Experimental :: White

Bleached out, harsh albescent morning:
Bitter wind flattens inner growth
As the daffodils falter,
Spring ironed from their stems;
Crushed hope in winterā€™s hardened grip.

Too much else to think:
Mind shatters under pressure drop
Let me run away, wrap up
Warm and safe from decisions
Crushed by inability, no understanding.

Washed out, blank consciousness
Bitter apprehension, cold and fearful:
When the body will not rise, deformed
By rough, white contamination,
To little left to give.

Is It Worth It?

Today is a ‘ponder your existence’ day.

I’ve formed a lot of personal relationships over the years with people who, it must be said, seem to have little or no interest in me. The associations have, for the most part, come about from moments of brief brilliance: a chance meeting in a game, or maybe a glorious exchange via Social media. After that moment, one of two things tends to happen. That person either a) gets bored and simply vanishes or b) has a massive, almost nuclear meltdown, flounces off and is never seen again.

I seem to fall in love with the hopeless cases.

For me, the Internet is a second home. This is sometimes a bit unhealthy (and, of late, I am attempting to curb my time on Twitter because there are no longer enough hours in the day to get everything done otherwise) and is historically cyclical. Once the weather gets better I’ll be outside anyway, but for now, we’re using Social media as a means to sell ourselves. However, not a day goes by when I watch someone who used to be active and enjoyable on the platform drift into the past without a goodbye.

It can get quite depressing if one allows this romantic association to consume the rational, sensible part of brain that gets how anonymity works. Now my real name is attached to my Twitter accounts, there’s no escaping the truth of what I am, but as I’m unlikely to have to worry about being employed in a massive multinational anytime soon, having my Boss turn up to read Tweets is not a major concern. Still, honesty does matter. Today I’ve been lied to and that hurts.


Having a long memory on the Internet is useful. Remembering who was the dick and the hero, understanding the people prepared to have a conversation when you need one, the person with the best GIFs… all these things add up to the perfection of a Decent Online Experience. Of course, none of this matters one iota to the person with their own agenda, who’s just here to get a quick fix of narcissistic joy. Like all things, your experience will vary. I’m here for the long term, however, so it matters a great deal that the environment is conducive for me to survive. Therefore, you unfollow the hacked accounts, you block the obvious robots, and life goes on regardless.

Today, however, I miss the good people who went away, the ones I can’t get to be there anymore, and my friends who no longer communicate.

I think I miss them most of all.

Poetry Archive :: The Sensual World

I am gonna have a hard time bettering this week’s offerings next week, and suspect it could be time for a change in tack on the ‘romance’ front. Whereas theĀ Haiku is clearly doing the dirty this week, theĀ Micropoetry decides to be a bit more reflective in its dissection of passion between the sheets. However, people are still having sex, the word orgasm gets used and so this might cause a bit of a ruckusĀ in certain circles.

Please consume yourĀ erotic literature (in all its forms) as responsibly as possible.

The Sensual World

My grasping hand pulls forward need,
Equal pressure soft lips will feed:
Upon the fruits these bodies yield
Whilst layered warmth ā€˜neath cotton shield.

As coupling becomes our dance
Desire fights passion, both advance,
Beyond the simple pulsing beat
Of small release; orgasms fleet.

Our coalescing, strengthened whole
Compelling mind, intertwined soul:
Together locked, deepening tryst
Where pain and doubt will not exist.

As each new spark of passion flares
Between us both burden declares
The strengthening of final form:
That redefines accepted norm.

Our sensual world, never far
Within whatever space we are
Requiring simple care to fuel;
Eternal fountain of renewal.


Poetry Archive :: The Slightest Touch

This week, because VALENTINE’S DAY, I decided to throw a little erotica into everything. That means I should probably warn you that these five Haiku are about SEX, there are MAN PARTS involved and it’s probably one of the most fun things I’ve written for a while. There’s not enough stuff about adult relations on Twitter which is sympathetically done. We all know about the body parts in the DM’s that NOBODY ASKED FOR but this is loving, consensual and perfectly normal. Oh, and there’s a money shot.

Enjoy, and always remember to use protection.

The Slightest Touch

Sensitised, moving
Side to back; your arrival,
Waking arousal.

Coarse flesh, rough hands brush
Back to hip: pulling closer
Face blurs as lips touch.

Lost in joint passion
Blessed manipulation
Bodies twist, reset.

Looking down to you,
Hands grasp: shifting weight above
Organ pulse inside.

