how to be free

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The book I’m reading ‘How to be Free, by Tom Hodgkinson is without doubt the best novel I have come across since reading Jay Griffiths ‘Pip, Pip’ and ‘Wild: An Elemental Journey’ – it’s packed to the brim with useful facts that do what all good books should: open the mind.
His ideas are recycled and collated, rather than being original, but that doesn’t make them unworthy. I would not have known half the information that he has presented without this tomb. So I give thanks for his care and passion in writing it.

Rather than a self-help book aimed at fixing a broken life, he instead demonstrates that there is an innate wholeness within everyone and that we need to overcome certain modern obstacles in order to access our inbuilt fullness. Obstacles like TV and working life. Like newspapers and the adverts that infect our world. Hurdles like bills and the need to outsource in order to fix our problems. He’s not a crank, not some preacher. He’s well aware of his own limitations.

What he presents is an example of the things we can do to better our position in life. By tuning out the TV’s attempt to entertain and rely instead on our own creativity; whatever that may be. Picking up an instrument, learning a language, learning a craft. We can exercise our mind and souls and come out the other side without the faintest hint of boredom.

He knows that our modern world holds a great deal of pleasures, not least of all: drink, sex, music, film, tobacco, dance, photography. However we are often at the mercy of our jobs and cannot devote the time needed to truly extract joy from life.

How, in a nine-to-five profession, can we do anything but wake, work, eat and sleep. We complain about not having enough hours in the day. His answer, do less. It’ll turn out that you’re actually doing more. We consume out of lethargy. So why not use our idleness to our advantage. Rather than going to the effort of toiling away at a job, why don’t we just spent a couple of hours a day making something we can trade or sell.

TV is just a wind-down before sleep overtakes us again anyway. Nowadays, music is something we buy, rather than something we create. Ask any musician what they would rather be doing, working or playing music and there’s an obvious response. We needn’t have to buy music to enjoy it, instead we should venture into the streets and listen to buskers and go to gigs. We should drink and be merry and bring back the tavern. We need to turn our creative out-put into a means of permitting an ongoing lifestyle. We need to start producing rather than consuming. Self-sufficiency becomes the staple, the ideal, the tool to keep the wolf from the door. The wolves of tax inspectors, debt collectors and all other deplorable types.

What I have taken, though not what was detailed, is that instead of ‘my’ pack of cigarettes it is rather ‘our’ pack. Instead of ‘my’ money, it is ‘our’ money. Money that changes hands as quickly as we eat, travel, play and read. If I make something it is only ‘mine’ for the fact that someone else hasn’t made it first. What sort of idea is that? That the food I am eating was grown on land that actually belongs to all of us, not some private force. So I’m learning the harmonica, I’m not doing that to only play for myself. So I can use that to enrich other people’s lives and they will in turn enrich my own.

So from today, if someone asks me for a cigarette I will say – “sure, you can have one of our cigarettes.”

I will work to chip away my debt and learn a new way of earning money after that. It might be hard, but it’ll be a damn-sight more enriching than working in some crummy retail space for less money than my life is worth.

Anyway, the book is a joy. It is enlightening. Go read it!

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Margin:0.0px or maybe ?0.o?

“  City of Birth

Much of the place is now just a flourish of the mind. Rivers and streets have altered position and where you might follow one in real life and come out at its proper exit, in my mind it turns about and you arrive elsewhere altogether. The whole city is a fading dream, less and less factual as the months wear on.

Except the truth is that I do not strive to remember, the death of it suits me. Rather than not leaving me at all, gradually is an accepted evil. However I lament that it could not have been torn away in one swipe. I wish the whole place burnt away, its ash caught and carried off by a wind of forgetfulness. I wish nothing ill on the inhabitants of that city in its real and present form, but its form in my heart is a solid lump that runs to the throat if I consider it for too long. I mean it not to remind me of my own failures.

In truth the city is merely the scapegoat for my own shortcomings, for my own mistakes. It is a laden creature, cast out and laboring under the burden of blame for injuries I’ve suffered. The city did nothing directly, supplant me and my life to another with the same set of circumstances and I’d be sure of similar results. The same progression of cruelty, neglect and eventual isolation. The same reasons for the breakdown of relationships with almost everyone. My own ego and lack of humility. My envy of other people’s talents and embarrassment at my own lack of courage.

