smile appears across my lips. Wouldn’t it be amazing, wouldn’t it be fun? To fly, to soar, to escape. We’d probably be taxed on flying at that point. A wry grin appears, a small laugh acknowledging the sudden break and negativity injected into my thoughts. I didn’t think that way as a child, I didn’t know that the world is the way it is.

I don’t want to ignore the world, I don’t want to scream until my lungs ask me to stop, but the more I age the more I realise that we’re living in a twisted, dark, solemn world. Once you realise this prospect you can, thankfully, grasp at the beauty that we’re surrounded by. We have so many things to be thankful for yet, at times, we hardly even know they exist. The dark thin box, in the corner of our room, makes sure that we’re contained.

I said that I need a hero, a healer, a spark of light to infuse my mind as my heart has cut itself from my thinking. I need a hero, a true believer in another system of thinking, living, surviving and being. The fallacy of such a thought is that, in this world, our world, there’s no such thing as a hero. There are no super powers, there is no way for me to truly fly, on my own without technical aid and history knows that heroes, in human form, are often cut down before they could even try to fly.

Looking through the window, into the cold avenue of my own life, I notice that the trees are now static, no longer ruled by the circumstances of the moment. Alone, most certainly realising my situation, I know that I will become something brand new, a lot better, with light shining through my mind. I know that, right now, I need to become my own hero.

Monday, 26 June 2017

Mother Ireland

“Be brave, finish the task, get it done and don’t look back!” is something that, this week, I've had to drill into my own skull. Procrastination shouldn't be a friend of mine, shouldn't even be a Facebook friend or Instagram viewer, but that darn person, that thing, the type of person within you often looks over the parapet of life and sniggers into your ear.

The world’s greatest mystery might be love between two consenting adults, that crazy struggle of hearts, but there’s also the mystery of why it takes us so long to do what we really want to do. I don’t, after all the years, get a kick from nine to five or even eight until late. I value freedom, creativity, the desire deep within smouldering away begging for you to let it loose into the world.

I've done just that, nearly, kind of, as it’s too late to back down now.  I wrote a book once, just over half way through my second when life jumped in the way but, after this next venture, I’ll get right back on that. Promise. Cross my heart. Etc. .

May I present to you all:

Over 8 hours of travelling, more than 2 hours of drone media, recording studio set-up, 2 more hours of recording my own face, editing the audio to remove most of the spikes and background hum and other stuff. 6 hours of editing and I've finally arrived at 23 minutes of video. Yes… that’s all!
This video is about life and what Ireland is to me. It’s simple, it’s about me opening my heart and showing weakness. It is, again, about life and… the end of that life. It’s quite sad, in a way beautiful, so hopefully you’ll take what you will from it.

Overall, there’s a serious message for everyone to understand.

Release date: This week. Check my Youtube channel for updates!

Monday, 19 June 2017

Drone Life

Sweat dripping down my face, breathing heavy, heart beating while trying to escape from my chest, another step is taken as eyes glance forward and up. Only another twenty heavy, unrelenting, savage slate steps to go before the shade can be reached. It’s one of the hottest days of the year, so far, thus deciding to scale the side of a mountain via slate created steps, which always seems like a great idea when presented as an adventure, isn't that wise.

The sweat keeps on coming, as the shade appears and, sitting down, I can feel the sick feeling rise in my stomach, chest and head. I've pushed a bit too hard, willed my body to glance past limits or, another way of thinking about it, is that I'm not as fit as I used to be and it’s showing. Gym here I come. Being able to bench press x or y is no help in this place, surrounded by near silence, with a view to die for. Maybe literally.

Breathing in through my nose, then out slowly through my mouth, I find a stable place and a smile rises onto my lips. The only time I've ever been ill was around the age of 16, forcing myself to scale that hill located in Cwm, without stopping once. I did it but fell to my knees and the rest is history. It’s good to push limits, it’s an exhalation of who you could be, should be, if you’d will your mind to push past its own safety limits.

