floating in a hot tub at night is pleasant.

Clouds whisp and whisk endlessly past the moon
Beautifully fast, whizzing and whirling
Thrown powder, ink in water

The cold of night, the warm of the pool
Bittersweet is the most sweet

The stars are constant but wavering flames.

Just stop!

Oh, I’m covered in bruises
For something within me
Refuses to stop.

Just stop!

Stupid hippy diatribe.

Sometimes I read things, and they affect me deeply.
But more often I see them. I’m quite a visual person. It’s a wonderful sense to have.
Photographs mean a lot to me. Not just because I’m into photography, but because they have the power to tell a story. The phrase “a picture says a thousand words” can be true with the right picture.
That’s not to belittle or deride words. Words are probably equally as important, but often lose the impact of a picture.
I’m absorbed by the beauty of the things I see, and yet I feel I’m an imposter. I get lost within the moment and then stop to think about it rationally, logically and feel simply ridiculous.
I’m an imposter.

But that wasn’t the point of this post. The point of this post was to say that I have been deeply affected by war photographs recently. War is far more terrifying than the sugar coated view that we are shown in the press. War is awful.
And while at this point, I might be expected to say – and probably should – “maximum respect for our soldiers”, I won’t. I don’t feel that I can.

Our soldiers deserve respect, of course they do. They fight for us, for “the cause”, for whatever they want to fight for. They’re prepared to die for this, which shows so much more passion, commitment and drive (and for the cynical, brainwashing) than most people will ever show in their entire lives. That deserves so much respect.

But at the same time, think of the other side. What about their soldiers? We’re the terrorists to them. There’s a fine, fine line between freedom fighter and terrorist. Between right and wrong.

And what about the civilians? The killing of innocents will never be acceptable.

I say maximum respect to everyone and everything.

…Stupid hippy diatribe.

Ayayayayay

Blue magic sees the dream,
I share wonder in stars.
We understand little and believe in a moon.
How long must the chalky stillness remain?
I mirror quiet winter,
I answer not the sun.
You are silent joy,
Happy together.
You are the lake in my sea.
Always fall, laugh big.
Yes!
Glow.
Blue magic, sieze the dream.

Oh, and

Just for future reference, love, one of those winks is good enough for me.

Ugh!

Stop being promiscuous, toothbrush!

…I might as well share you!

(Pictures soon)

Walk away

The great moonsong, croons to me pastures of soft white.

Chalk has nothing on your dewy resonance. Give to me your joy.

Prick

At least just be honest.
Don’t fucking blank me without explaining yourself, prick.

And so

I cannot see worlds in your eyes, I cannot feel whirled on a tide
They’re lovely and you’re wonderful but you’re no
Horsehead nebula
Lalala
Lately I’ve been wondering
What is it about being free that fills us with
Expectations
Ending of communications
I’ve come to a conclusion
That it is aesthetically pleasing
In a manner of speaking
In a manner of speaking I am an astronaut
But we can all make complex analogies
It doesn’t make them mean a thing
Perhaps this is all just a brief fling
This thing
The thing
Is
I cannot see worlds in your eyes.
And so I’m walking down London highstreets
Weaving and weaning
Myself from your worldless eyes
Your wordless disguise
I’m listening to the sounds of the streets
People shouting
Words meandering
The Queen killed Mark Knopfler!
I know I need some sleep.

I’m drawn to space
The space behind your eyes
Empty spaces
Closed spaces
Mostly spaces in the sky
And the oh-so inappropriate
Laughter
That you hide.
Pretentious sentences
Spread and split over
Lines.
B
­­ .u
..t
…t
….e
…..r
…….
You fools.

oh stfu, me.

And so I return

Derbyshire was alright. In fact, Derbyshire/the Peak District was beautiful. It’s a stunning place.
I discovered, while there, that it is the second most visited National Park in the world lagging only behind Mount Fuji National Park in Japan. This impressed me hugely. Arond 22 million people a year visit the Peak District. How huge is that number!? I would have thought that the Lake District was more popular than the Peak District. Certainly, more people talk about it.
And yet, for all the millions of visitors to the park every year, it’s relatively unspoiled, the vast rolling hills (and, indeed, peaks) covered in forests or moorland. There’s an abundance of heather. I love heather covered moors.
And it gave me the chance to read again. I always read better on holiday. I’m not entirely sure why, but I just can. I finally finished the book I’ve been reading for ages (‘How Late it Was, How Late‘). I must give that back to Ned at somepoint. It was enjoyable. It got me thinking in a Scottish accent, which is always fun. I also read ‘The 39 Steps‘ which was alright. ‘Rabbit, Run‘, however, was fabulous. I can’t quite put my finger on what it was I liked about that. It has a lot going for it. I loved that it was written entirely in the present tense. Books written in the present tense have less finality about the actions contained within them and it often makes for a more exciting read. You find yourself more within the moment, wondering what the character is going to do next. The wonderful thing about the novel, also, is that you can’t help but dislike the main character, but at the same time, he’s highly loveable. This is exactly how he’s described by the other characters in the book.
All in all, I loved it and am on the look out for the sequels.