No, I cannot blame a city for what was my own doing. The truth is that I lost my sight, my judgement clouded. Or, more rightly, my vision was distorted by a thin film over the eyes. An idea of how the world looked, except that in that way of seeing I could not perceive the slow corruption of my life. Each time I rallied myself and thrust forward with my creative projects, I was in fact just shuttling along in a blinkered, eager rush. I shut out the distraction of friends and lovers. Then, when I’d collapsed into the sense of futility that seems to run through me like a core, I was surprised that they’d moved on to better things.

It is a great and painful process for a man to learn of his own failings. More-often he might bury the facts under a layer of disbelief. Or else under the debris of the facts themselves; as he picks each apart with lies and self-justification. Delusion is the tonic for most things.

Myself, I’m no less the fool. Even knowing what I do I cannot bring myself to believe I was to fault. I too ignore these things and move on with what I do agree to take with me. So from these lessons comes the genesis of a new self. I do not wish to remember my sins, though I will learn from them. It is hypocritical indeed to ignore the legitimacy one’s crimes and yet still take wisdom from them; though to have the position reversed would be far worse an error.   “

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The above is the beginning of the novel I was speaking of, not too long ago. The tale of my life. A way to purge myself of the old crimes and explain how things progressed and perhaps absolve myself slightly through showing how I’ve bettered myself. It will however be ‘warts and all’, I hope – if I have courage enough to paint myself in my true (past) monstrous form. All names altered, no great revelations about the other people involved. I will stay in the bounds of my own head, the things that I saw and thought – I will not attempt to second guess the people around me, nor anything of their opinions of me at that time. What I do not want it to be, is a way of explaining away the evil I have done, but rather to seek to hold onto it – lest I forget – and remind myself of how far I have come so that I do not retrace the same steps. I also don’t want it to hurt anyone from the past, hence the only alterations will be to the unsavory portions of lives of others and not to my own life, wherever possible.

The NaNoWriMo novel is far more accomplished, though I do wish to return to the previous novel soon. I’m a little behind in terms of the monthly goal – though it has proven itself as necessary and so I will be moving forward with it. I’m not all too bothered about the NaNo win because NaNo has been a bit of a joke as far as I’m concerned. There’s been no proper management or communication with those involved, so the community fun was sucked dry long ago. I’m just glad that I’ve got a wonderful manuscript out of it and I can break on through with the knowledge that I can write about 2,000 words a day with very little hassle, so long may it continue. Fuck NaNo.

Nevermind.

I’m loving quite a few bands at the moment.

1) The Bicycle Thieves

2) Cocoon (‘Hey Ya’, ‘I don’t give a shit’)

3) Soko (‘I’ll kill her’)

4) The Thermals (‘Now we can see’)

5) Fresh body shop (‘My artificial sun‘)

And in terms of poetry?

1) Derek Walcott (‘Elsewhere’, ‘For Adrian’)

And I’m reading…

1) 2666 by Roberto Bolano

2) Omeros by Derek Walcott

3) The Book of Shadows Don Paterson

4) Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels (again)

In other news. I’ve made a promise with myself to write a poem, take a roll of photos (34 photos), make a short film and read a book every week from now on.

Further updates will follow.

oneward and upward

Okay. RIght. Testing, testing. Hope this is working.

It is.

Right.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this whole One and Other thing. I’ve done my smart thinking now, I’m over that. I’ve reasoned out things and I think I’m going to be okay. Just going to get up there, pose my ideas and then breathe it all in.

Been having a few emotional tantrums recently – my heart all a flutter.. ex-cetera … It all comes from me putting too much stock in this thing.

The truth is, I don’t need to get it ‘right’ or do anything to ‘please’ anyone. I’m smarter than needing to take my level from other people’s figures.

I wrote a little piece last night for my novel – “Feel bitter, feel like you want to hit me; but don’t deny the fact we made each other pretty happy. In the time we had.”

That’s what all this means, it is getting up there and just saying ‘This is me. What are you?

I am the art that can ask questions of itself, as much as of the observer. Now that is a revolution!

This morning I got a call from a mental health team member and they have invited me over to get checked over on Wednesday. I’m going to go along and tell them everything. I will write a little something for them first. A little history maybe. Something to explain better than I might be able to.

Oneward and upwards with things.

have a heart? almost.

[the stops are because I can't get the formatting right. sorry.]