Onwards, ever upwards, into the cave ahead and beyond. The cool air hits me, thankfully, but there’s no respite for my already weary legs. It’s Lucozade time. Believe it or not, being a mildly placid person that I am, Lucozade is usually ignored, as the stuff makes me angry. Blood flowing angry. It’s what I need as that anger can be turned into something needed to drive my legs.

The second wind appears as the sun literally beams down onto my frame. I need to buy a hat and, seeing as this was the first outing for my walking shoes, a hat could be a prudent decision and frankly quite wise. My eyes start to sting as the salty sweat finds its way into everything.

The top. It’s here. It’s grandeur impresses, even if it’s tried to kill me, I still move forward. There is an easy track, a very easy track, but why would you want to walk on that? You might miss something amazing which, as the drone is with me, sounds silly as I could just fly here! Real life, real views, real impressions is what I prefer. After all, if you’re going to go somewhere, really, really go there. Don’t waste any energy and make sure you’re satisfied along the way.

I have no chocolate, only a bottle of water, a dwindling bottle of crazy Lucozade and no hat. Better be quick as heat stroke is never a good thing. The view, this is what it’s for, the darn amazing view. We only have a select few days, in the U.K., that feature amazing weather so every single one of those days must be experienced. Of course, in my younger days, I didn’t see it quite like that but that was until the darn drone arrived.

Even though any financial setting, be it a castle, a few fields in the middle of nowhere, if there’s money involved you will not be able to bring your drone. It’s blatantly obvious now that I’ve been flying for a while, which is a shame, but that’s the way it is. Despite that there’s the hunt. You just want to get better, to grab beautiful shots and, on my varied travels, I’ve seen so many amazing settings. I’ve been to quite a few places around the world, with many more to come, but the United Kingdom, away from the crazy violence, bombs, attacks and other upsets, is beautiful.

All we have to do is believe, to explore, to venture forward, to see what’s out there. It will get you, one day, as the mind craves stimulation even though it denies it all.  I like bikes, I like drones, not a fan of running, but these places have opened my mind to many, many smiles. I’ve a drone life which, thankfully, gets me out there into the real world.

The Drone Life.

P.s. My new walking shoes have now met the sludge that fills random mountain bogs. Yuck.

Tuesday, 30 May 2017

Political Life Rant

Nothing has changed, in the great scheme of things, other than finding new and exciting ways of distracting us from life. We realise, on our last day, that we've missed so very, very much. We still have our overlords, our pretend saviours that rule with rules and fines while they, themselves, escape perusal and persecution.

It is fine, it’s okay, it doesn't matter, as we’re warm in our beds and safe as protected hearts. It doesn't seem to be a realistic scenario, the thought of working, paying, until the end of our time, despite there being renewable energy right in front of our eyes. It’s not supposed to get easier, as we’re controlled, withheld, a step back from where we really could be.

In an ideal world each of our saviours, the educated, trained, saviours that rule over our thoughts and actions, would be taken to a room and fired. Each one. Asked to leave. It’s obvious, it’s right in front of your eyes, that there’s still a class system at work in our very society. We’re constantly told that we’re all special, the same, no matter the colour, height, stance or creed, yet mock anyone or anything that’s even slightly different than ourselves. It’s a taught trait, it’s passed from generation to generation and, no matter the tolerance, will still end with a 10 year old being offered a cigarette at the back of a playground.

This is life, this might be your life, it’s my life, but only together can we stop the greed and consumption. We’re still fixated on printing, with paper, despite there being a wealth of technical diversions. We’re now pacified. Each level, no matter the media, we’re fed images of what and how we’re supposed to look, how we’re to feel, yet the undertone of fear and hostility, with a spoon full of hatred for others, is played like the finest clarinet to fill our ears.

Ideally I resist, normally I ignore, but the further the years advance I'm becoming more and more baffled by the way things still remain the same. Fraud, at the highest level, is part of the normal working day. It’s madness, it’s shameful but, if I were there, what would I do?  I’d like to believe that I’d be better, that I’d do what’s right, but until we’re sitting on that chair, on top of the mountain, looking down, we have no idea what poison may manage to quickly seduce our minds. Maybe the first step would be to stop looking down… .

