My first, longest, truest love – writing. Step inside and have a browse, leave a comment, praise or slate, it’s all good!
Seagulls tease
Of oceans far
Reminding me
Of salt memories
Of splashing waves
And sandy beaches
Of happy summers
Decades gone.
Yet still the thought
Of happy childhood
Echoed in the large birds’ cry
Taints the sharp cold bite of morning
Under the faint grey blue sky.
My mom used to tell me rain was angel tears.
So whilst I walked to work enjoying a holy soak of my skull through my thinning hair, I had an almighty brainstorm.
We could kill two winged creatures with one idea, if you’ll pardon the split analogy.
Here’s the idea:
When it rains, everyone bathes, washes dishes, clothing, outside.
How many billions of gallons of water would be saved in Britain alone, every year? (Not to mention Seattle!)
Just a thought.
Remember the Cat Stevens song, Father and Son?
Pico Iyer’s article talks about the same thing, only reversed. I see it myself in my own life. The difference is, I think, that technology is to us adults what addictive substances are to addicts.
We get addicted, distracted, embroiled, discombobulated. Children can take it or leave it. My daughter has a mobile phone she uses less than me to check on the world and her friends.
She has a Mac desktop she uses mainly for homework. She also has an iPad, which she uses primarily for games.
The world is open to her. She knows how to get at it. Yet because it is normal she is not enamoured. She is a jaded technologist. And I am glad.
Me, I need to watch what I let my phone interrupt. I need to take a break, regardless of my job.
I have always said that for all of this doubling of speed and new and improved technology, how useful is it really? What do I use regularly? Notepad, Word, Excel. Extensions of paper. In fact, nothing more. And really only because of ease of reading (my handwriting is getting worse, not better) and ease of access – it is harder to lose an online file than a piece of paper…yet only slightly.
Sure there are useful websites (google maps…i.e. an atlas, or Trello i.e. a to do list), yet are they worth the aggro? Really?
I don’t think so. I do not know where all this is going. I do think the internet will really come into its own when oil is scarce and travel is truly a luxury once more.
Then solar powered totally self-sufficient data centres linked by solar powered satellites will link billions of hand crank kinetic powered laptops and computers.
Steampunk, here we come! ;D
Cold hard pitted concrete face,
Stretching, ground-up, from base
To horizon-busting lip, still just me
Standing still, running a hundred
Miles an hour, if not stressworkplay
Then exercisewritetalkthinkseebe
When along comes family, my
Big sis, to come pick me up, help
Me clean, straighten, organise
Re-arrange, until the peace settles
Down over my shoulders, the
Grand stone facade cracks and I
Have to go run and hide, find some
Space to cry, because the damn is
Busting.
Tears hot and heavy, empty me of
Dread held tight, empty space
Filled with my very own inter-
Stellar dark matter, no more real
To me than the dark matter that
Holds the galaxies together and
Just as cold, to me this is the first
A time to realise that constant
Runningmovingdoingthinkingactive
Being is not any more healthy than
Stopping stock still forever more,
Then again I crack.
The impenatrable ferrous concrete
Of my own internal damn cracks,
No explosion, just a gentle rupture,
Until the waterworks come,
Reminding me that I am all too
Human, no more or less strong
Than any other.
Why cry? Don’t ask me, for
I could not tell you. All I learn is
That sometimes you have to stop
Be still, let someone else take
Over, to realise you are running
Straight into the ground. Take a
Step back, breathe, let go, for
Any semblance of control over our
Own lives is only the illusion of
Control, for in reality we are nothing
More than feeling pin-balls, bouncing
From one precarious noisy post
To another, forever hopingwishingpraying to
Receive some kind of sign
That this will be the last bounce,
Bump, grind, ringing bells in our
Ears and knocking us sideways into
Another dimension of confusion.
Are we really who we think we are?
Would it make any difference?
Still we bang on,
In our own personal way, chasing
That illusive ‘happy’ place, each
To our own, still bouncing from
Pillar to post, unsure of the latest
As we were of the first, that promised
‘Ease-up’ of pressureworklife never
Appearing, instead pressure ramps
Up, the pedal slips down ever closer
To the floor, one more step to our
Grave, the only end we will all
Ever share, still none the wiser.
Yet if we stop, let go, sit still,
Even for one moment, we may see
That life is not one long mad rush
Towards the inevitable crowning
Glory, the final rest, but a journey
Onwards deeper into our own
Personal road, our chosen path,
Until we know just who we are,
And hopefully, if we’re lucky,
Why.
“Save yourselves!” cried a tiny voice, squeaking in the early dawn as the collosal clock of doom ticked away. They could all hear it, deep in the gentle settling ticking and creaking of the great oak tree they nestled in, reverberating cold empty echoes in their frail hollow bones.
“Save yourselves! Fly away!” another tiny voice piped up, singing out harmoniously with the first.
The light broke proper over the forest, and the rest of the tiny voices began to shout out their warning, “Save yourselves! The end is coming.” But no one seemed to be listening.
“Save yourself!” shouted a red-breasted fellow, ululating the cry, choking on the final syllable. He himself could feel the warning of time ticking down to Doomsday vibratingly to the tips of his tail feathers. The fear froze him from within, even as he swallowed air to shout his warning once more. Still the large hand swept to the final time, resonating deeper still, deep down next to where the primal fear nestled in his subconscious.
“Save yourself!” echoed from branch to branch, tree to tree, yet no one was listening. Winter was coming. A winter that would last. And only the ancient memory of the dinosaurs vibrating spider-like in their tiny souls knew what that really meant.
And still no one listened.