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I’m going to answer a couple of questions about my progress this year.

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• Think about what has gone well this year. What are you happy with? What has been successful — & how did it come to fruition? What have your greatest achievements been so far?

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This year has taken me up and down further than any year before it. I’ve evolved so much I’d swear I was in new skin, if it wasn’t the same damn face staring back at me every morning.

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Success is measured in so many ways, but I’d have to say making my emotions level out has been the biggest success. Learning to drink in moderation. Making lasting friendships. Two more things that I’m greatly thankful for.

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Great achievements have been getting published (and paid!) in The Times for my photograph of One and Other in London.

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Surviving a massive breakdown isn’t something I’m going to sell myself short on either. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work toward easing my mind and heart. I’ve been up and down, but I’m flying along at the moment.

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I’ve no stressful job, a roof, a great girl, creative expression out the yin-yang. Photography is great, designing and making clothes and jewellery is wonderfully fun, writing is triple kick-ass. I’ll have a collection knocked out in a couple more months.

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So, yeah. Lots of stuff.

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• Think about what could have been improved upon. Could you have tried harder in a couple of areas? Of the things that didn’t go well, what could you have done to change the outcome of that situation? If you had taken 100% responsibility at the time, do you think things would have played out differently?

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I could have done a lot better at making money. I’ve let quite a few opportunities slip by me. I’m not really sorry that I did, more just that I could have made a bit more cash and had a few more nights on the town with people.

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If I hadn’t been a coward, then perhaps things might have gone better. I wimped out on things because I was being overly careful after a few setbacks.

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• What were your goals at the start of the year? How are they going? Are they 20%, 50% or 100% completed? If they’re not checked off yet, why not? (Don’t be afraid to admit they’re no longer important to you if that’s the case.) If they’re still things you want to make happen, what could you do to speed up your progress? Who could you ask for help? How can you break up the goal into manageable chunks to make it easier to achieve?

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I didn’t make any real commitments at the start of the year. If anything things all changed pretty sharply, so if I’d completed the goals that I had, I wouldn’t even be in Liverpool. So I think rather I’ve adapted well and when my goals flew out from me, I took the opportunity to put a bit of distance between myself and making goals.

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Some things I did decide on quite quickly was to make better friendships and invest myself in people more. Be more honest with myself and others. 100% complete I’d say.

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• When you look at the people around you, what have they achieved that you’d like to do too? How can you make that happen? Can you ask them for assistance or advice?

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I haven’t considered this, but there are a few people I have met which have made a real impression on me and I do intend on emailing them for advice and simply to make myself known to them. Some are local, others are netweb people, but all are fantastic people.

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• How are your finances looking? Are you making as much money as you want? Are you saving any money or just spending it as soon as you get it? Should you ask for a raise, start a savings account, cancel your credit card, stop obsessively trawling eBay… ?!

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My finances are in better shape than they ever have been. I’m usually crippled with debt and spend more than I make. Right now I’ve lowered my bills and have made a few streams of revenue. Plan is to get into seasonal retail to get enough cash to pay back my parents and take a trip to a few places in Europe. Venice and Rome are on the plan. Paris is a place best kept for a romantic escape. Maybe Berlin too. Cheap travel with only a satchel and a few empty journals. Definitely taking my camera too.

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No one is ever making ‘enough’ money. But I’m making enough to keep me comfortable.

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Credit card is cleared off, long ago.

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There is nout wrong with internet shopping!

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• Are you happy with your career? Do you feel stuck? If so, why? How could you alter that? Is it time for something new? How can you improve your situation? Where could you grow? How could you branch out?

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I’m LOVING work. Whatever I earn is from art. Whatever I make is from something that I have made. It’s a wonderful feeling. I’m not stuck at all. I’ve got to do some seasonal work, but there is no stress because I can jack it in after I have the cash saved up to travel. Then when I get back I’ll only have to get some part time work to keep my head up, earning more money from art as I go.

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• What do you do with your spare time? Are you constantly playing catch-up & running errands with no time to relax & just do nothing? Is there a class you want to take? When was the last time you took a holiday? Are you in control of your free time or is someone else?

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Spare time. Well, I have it all to myself now. I’m running about doing things, but having fun doing them.

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After doing my bit around Europe I’m hoping to enroll in University again, but starting again from Year 1. I figure it gives me a year to get into shape and then I can play the last two without pressure.