Each day we’re lucky, actually lucky, not to be assaulted, robbed, or worse. That, however, is outside in the real world. Inside our homes we’re legally threatened, charged excessive amounts, forced to buy TV licences and even pay for basics such as water.  The Basically Biased Crooks place agendas In front of our eyes and the mainstream media promote diversion and segregation. It’s shockingly obvious, it’s painfully puerile, but it keeps all of us in line.

One day, maybe one day, we’ll be allowed to wake up and actually have faith in people that seemingly control our lives.

Life Map

Looking at the map, the lines, all of the names, I throw a small smile onto my face as I glance at the various places I've been. Exploring, at an earlier age, wasn't something I attained to but, now that I'm that bit older, I've realised that venturing forward fits into my desire to create. Explore, create, relive, smile, laugh and move on.

The lines twist across the page, connected, joined, reaching forward to a world that begs for each of us to explore. Sometimes we stop, the junction looming into view, stopping as we’re not quite ready to drive ourselves forward. Left, or right, forward being the direct option, with reverse as the last diversion.

Looking up, from the map, I backtrack and realise that reverse can sometimes be useful, at times, if you know a quicker way forward that’s just behind you. Smirking, a crafty look, with eyes falling back to the map. I know that we prefer speed, to rush to the next step, but there’s obviously fuel to be considered. Energy, support, type pressure, oil levels and snacks to think about.

The plan, the journey, the best laid plans, often being thrown into the wind in favour of another flavoured adventure. Why not plan the trip, to an extent, then throw caution away and just go wild. There’s places, faces, many races, all there offering adventure, exploration, smiles and maybe even a little danger. We, after all, only have today to live as tomorrow is then but, we’re here now, moving forward.

Maybe you’ll bite your lip, slip the gear stick into gear, lifting your foot with the clutch, slowly, feeling the bite and then after checking each direction, dare to move directly forward. We all know what we’d like, or at least have a reasonable expectation, so only we can drive ourselves there. Others can assist, maybe even drop you off at a destination, but the final drive will always, always, come from within.

We know where we've been, we ultimately know where the very last final journey will take us, so exploring the very map of life can sometimes be a viable thing to do. Personally, privately, I’d prefer to go crazy, to explore, to simply drive to destination A, to see B, C, D and E. Each corner affords a new experience, to go wild, to be crazy, to be silly, to explore and to experience. We've lived the mundane, we’re existing in a controlled world, so find that highway that has no speed limit and just drive.

Looking at the map, the places, all of the names, I throw a small smile onto my face as I glance at the various places I need to visit. Exploring the person that I am, at my current age, is something I attain to do now that I'm that bit older, as I'm realising that venturing forward fits into my desire to create.

Explore, learn, understand, smile, laugh and move on. 

Thursday, 11 May 2017

Real Life

Over the many years, at supposedly random moments, I've felt loss and pain. I know that I'm no different, better, or worse, than anyone else, but it’s still something that’s happened to me. Most of us have loved, lost, watched people walk away or even, which is also quite possible, walked away from individuals. Of course none of us, I hope, meant to hurt anyone but that’s this thing called life.

Right now, today, this moment that’s being shared via the power of words, I'm scattered across the floor and room. A thousand little bits. Maybe even a million. I'm not going to count.  Being this divided, across said room, is literally forcing me to face a thousand memories. Each little bit of me, this person, has a thought to share and exclaim. That would be okay, as I'm used to a hundred thoughts flashing across my mind, but in this case each thought wishes to torture my soul.

We've all felt doubt, felt lost, even felt guilty, but for me they’re all emotional moments bombarding my mind over and over again. Usually, when under pressure, I find a solution, I look to the positive while thinking how the negative might come into play but, no matter what, I rise as that’s what I need to do. I know what needs to be done. I act. Even if it takes a week, a month, after each angle’s explored, I act.  Now, today, I'm truly stuck screaming for an answer.

