Archive | January 2013
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There’s a magic garden close to the office. It’s no secret, but it is magic. Step up to the wrought iron gates. A proud breasted robin announces your arrival with a fanfare. The music is magic. Nothing so beautiful could be ordinary. Step through the gates. Into a world of squirrels, song-birds and honeysuckle scents. […]
I live on my own No one knocks on the door I live on my own And I’m skanky. And poor I live on my own Never open the post Never answer the phone. My home is a mess My ceilings are holey My legs are hairy I have three cats And a dog called […]
Turbulent waters Bracing air Inhaling ozone Spray salts hair Rushing horses Drown the noises In my head Troubling voices Quieted Crying gulls Against the wind Hovering Sailors’ souls. Photo by S. Mint
(Title changed on account of my dear friend Phil being far more clever than what I am. And because it’s unfair to tease people into thinking there might be planes.) I’m feeling a connection to Hannibal currently. Not the elephant one, nor the one with the Chianti and the muzzle. The cigar one. The one […]
And so time ticks on. Days march past. Does anything happen..? Over the weekend – not so much. As per usual. Lots of sleeping. The week however, since the Fun With Power Cuts incident on Monday, was actually pretty full. Tuesday; Southend Philosophy Club. I set this up because a surprising amount of people are […]
I arrived home tonight to a dark, cold flat. The third power cut so far this year. Realising that grumbling about it was unlikely to restore the power any more quickly, I tripped over, then fed, the cats, then groped about for camera and tripod and headed back to the park for a spot of […]
Finally! The snow reaches Southend!
Should I write about an ordinary day? May as well. It’s all I have. Driving home last night, from Friday Night Club*, it occurred to me that driving through falling snow is a bit like being in the Millennium Falcon jumping to light speed. Not that I had Han Solo with me (I’m most evidently […]
A first for me today; working with younglings. Ages 11 – 13. Boisterous as puppies, one young comedian appended a ‘Kick Me!’ label to my back. Turns out that doesn’t just happen in the Simpsons. Said comedian informed me his name was Dickhead. So Dickhead’s what I called him, perfectly straight-faced, throughout my session. His […]
at the end. Stories contain the past the future and are always only now. Stories start any time, any where. Unexpectedly. They can even start