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Going to study either writing or photography – I haven’t decided which. I figure that photography gives me more earning potential. Writing is still my main talent though. We’ll see what the world offers me as direction.

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Last time I took a holiday was prolly down to Falmouth. Can’t wait to go back. I think I’ll be heading off down there again to see a mate later in the year. Just need to get some cash.

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• How does your body feel? How healthy are you? What are you eating? Do you exercise? Are you drinking or smoking more than you’d like? Do you need a spa day? What positive steps can you take towards a lifestyle you feel happier about?

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Damn, these are loaded questions. Can I just say that people seem to like it? OH!

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Yeah, healthy. I get a good lot of walking done. Sailing keeps me fit enough.

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Not smoking. Not drinking much.

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I totally need a spa day.

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I need to get my bike in action, so I can start racing around this tiny slip of land I call home.

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• Are you getting along with the people around you? How are things between you & your lover? Your workmates? Your kids? Do you ever see your best friend? Do you ever get personal emails?

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Things are great with people. I’m getting on with my friends well. Set to meet more shortly when I start doing the shoots I’ve got arranged.

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My ‘lover’ is fine.

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My workmates are quiet. I’m solo, but it means I have less nights out with the crew.

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Best mate is many miles away.

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I get a personal email pretty much every day, people from my past, people who like my blog, people who hate it, people who want to meet me in Liverpool. I’m in demand.

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• How about you? How do you feel about the person you’re becoming? How’s your personal integrity? What are the attributes you hold in high esteem? Are you embodying them? What can you change? What can you begin accepting?

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I feel i’ve answered this already. I’m 100% wicked, wicked, wicked.

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Personal integrity is at an all time high. Which is as much a surprise to me, I can tell you.

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Truth now is paramount to me. I will not lie.

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Totally embodied.

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I can be bolder, more courageous.

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I can begin accepting every given opportunity.

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• Are you involved in your community? How are you helping the people around you? Do you know your neighbours? What could you do to improve the lives of people in your immediate vicinity?

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More and more involved with the people in this fine and grubby little city.

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I like to feel I’m here if people want to make use of me. I could get more involved helping people (note to self).

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I do know my neighbours, but I want soon to have new ones.

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My new motto for improving lives is :- Give more, take more.

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It improves mine and other people’s lives. Wonderful.

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deadlines

I haven’t blogged in so long and it is beginning to effect my mood. I’m sitting here working on the first chapter of another new novel – only this one is my deadline novel that must be written by August 1st.

I’ve chosen the deadline because it gives me a focus – it isn’t even that good a story, but I think you kinda have to chose a shit idea for your first novel and do as well as you can just writing the damn thing.

Another step to becoming a writer.

So now, glass of red wine in one hand and the other typing slowly these very words you are reading. I’m getting back to the plan of getting better. Working out which direction I want to head in.

There will be more, but until then I’ll leave you with the idea for my novel.

-=- (Subject to change at any moment)

‘The Travels of Amos Wright: A Man Washed To Sea As A Boy’ is told from the third person perspective. It charts the life of Amos Wright, a man born in the coastal town of Cornhill. Deciding that he has no excuse left as to why he cannot leave the place he has come to hate – Amos sets out.

After many, many contemplative trains of thought and a bottle of rum, Amos decides to leave. In a moment of madness – that one can only reach once one is drunk out of one’s mind – he steals a rowboat and rows out into the bay and away.

Waking in a boat without oars and with only a thumping headache for company, Amos realizes that his life will now drift on, largely out of his control.

It is a novel that holds no value of any kind, is free to be its obscure and surreal self, to be read only by those who are recovering from depression. The overall message is not a secret. Sometimes breathing is all you need to do to be worthy of the life you have.

Wide Sargasso Sadness

“Very soon she’ll join all the others who know the secret and will not tell it. Or cannot. Or try and fail because they do not know enough. They can be recognized. White faces, dazed eyes, aimless gestures, high-pitched laughter. The way they walk and talk and scream or try to kill (themselves or you) if you laugh back at them. Yes, they’ve got to be watched. For the time comes when they try to kill, then disappear. But others are waiting to take their places, it’s a long, long line. She’s one of them. I too can wait – for the day when she is only a memory to be avoided, locked away, and like all memories a legend. Or a lie…”

Last page of Part Two. Wide Sargasso Sea. – Jean Rhys

What wakes in me is the knowledge that I am very similar to Antoinette in this novel. (Perhaps we all are and that is the glorious moot point to this whole journey. Each of us have our own yearning for a place to be comfortable. Each of us, the need to escape persecution from a life we have not chosen.) I dread to go on, as I do, about Bath – except that it is still at the core of my subject. The centre of my recent sadness. So I must re-conjure it, yet only in the explorative sense – no hint of the nostalgic.