There is no answer. My Mother passed away, she’s no longer here and, just the thought of that, makes me cry pure anguish into the world. I’m so angry, almost broken, that the person that’s held my hand from the moment I arrived into the world is no longer here. Then, the next second, all I feel is her memory trying to tell me that I’ll be okay.

This weekend I visited Ireland which, in a way, is facing certain aspects head on. I don’t know the answer. Time heals all but, in this case, there is no healing from this situation. I almost feel that I need to literally bleed tears until I can heal but I just don’t know how to do that. I’ve been brought up, more or less trained, to be self-sufficient. I’ve spent so much time on my own that I do not know how to share these aspects of my life which means, when I’m on my own, I grasp at a chance to let the emotion free. I cry, I scream, I wrestle with the thoughts until the calm invades everything again.

There is no escape from who you are and how you feel. There is no vision of a perfect solution. I can feel my mind, in the background, speaking with my heart, trying to resolve the issues and conflict within. I know that they’ll find a solution, eventually, as that’s how stubborn I must be. I know that I’m not the only person feeling the madness that wants to take control, but I, we, won’t let it.

Life isn’t fair, it’s not meant to be, as it’s natural, progressing forward no matter the cost or implications for feelings, family or anything else. There is a time for all things. Right now, this time in my life, is a time to heal and grow. How on earth I can grow I truly do not know but I still have hope. From all pain there can flow a better path.

I’ll carry on crying, I’ll carry on shouting at random objects, I’ll find a way to let the pain escape as that’s as much as any of us can do. It hurts like hell, it literally makes me want to scream, to thrash around damning the world, but that’s not fair as I can hardly ever expect lenience from a world where no special favour is provided by nature. This is the natural order that has always been, will always be, without question or divergence.

In a way, my own little way, this blog is my own little fountain of expression. I can type, then type more words, slowly and quietly, letting my thoughts escape into the world until I divert to fiction again. This is real life, this is happening now, but tomorrow might just be a work of fiction. I truly hope so.


Being aware of your own feelings, your thoughts, how you're coping with the world is important so please, no matter how you do it, share!

There's friends, family and forums that should hopefully be ready to listen

Thursday, 20 April 2017


Behind those eyes of yours, I can see that you’re a warrior, a stoic hero of life, strong, resilient, conquering, despite the many pieces of yourself strewn across the floor, from previous inflicted damage. You’re brutal, you’re soft, with cracks pieced together with the super glue of promise and hope, admonishing yourself with clear impudence, while caressing your wounds as you pour from a newly formed break.

No matter where or when I am, in this world of ours, I can close my eyes, hearing my own heart beating as I imagine words whispered from your lips. It doesn't matter what you say, as instead, it’s how you say them that works the way they do. I'm entranced, taken within your spell, all knowing and feeling when you’re within my orbit.

I know your life, I've felt it, known it on the many nights of abandonment and feeling. You've been hurt, you've been cured, broken again and again but no matter the situation or crime, you've always, always, surfaced for air. No matter the scar, no matter the depth of the many cuts, you’re one of the few that can still smile and throw it all aside. It might take an army of insults, a magnitude of selfish acts, before you raise a stern eyebrow. I know you can exhale your pain, throwing the tears into the world, but that’s your safety margin and sacrifice.

I've seen you, know all about the moments, where you've found a corner of the room to hide. You've curled yourself, together, legs by your chin, your arms holding you together, as the pain broke through those current scars of yours, reaching for solace. No matter how you hide, no matter where you go, I know that you’re a fighter and survivor. In that place of yours, those moments, you feel with all your heart, exclaiming your disappointment with the world, realising, wondering and rationalising the many sides and victims of the situation.

That’s why I'm here, that’s why I care, that’s why I want you more than anyone in this world. You can see. You can exist despite it all, the injustice, the idiocy of life. Rising like that phoenix, which we've all be told about, you eventually appear, a survival re-birth, re-born anew. Mascara strewn across your face, mild lipstick ever so unkempt, all dried within the layer of tears. Eyes meet, hands join, lips cross together and the world is born again.

