Wonderings in wandering

  I was out walking today Trying to clear my head After a morning of too much study, Twitter And coffee. On the way to town, listening to jazz I tried to slow down my mind Counting flat, fallen, autumn leaves Making words from number plates Avoiding kids on their bikes. I came out of Boots with My blue sweets for the weekend And stopped for a double espresso. Having just crossed the road, it hit me: Today, this week, this lifetime Is just a blink in the history of humankind. Which is just a blink in time itself. No matter what I do No matter what is done to me The world will carry on regardless…. Such a wonderfully ego crushing insight I felt light, things made sense. I strolled on with a smile on my face As Kamasi blew…..

W.H.O.   Do you need someone? On this World Mental Health Day Does someone need you?  

  Irlen Syndrome I thought I’d try reading again But when my eyes scan across that off-white page The words animate…. Slippery                    little                                                      bastards. As I try focus on one, The next j s l s in front of it                 o t e What I’m about to read distracting Me from what I am reading….. Its not the spelling, I was always top at that! Its pinning down the words Comprehensible in sentence to a Into a comprehensible sentence, While trying not to read the same line twice The same line twice. I’ve tried reading in blue, red, green, With a reading ruler, Reading glasses and A magnifying glass But the words                       still                             keep                                    falling                                               off                                     

  Mrs Smith A pale face, dark eyes, an uneasy smile, Surrounded by a mass of tangly black curls, She sat in that circle Unengaged, aloof, disruptive, There for everyone else’s sake But her own. Trapped in a world by demons who Would let her see another way But kept her from it because It wouldn’t serve their obsessive needs. Within screaming distance but held behind thick glass, Visible but achingly unreachable. And now she appears, life Shining from her eyes. A purpose in her movement An energy no longer nervous or restrained. An arrogant addiction now replaced By an enthusiastic vulnerability. The tangle of curls now worn up To frame a new maturity. She sits in the circle for her own sake now Proving to everyone else that she is worthy, Meeting life bravely while hearts around her Now swell with inspiration.

  This Developed Nation In this Developed Nation, a 19 year old woman sleeps in a bag in a door way. In this Developed Nation, a working family of four relies on the local food bank. In this Developed Nation, grandmothers live on a pittance and die lonely. In this Developed Nation, my friends use drugs to fill a spiritual chasm. In this Developed Nation, stateless refugees are kept in cages while processed. In this Developed Nation, slave labour is abolished, but persists. In this Developed Nation, the media patronizes and panders to the lowest common denominator. In this Developed Nation, the unscrupulous employers bulldoze workers rights. In this Developed Nation, the population is kept divided and ineffective. In this Developed Nation, ‘I’m not a racist...but...’ In this Developed Nation, black people are stop/searched nine times more than whites. In this Developed Nation, under four percent of rape reports end in conviction. In this Developed Nation, seventeen percent of ad

Detachment     Looking from the other side of the mirror, Seeing through dirty glasses, There is something not real about this moment Like looking at a reflection of a reflection of a reflection…. Something just undefinable, A gap between my here, And their here. My now, And their now. So fine as to be invisible but so wide That one is unaware of the other. I’m existing in their world But not of their world. Watching life as a live broadcast With a nano-second delay. Seeing the muzzle flash Then hearing the shot. The familiar is unfamiliar, The same, though different. Like the thinnest sheet of clear ice My perception could shatter….. But then do I return to what was before? Or am I left with an existence of emptiness?

  Easy Fix It was the sort of feeling I always drank on: Frustration, Banging my head against a wall Screwing myself into a ball Wanting to shout out, to get away, To calm my mind, a need to relax. The easy fix that always works. Flushing myself through with poison Washing what’s inside away To find myself in exquisite numbness. Short term gain and long term pain.

  Insidious Negativity is not always overtly depressive, Positivity is not always overtly happy. Negativity eats away, piece by piece. It hides in the banal. Its disguised by layers of colour, Noise, applause. Negativity is drip fed, unnoticed. The bland The ordinary The acceptable Even the comfortable. Negativity keeps you in your place, Convinces you How good you’ve got it, Fosters no hope, Breeds joy in superficiality. Negativity is not a natural state of mind. No one wants it, yet Its continually perpetuated by those Who are blind to it. Negativity tells you that Positivity is frivolous and childish, Happy-clappy psycho-babble, Is an immense effort, an uphill struggle, A dream, stupid, deluded, unobtainable… Well, it would, wouldn’t it? Its Negative. Negativity sets you unattainable goals, Holds up a false mirror, Tells you that you need to be What you can’t be… But still you ache, drive, strive To get there, Concentra

  Solid Ground Still searching for that solid centre ground. Knowing that the only reliable thing Is Unreliability Just ain’t helping right now. Eroded self trust is my foundation, my bedrock, my stability. And time and time and time again The ever powerful waves of self doubt Undermine and eat away At what is supposed to be my touchstone. No matter how quickly and steadfastly the defences are built, Those cracks of insecurity fill with The constant drip, drip, drip of Muddied, toxic delusion until once again The ironic inevitability of unreliability crumbles, Washing away the solid, centre ground.

  The First Week A solitary pigeon perches on a telegraph pole And sings her call. Other than that, the world is quiet. The constant rush of rubber on tarmac Has finally ceased. Gone, the mechanical birds, bees and bugs Filling the air with their droning busyness. The warm wind has dropped, Hushing the rustling. And even the neighbourhood dogs respect the silence, Sleeping soundly. The only noise is that of sunshine And Nature, exhaling her contentment. The pigeon starts! and takes to the air.

There's an arguement that says the internet is democratizing the world. Now anyone can email their local counsellor, tweet their MP, DM their PM. You can petition the UK government directly to have an issue close to your heart discussed in the hallowed chambers of Parliament. And its not just the Powers That Be that are now held to account to the scrutiny of Mr or Mrs Joe/Jo Public. At the bottom of every story or profile posted, every discussion made in the public domain, and every opinion voiced is "The Comments Section". This gives everyone who has an internet connection the right to voice their own opinion, put across their side, vent their feelings...Democracy in action, right? Now, just think of the last time you delved into a comments section. Think of how easily you found those ideas you agreed with and how quickly you dismissed those you didn't.  A quick thought of "Good point, I must look into it" or of "Absolute nutter, that really offends me

I find it really hard to cope with life without trying to put myself into a box, trying to find a peg to hang my coat on. Buddhist, Existentialist, Liberal, Non-Conformist, Alcoholic, Addict, Marxist, Poet, Gardener, Depressive... When people ask me "What do you do?", I'm at a loss for words. Richard Ashcroft put it as "I'm a million different people, from one day to the next" and, at times, this sums it up for me. Not knowing which of my labels I'm going to wake up with.  I've been told that I can use this position to my advantage, that I can live as a free spirit. No ties, no kids, no family except my parents. But the trouble with this sort of existence is the lack of roots. I feel a palpable sense of falling down a cliff face, grabbing for a finger hold, a butterfly in my chest that flutters, not with a sense of excited possibility, but with an anxiety of failure and nothing to fall back onto. I try to live as simple-a-life as possible. Not, as so