Bath is a picture to me, a movie, a reel of film. Non, it remains as a negative for me to hold against the light. Raised as a sample. A solution, contained within a petri dish, which I will match against a depression I cannot hope to master. Trying to determine if it would make for a good culture of inoculation. A vaccination against future bouts of restlessness. I know I cannot change who I am, though I can choose a lesser pain and use it to vaccinate myself against further heartache. Allow myself to learn; teach my immune system a way of fighting off every sign of sadness.

I get restless when I am not fulfilled – as we all do – I begin to fear a lack of feeling. Then a fear of feeling too much. I rush around and try to re-ignite my own passion for life. Distract myself from what is undoubtedly on its way. I start to sit and contemplate how I have reached this point in my life. Then I am overwhelmed.

In Bath – after I realized my lack of romantic love for Much – it became clear that I was rushing around and burying myself in other people – so that I wouldn’t lose my good mood. In January things took a nose-dive out of that revelation. So that I wouldn’t dip any lower than I was I buried myself in drink and social things. Invited myself along with American students that I met randomly. Got numbers from them. Planed on sleeping with one. Except even that didn’t save me, it was too late to raise myself.

It didn’t work because, when I reached the understanding that I’d only been treading water – that eventually I’d be drowned, I couldn’t help but reel back and lose control.

So home I went. But I packed away that understanding of myself. Took it with me to pull it out when I was strong enough to look at it. I only need to refine it now. Learn from it. Move forward.

I know what helps me.

Nightingale helps me, she understands my weakness because she has already begun the journey I am now starting. I’ve learnt from her, or rather… her voice is allowing me to hear my own.

Exercise helps me. Just a little a day helps keep those blues away.

Chemistry helps me – understanding that to help myself I need to believe I am simply a mess of chemicals – that there is an equation behind and yet controlling my emotions and I can curtail any lowering of it by simply adding more seasoning. A hint more distraction. A pinch of passion. A sprinkling of spontaneous energetic activity.

As clear as it is that I am preoccupied with Bath and the last few months. As mad as it makes me appear. As obsessive and compulsive and nostalgic as I might come across. I can’t help thinking that actually, it isn’t a negative thing to examine a sadness that could save me. If I didn’t – if I just buried it – then I’d only make the same mistakes.

Much like I did many years ago, leaving the Wirral for university (leaving my first girlfriend), I buried the pain and ignored it. I became a new person like a snake shedding its skin. I’m good at it; I’ve done it many, many times since. It was the wrong thing to do. I should have been smart enough to work out that there was something to gain from understanding ‘why’ I was unhappy with things the way they were.

Maybe it is maturity. Another plateau reached on the struggle to the peak of wisdom. You know, before I lose all logical cognitive function and fall off the other side into senility.

Antoinette moved from her island home – into marriage – and back to her island again. A honeymoon in a hell that she loved. It was her, as she was it. What I read from that decision is the old idea of returning to the scene of the crime.

As she, I have come back to the place of my childhood – a place that has forced such unnumbered pains upon me. As she, I have managed to find a renewed admiration for such a wonderful place. As she, I will face my hardships head-on.

Unlike she, I will overcome the forces met out against me. Unlike she, I will bow to the unconquerable, retreat and repair, so that I may return with redoubled vigor. Unlike she, I  will win a real victory – rather than surrendering to a fact that is unreconcilable.

Antoinette had a childishness about her that never fully lifted. Antoinette retreated into herself – rather than healing, for her, came the notion of hiding. I mean to break the spell of madness.

The book held a lot of goodness in it. I will write more on it.

“Do not be sad. Or think Adieu. Adieu. Never Adieu.”

old flames

So back after my VERY VERY bad Easter Weekend…

I was talking to a friend yesterday about the limitations one has to accept when it comes to writing characters. It isn’t that you can’t flesh them out, make them believable… etc… but rather that there will always be a face missing, some small part that wont be expressed because it would take more than a thousand novels to encompass the human being. We’re multi-faceted in the extreme.