If there were only ever going to be one more day, after this very second, I know where I would be and reside. There wouldn't be a fantasy, there wouldn't be any games, it would just be you, me, somewhere warm and no words would be required. We’d speak, oh we would speak, in many, many ways.

Behind those eyes of yours, I can see that you’re a survivor, a brave follower of life, tender, giving, a little brash, despite being able to withstand anything life seems to throw at you. You’re a maverick, you’re outrageous, with skin as resilient as the hardest metal, hardly ever letting anything crack your resolve, dispendious to a fault, clearly astonishing and a woman that hardly ever knows any bounds in this world.

You are you and that’s why I love you. Always.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Opinion: When You're Just a Number...

Behind every database, in the world, there sits a number. It doesn't matter if you’re tall, petite, on the lovable side or slender bracket, you’re still a number. Your address is there, your phone number, maybe even a picture of your face depending on the platform but, as mentioned you’re a number and will only ever be that number.

All small businesses start off with healthy appetites, eager, maybe even brash, but ever hopeful of one day becoming the next big name. Maybe I'm being a bit too presumptuous, stating and using the word ‘all’, as some people actually like staying in their own corner of their world, with no reason or reliance on expanding. You might be one of those people if you own a business. Let’s place those healthy people aside for a moment and concentrate on the others.

You’re a business, starting out, already envisioning the future of wealth and prosperity. The future arrives, you've made it bigger and then one of two things might just happen. A bigger company comes along and snatches you up, amalgamates you into their fold, which often means that you’re destroyed or lost along the way. You’re a cog in a very, very, VERY big machine. You might scream, shout at the top of your lungs but, as expected, you’re drowned by the very nature of big business.

The other avenue is the most desired, the big time, the big name that everyone comes to know, speak of and visit. Sales are amazing, spectacular, plus expansion is going well. You hit a few speed bumps along the way, hire a few lawyers and follow the standard practise of things, ensuring that you, as well as your customers, are covered. 

You want to stay personal, special, treating each and every single person as they should be treated but, as I’m sure you’re aware, that’s not the way it goes. For the most part, within your day to day lives, buying from companies is an easy affair.  Within seconds your money flies through the wires and your product quickly arrives. Or, alternatively, you obviously collect your item from a store. Either way the result is that you’re happy (not that any product can truly make a person happy). 

eBay, one of the world’s most famous brands, recently developed a Concierge program which, in a vain effort to make people feel special, offered a cloud and mirror service to their ‘valued’ customers. To me, reading the literature, it seemed to afford the customer what they already had. Marketing, on the other hand, were obviously trying to make me ‘feel’ valued. I didn't. While the service was supposedly offered to me, due to being apparently special, it was also offered to my work account that had 84 feedback. All of the marketing bluster, the special warm words, fell apart into a void that made me smile.

Amazon, another one of the world brands, recently allowed to refund 85% of a return price which meant a loss, for me, of £293. Although I provided adequate proof of faults, links, explanations, I had absolutely no control of the situation at all. Customer services, albeit eager to help, all replied with the same comments be they on Facebook, twitter or via their portal.
Disillusioned, angered, annoyed? Not really. I played the game of the person angered by the process, calmly explaining the issues but, as you’re aware, it all fell on deaf ears. After exclaiming the situation, providing information, Amazon and Scan both fell silent due to the logic of details provided. 

Now that I've ranted, back to the blog. I'm a number. I'm not an actual person and, being honest, I can see how and why these situations exist. For every genuine, sincere, honest person returning an item, there will and always will be 10 other people who simply do not care and mistreat systems. But why shouldn't they? They are, after all, again, just a number on a database. In an ideal world, to which I expressed my dissatisfaction, someone, somewhere, within a company, should ‘own’ your issue. They tackle that issue from the very start to the very end. Even a rational counter argument would be sensible but, that’s not really possible, once you’re a number on a list that serves to provide a profit figure and more products to advertise.

