vascular bloke

Experiment

Can I send a tweet via tumblr from China? Will anyone care? How will I know if anyone likes it?

Who am I?

It’s interesting how people or things that you observe can suddenly give you insight into who you really are or why you do things.

I saw a story last night about a famous author and how he tragically found that the love of his life had killed herself after years of battling depression.

It then went on to cover how he dealt with this devastating blow and in particular how he came to terms with who he really was in the context of losing his beloved.

He went on to read and read about grief and how to deal with it. He nearly committed suicide himself contemplating seriously whether to jump under a new york train.

It occurred to me that a similar thing had happened to me over the last several years. I have been finding ways of dealing with a slow and insidious grief. A loss of identity. 

I had dealt with it by writing. Being quite interactive. Remaining social. Playing football. Playing music. But it’s odd how it can suddenly strike you that this whole process of grief is intimately linked to one’s own identify.

We all cope with grief in various ways. I hope to remain sincerely positive. I hope to find truth in myself and ultimately to find truth in all my relationships.

My Tumblr all pretty pictures

Hmm there’s something cold and uninteresting about my tumblr. I need people who read and interact and write personal and interesting things. Gonna change up my tumblr a bit soon I think.

The urge to write

Such a romantic notion. Toiling at one’s desk. The sweat pouring as ideas and words, sentences and paragraphs, characters and plots develop. One’s great novel. A life’s work.

I have to admit to be drawn like a magnet to the written word and to the notion of putting together a readable and plausible piece of work that many could enjoy.

I’ve played with ideas and genres. Written a squillion thoughts and observations in other forum. Written scientific papers, chapters, travel stories, poems, short stories and little snippets of longer ones.

But I guess it comes down ultimately to motivation. Just like I have succeeded in a few other areas by pulling my finger out and working so damn fucking hard that at times I felt my eyeballs popping out becoming a surgeon or running to train for football. 

For that dream to become a writer I must not just hear the call but sit down and actually write. To write, rewrite. Let people criticise and learn from it. But most of all do it. Find time and just damn well do it.

Seducing the Seductress

It’s odd how difficult it is to find a word for the male equivalent of a seductress when in fact seducing particularly in this day and age is such a thing of both sexes.

When two people find attraction between themselves a fascinating dance of words, looks and other signals take form.

So many styles. So many hints.

But what if one comes up against a practiced seductress. I’m not talking a woman of easy morals. I’m talking about a woman who knows exactly what she wants and is used to getting it.

And then the man is either easy prey or it’s a collision of practiced seducers.

Circling the possibilities. Imagining the entwinings. Knowing the consequences.

Anyway, it’s all delicious to contemplate.

To go with my last tumblr

Hey charger

We used to run up to the wire fence. Excited. I guess we only did it for a couple of weeks of our lives. But it was 10 of us guys and maybe the odd cool gal as well. We were about 6 or seven. Distracted from our game of forcings back or stuck in the mud or yoyos or marbles by the car driving down President Avenue.

A massive car, usually garish colours. The driver honking and doing a big V sign out the drivers seat.

We ran breathlessly distracted and yelling out ‘Hey Charger, Hey Charger’ returning the V sign.

The power of TV ads. The power of herd mentality. The excitement of something new.

I remember that schoolyard as if it was yesterday even though I’ve been through a thousand engineered fads since then. Perhaps a little better at recognising I’m being manipulated.

If I was world dictator

I would ban militaries, weapons, countries but not nationalities.

I would allow religions but force them to teach all the other religions and alternate viewpoints as well.

I would put a lot of resources into education and health. Especially health education.

I would not tolerate great disparities in wealth between various areas of the world.

I would let anyone marry anyone. Ban torture.

I realise that virtually none of this is real politik because of the nature and greed of mankind but maybe this will change in the far, far future.

A single night of tangled heat

A single night of tangled heat
Arm hairs bristling at the faint touch
Of early embrace
Attraction
Undeniable
Like eyes drawn to fireworks
On a beautiful harbour
Were our hearts and minds drawn
That night to each other

The artist