I’ve come to the same conclusion when it comes to blogging – that there are people who know me (or think they do), and people who don’t, that will read this blog and think that it a condensed version of me. Somehow the subject matter, or the manner in which I present things, justifies their views. Puts context to their compartmental vision of me.

This carpel-tunnel world of blogging, invariably then, has its risks. What if a woman comes on here in a year’s time? What if I like said woman and she deems my outpourings to be abhorrent and vile and therefore concludes that I am unworthy of her… all these ‘what if’s will be the death of me, but lets just say that I’m right. Do I care? Yes. Can I do anything? No.

Bring it on home that whole idea of people liking me for me – if said woman came here and didn’t understand my motivations then I’ll be damned if she’s right for me – just like the last.

So this idea of me coming across as something short of myself got me thinking about everything really. As much as I’ve put things to bed.. So to speak.. I do have to say that certain elements of my character are coming together to show me as anything but an honest, caring and kind man. Not least to everyone, but mostly to myself. See, I’m such a self-deceiving creature. But you knew that.

Anyway – so getting on with life… this whole breaking away from the loss of Bath and life down there. Its taken me off facebook and taken away my one mode of constant communication with the world back there behind me. It’s a good thing too, because the old lovers were already starting to feel brazen! Old flames leaving suggestive messages on my wall, the odd filthy reply to an unassuming statement. Laura might just have put two and two together to work out when and where and with whom. So I’m glad that is all behind me. Now I can move on to new pastures with a clean slate. Chalking line after line on that board above me. Remembering.

I intend to start my education of myself by starting with history. I’ve opened up various memories and I’m taking a good look at what makes me. I have nostalgia abound. Zounds man, I might even have unleashed a realization or two.

I know that what I had in Bath was a best friend and various distractions. Not to play them down, we got closer toward the end (hence the sadness at parting) but since then I’ve more than replaced them and feel in a better place than I ever did. Lying in the sun this morning saw that I understood what was important. It was the second moment I’ve truly felt content in the here and now of here.

The funny thing is that the people I have met in the last 2 months have been better friends to me than anyone else I have ever met. They know me better too. I could have one person here in Liverpool take on a team of every person I have known for the past 4 years in Bath and they’d win a quiz on me hands down. (Save for Dom of course, who remains the only man I’ve ever confided truth in.) I’ve opened my heart to some of the loveliest people imaginable and all they’ve done is pay in kind. So I have to admit, scary as it sounds, I was wrong. (Gosh, didn’t that make you tingle inside??) I was wrong to hate my home so much. Wronger still, to think that the world ended when my little false life in Bath hit the fan.

But more, much more than this… I feel like I’ve gotten better. I’m not second guessing the old relationships like I used to. I used to lie in bed with Laura beside me and listen to songs that took me back to other women I’d known. Back to Jenny the Stalker and my inability to love her. Back to Patty and my inability to love her. Back to every woman I’d ever known and my inability to love them. But always the same feeling of regret and the need to retrace those steps. The feeling that there is a girl beside me that is beautiful, but I feel more for these old flames than I do for her. This is what brought me to wanting to leave her back in October, what had me almost there so many times. Before the idea of moving to Cardiff gave me the stupid idea that a change of scene might bring a change of heart.

I’ve known a lot of really beautiful women in my life and I treated them all, at the time, as though they were a piece in my puzzle – rather than a light to work under. They were short-term soul-mates, some of whom became habits that I stuck with until it became too difficult to keep going. One or two I got with, out of a deluded idea that I could be happy with them in time… given time I was soon proven wrong.

And that’s it for this blog post… more to follow, beg and borrow. I mean… tomorrow…

the start of things

Chapter One

Re-Genesis

 

 

Reality tearing sounds a little like the extended crashing of cymbals. It had a touch of ‘Revelation’ about it, with great lightening-bolt-like rips running down from the sky in a jagged pattern and, with a rumble of earth, stalactite counterparts reaching up to greet them. Once joined it all looked like a network of veins, or the strands of an epic haphazard web; ink running down a windowpane. The storms, which were a result of the rapid relocation of air, wreaked across the trembling landscape; trees were shaken loose from their roots. Light, too, seemed to change, grew more concentrated in places and in others the sun was eclipsed by the tall pillar-like openings that cast shadows without hems. Where cracks opened and met with the sea, The News showed the water pouring inwards and breaking into vapor that started to glow like embers. Embers that scattered in all directions inside the blackness, until they eventually put themselves out. Anything entering the openings did the same, exploding into a million fireflies that could be seen against the back-drop of black, until they faded out and died. Some cracks were thin, enough that one could circumvent them, like a tree, simply a nuisance to passing; others were as broad as skyscrapers.