Large businesses are not personal, they never can be, with their only solitary goal being to please shareholders and their bottom line. It’s soulless, it’s brutal consumption on an enormous level and, again with this honest thing, I'm also part of the problem. Big companies can own you, literally own part of your life. From the television you watch, the products that are pushed towards you, to trying to root themselves into your life to a point where you’re stuck.

In Amazon’s case, I have my book published on their platform, I buy all of my music from there due to Apple offering m4a instead of mp3 (Yes I know iTunes can convert), I'm a Prime member (cancelled) and, if they sold fruit, I’d probably buy that as well.

When all is written and read, when I sit down to think about these things, especially after being annoyed by the processes forced onto us (Right or wrong), I still cannot escape the fact that you, I, we, everyone, even to the medical, police and government, we’re still and always will be… just a number.

Monday, 10 April 2017

I Need To Go...

I need to go now. I wish that I was staying longer, if only for a few more moments, but life is calling me. I know that there’s a time, an imposed limit, thrown through the void into my life, but that’s okay and mostly accepted. This is where I am, who I’ll become, where I'm heading. If only, I bleed a wish, remembering that the universe cannot dare spare me more time.

I can hear voices, the many moments of time, echoing through my mind. The things I’ve done, the things that I should have done, the places I’d have liked to have visited but, instead, waited for a future moment and time. We all know that it waits for no-one, the life we lead, but there’s always tomorrow. Maybe.

I need to go now. There are lows to life, the wows that arrive from many facets, many avenues, along with the many smiles and moments of laugher. Sometimes, it really does feel, as if the moments all seem to be one. I’d beg for a year of laughter, a year of love, a year of kisses and a year of dreams. I’d gladly throw away the tears, although they’ve made me who I am, in order to just allow room for more adventures.

Life’s real, it doesn’t care for paper planes flying through the air, it doesn’t smile at a child’s laughter, as it’s been there, seen it all, broken down and thrown all the excuses into the darkest depths, then returned for more. It’s realism, it’s realistic, it’s brutal and, most of all, it’s the life we lead.

I need to go now. Looking to the sky, blinking as the sun shines into my soul, I know that there’s a time for everything, a place for everyone, even when that place is nowhere, you have to carry forward everything you leave in your mind. Escape, run away, leave, but above all, realise that you’ll still bring it all with you.

If there were easy solutions, I honestly, hand on heart, might not take them if I had a chance to live again. It’s that realism, the moments, the tears cried in those seconds, that have made us who we truly are on this day. The grass, they say, might be greener, but on which side, in what way, as that grass might be resting on forbidden soil. We just don’t know.

I need to go now. I’m away, I’m cutting away, leaving behind a few moments, a measure of pain, while keeping love within my heart. I know that I haven’t said much, explained myself, but that’s for me to know and for no-one to understand. I’m climbing back towards a healing place. I can feel the pressure, inside, hurting my heart and mind and, because of the person I am, I can no longer hold onto that place.

I need to go now, right now, as I have to heal. There’s a better place calling… .

Tuesday, 28 March 2017

Le Café

Stepping from the plane, each foot finding solid ground, again, after many hours flying through the sky, I exhale and start the slow walk. It’s been hours, days, weeks, months and, unfortunately, a few years, since I last saw your beautiful face. We’d met, years previous, in an old French corner café. Melodic music played, across the street, we caught each other’s eye and the rest’s history.

“Violins”, you’d stated, “Were your favourite instrument”, playing the perfect chord, amongst other thoughts expressed, on the day where we’d tried to impress each other with stories of life, love, loss and more. She had such beautiful eyes, not to mention her fabulous legs that seemed to be on show. Above all, no matter how she looked, it was her voice and words that grasped at my sanity.

They say that it only takes but a moment to feel connected, to share something more than a passing glance, which, in this case, seemed ever so true. We’d exchanged the usual contact details, connected through the digital age, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Whatsapp, plus a couple more. None of those mattered as they could hardly ever compare to actually being with her.