This slightest touch starts
Chain reaction: from lifeā€™s spark
Little death our end.

Silence is Easy

After yesterday’s post, I realise there is an important coda that needs to be heard.

Sometimes, talking to people you trust on the InternetĀ can make everything better, especially when you’re alone and lost. To every one of those 44 people who took time out of a busy day to find me a GIF, or simply say yes, you can have a hug, I owe a debt of gratitude that needs to not only be celebrated but held up as demonstration as to how amazingly awesome these kinds of online communities can be.

It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that there’s a significant gulf of comprehension between those who ‘understand’ how the Internet really works (with all the attendant good and evil that encompasses) and those who don’t. Most significantly, those of us who claim to be experts seldom are and must be reminded at least daily this is the case. Every day is a School day for a reason: the most expected and predictableĀ can (and does) surprise. If you truly wish to live as an Internet citizen, professing ‘you know how stuff works here’ is putting you on a hiding to nothing. Time to give that up.Ā 

Instead, like most things in life, the better time spent seems to involve learningĀ how the Internet best works for YOU.


Reaching out for help is perfectly and absolutely the right thing to do. Living your entire life in minute detail via Social media, however, may NOT be the ideal state of affairs, especially if other people are involved. In fact, from recent experience, do that and it does only end in tears. If I’m learning at 51 when to pick my battles, I can guarantee everybody else could take a look at themselves and pick up their averages.Ā Knowing when to ask for help is, after all, just as important asĀ grasping when to say NO.

I’ve also realised that today it would have been very easy to have broken my posting record hereĀ because I don’t feel 110% able to cope. Making the effort to preserve routines, work to deadlines and accommodateĀ others are beginning to matter far more than was ever previously the case. by doing so, everybody benefits. That’s why today I remind myself that knowing when to speak up is a skill I’m awful at, and it needs work. I can ask for help now without a problem. Now comes the part where I’m comfortableĀ speaking up about what is going wrong.

It’s another J Word to add to the rapidly growing pile.

GSME #23 :: Big Log


So, I should have done this a long time ago, on reflection.


This is the true measure of progress since Twitter reset its UI in the Summer. In four months, I have picked up one new follower. This is what happens when you systematically remove the elements that exist within Social media whose sole purpose is to self-promote a chosen few. Like everything else (SEO, marketing, brand identity) there are a very specific set of rules one needs to follow to become a success.

Those can be summed up in two statements. Either you:

Are genuinely successful and organically gain an audience with a genuine interest in your life, brand or product;


You create a completely fictional representation of the exact same thing using robot followers and reciprocal follow-backs.

From a distance, most users will be hard pressed to distinguish the two.


It is the biggest and worst kept secret on the entire platform. If you pay enough money, you can be an overnight success, but if you never listen to anybody else or indeed contribute anything of note? What is the point of existing?

Then there’s the moments when the robots try and convince you they are human, and the humans think they’ve been clever when really, they’re dumber than rocks. However, in amongst the trash are some real treasures. Anna was one of them last week: she’s been trying to follow me for a while, and with 16k followers you’d think she might be worthwhile, but her Twitter’s a stream of quotes and pictures and little if no reality injected. Looking at her biography, she appears ‘real’ enough:

Student. Writer. Gamer. Slytherin. Bookaholic. Dork. Programmer in Training. Founder of [Account 1] and [Account 2] Part of the Response Team at [Online Employer]

[US LOCATION] Ā· [Website here]

The two Twitter accounts she’s founded have no content, plus the company she works for is involved in curating automated content for Twitter. When I followed her, the first thing that was sent from her account was as follows:


She almost had me, until I followed her from my Patreon Twitter and the exact same message was sent there, too. For a second I hoped that maybe I’d found someone who wasn’t playing the game, or simply here to show how easy it is to manipulate people into following but no, I was wrong. Anna was the straw that broke my social media ‘back.’ Fictional popularity is probably is the most insidious concept I can imagine, but has become a perfect metaphor for the current state of humanity.

The saddest thing of all is that Anna may well be real; going through her website there’s a response form, details of her education… and that she’s training in computer forensics. Ironically, right now, she’s reading 1984, which is particularly apposite with the level of doublethink operating here. If my investigations have awoken the real Anna’s interest, and she’s come here to read about what I have to say, I wish her luck in this future career, but I’ll keep you blocked. I have enough mindless crap on my feed without promoting any more.

The time has come to promote only reality in my journey.