 

A country singer, like Captain Wilco, might have described it better. Might just have drawn out a bit more majesty and sang a tune of going home soon, but most other expression pales.

 

Scientists, infinitely less lyrical, spoke like geologists; explaining that our reality had developed cracks along its ‘fault lines’. Announced that these were slowly expanding and that they would make the binding ribbons of our reality increasingly thin. Then they became bakers to explain how, like bread, once the ‘fibers’ of our reality were broken it would be torn apart piece by piece. Last of all they spoke like prophets and philosophers, explaining nothing past apocalyptic rhetoric and idol speculation; about worlds beyond and possible re-genesis on another dimensional plane. In the end it was all just black hole nonsense; nobody sane would believe that there was anything but oblivion on the other side. So, after the first of the ‘jumpers’; who had convinced themselves that what was needed was to ‘break on through to the other side’, most people had the sense not to accelerate their demise.

 

 When civilians saw it there were as many reactions as there were faces. Some wept, some screamed, others began to laugh like maniacs; while Cup Shonee, standing above the little town of Hosannah, just brought the bottle back to his lips and stood expressionless.

 

 fin.

 

 

more to come. 

Floating in the vacuum of space

 

Whatever falls in my path I have fun with it. I’m still not sure what to do with my life, but soon I will need a job. I will again return to the pits. Prepare myself for some personal agony, personal anxiety, and get hook up with a healthy dose of personal apathy to get me through each day.

 

Personally, I think it is rather cheeky to request eight hours of my time a day for the five out of seven, and only give me near-on one thousand pounds for the privilege each month. Then again, I’ve not met anyone willing to pay more, so I guess I have to put up. Cruel and unfair, this world, but there is nowhere else to go.

 

Pause for a moment thinking of the young Jensen floating in the vacuum of space with an ever-increasing bank balance.

 

I see a lot of people ahead of me, not altogether fairly either. I look at their work and scoff and turn cheek. That’s the luck of the draw though, someone must like that tripe, otherwise why would the author have had it published.

 

This week I trust in publisher’s and their amazing knowledge of great literature… or not.

 

Regardless, I have the distinct feeling everyone undervalues. Taken for granted, rather than picked for Granta.

 

I need to focus on writing these bloody stories I have in my head.

 

Continue with The Coconut Stopwatch, Trip, The Pack, The Boy Who Entered Dreamtime and The Formicary. The problem is picking just one to really focus on. I love them all like children and love the pace I’m going at. I have more ideas that I want to start on as well!

 

Too many ideas and not enough time to write them all.

 

I think I’m going to focus on The Coconut Stopwatch, as it is a collection of short stories, which means there is at least fourteen opportunities at accomplishment before the grand accomplishment of finishing the compilation.

 

I have my computer hooked up to the printer, a big yellow folder to hold the drafts, little bulldog clips, a new ergonomic pen. Now I mean business. I’m going to write the epics out. Place sections on here.

Snapshots of greatness

Well things are picking up their toes. I’m working full-steam on the website to accompany my novel. As soon as it is somewhere near half decent I’ll link to it at the top of this page and write a post dedicated to some of the key features.

 

I’ve been quite prolific recently – writing a load more atoms into being for my own little universe.

 

[To set the scene, I should say that at the moment Cup and a little group of people are travelling to Carsonova to save themselves as the tears in the sky become ever bigger.]

 

 

 

Trip – Excerpt – Chapter 6 (as yet untitled)

 

When night came and the sun had put out its final embers on the horizon, they sat around the campfire. Pupils widened, when the world darkened; anything could have been in the air around them, until eyes adjusted to the light level and they learned they were alone, but for each other. Stars were the only things left shining, the moon absent behind the great tear.

 

 

.fin

 

 

For now I just want to give you snapshots of greatness. It is coming along. Steadily.

 

Other than that, I am still looking for a job and should have one shortly – but I’m in no rush. I like the fact that I can relax, de-stress and write.

 

Over and out.