We’d walked, while talking, until we reached a beautiful garden, the Paris Gardens, if I recall. I was cheeky, in those days, brave, filled with such brawn and swagger, a man that knew what he wanted and would never be backwards in moving forwards. We held hands and, even, managed to sneak a small little kiss.

Reaching a flurry of roses, we’d closed eyes, feeling the rose petals against our fingertips and possibly soul. In the blink of an eye, the moment ended and we returned to our normal lives. Tragic, a sudden ending to a story that had hardly even begun. I’d often wonder what, where, how and if, if anything, what would have happened. Work, life, the requirements that trap you firmly to a certain point in time, kept us apart until now.

It’s strange, maybe even poetic, but I would often look through the few photos of that day, recalling, reminiscing, but the main photo was of the Café. Just the café. A place, a moment, minutes later, where we actually met. Sure, of course, I could see many photos on social media but I’ve longed to actually return to the place, to re-ignite that moment, firing off the usual stoic stance before the emotion takes over.

It’s not really about the past, or the future. I can always close my eyes, look back, feel, but that will never compare to living right there, in that second, the emotion in real time. If you’re not feeling, if you’re not aware that you’re alive, then a shallow existence awaits us all. I need to feel. I need to embrace. I, more than ever, realise that time is a luxury, afforded to each of us, until it ends and leaves us floating into the void.

Stepping from the plane, each heavy foot finding solid ground, again, after many hours flying through my mind, I smile and start the quickened walk. It’s been far too long, with too many days, even years, between this place and you. We’d met, years previous, in an old French corner café. Your melody escaped me after that day, where we’d caught each other’s imagination and, today, we’re going to create new moments of history. 

Thursday, 23 March 2017

Musical Fairy Tales

Each note, each tone, each solemn word, echoes through the room, into the hall, striking my senses with such comfort. I could sit here, alone, in this room, for hours and hours just listening. It’s not the words, it’s not really the thought of you, it’s the warmth in your voice that soothes me. Comforts me.  Your voice embraces me in ways that cannot be transcribed into words. A fairytale of life.

You could add a string quartet, a violin to pacify the soul, maybe even a brash harpsicle, but that simply wouldn't provide any further satisfaction. You’re a melody of thoughts, you’re a note within history, a musical symphony for my ever tired soul.

Entrancing, melodic, the whispers of words caressing my ears, trickling across my skin and into my heart. Strings, being played, a rhythm to raise the beating heart, flows into my world and I'm taken to a place I never thought I’d ever realise. If I knew that I wouldn't be caught, embarrassed, I’d possibly stand and move to your echo. Each word, I’d close my eyes, imagine, then feel until the song reached its end.

Suddenly, from nowhere, the words cease and my eyes open. Standing, placing the wine onto the table, I leave the room walking into the long corridor. Each footstep, ever closer, realising that each second in this world is precious, a melody that should be appreciated before the song ends.

I peer around the doorway, filling my eyes with the person that’s you. A smile escapes. A big, warm, caring smile. My eyes soften. You turn your head, ever so slightly, realising and, at the same time, recognising that I'm there. Shuffling musical paper, possibly manuscripts, finding the one that you need, the words flow from your heart once again.

I could fashion many thoughts, prescribe myself your words every single day, but one must not over indulge perfection. Your face lights the room as you sing, further moments etching themselves into my consciousness, ensuring that my affection always, always, reaches for you.

There are fairy tales, written by many, featured in sonnets across the entire globe, that fathom such tenderness, such emotion, yet not one compares to each moment with you. Listening to you. The words move the room and I, as I kiss your neck, feel each one of them.

Each note, each tone, each solemn word, echoes through the room, into my heart, soothing my senses with such comfort. I walk across the room, where I could stay, with you, for hours and hours just listening. It’s not the words, it’s not really the thought of you, it’s everything about you. Just you. Your presence makes me feel ways that cannot, will never ever, be transcribed into words. Fairy tales can, sometimes, come true.