Blue Sky Thinking :: Dread

[INT; Alt’s Brain. Good and Bad are standing on opposite sides of a very large sinkhole, which has unexpectedly appeared in a vital part of the organisation structure. They stare at each other with uncertainty.]

BAD: Nope, this definitely wasn’t here yesterday.

GOOD: Wonder how much stuff we’ve lost down there…

[From the darkness of the hole there is movement, then a small, hesitant voice calls up.]

DREAD: Er… is there any chance of a rope…?


It’s not been a great week. I’m behind, but am determined to get everything back to a semblance of normality as quickly as possible. It would help if I didn’t have this constant, nagging fear at the back of my mind that there’s really no point, because if there was only one reader total on my blog last week, why exactly am I bothering?

One day, that could all change, but if I don’t try, how will I know?

Imposter Syndrome is a bitch.


DREAD

Between breaths, dread slides,
hand to shoulder, slightest pressure
restrict movement, arrest progress
perfect assassin, silent killer.

I will prevent, hold back, disarm
progression, confidence, belief
this life, not yours, penance made
each joy, removed, destroyed.

Hole opens beneath, hope swallowed, receding faith, destruction
sucked downwards, spat outwards, crushed beneath, opened up:
depression formed, weathered front, low pressure, happiness drowned…

You win.

I’m lost.

Sanity

smallest cost.


 

Paranoid Android

I have a problem with self-promotion.

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Things have improved over the last couple of years, but the whole ‘sell yourself’ thing is tough. It isn’t just the British reserve either, far more significant worries from beginning to grasp there’s been a lifetime of misinterpreting the signals of others in personal situations to assimilate first. Getting all that settled in my head’s been a fairly notable undertaking but finally, there is light at the end of the mother of all tunnels.

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This means that, starting in September, the promotion machine will move into high gear. I suspect this site will undergo a revamp, to try and make it more friendly to potential individuals and organisations who may wish to approach. For those of you who don’t like the idea of me getting all commercial? I’m sorry, but at least part of my future is now being pushed this way, and there’s no going back now. This week the first of many applications for writing support is submitted, plus poetry finalisedto be considered for financial gain.

There really is no going back from this path now.

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I’m cautiously optimistic for the future, because pinning all your hopes on summat and then watching it fail is no way to live a sensible existence. We’ll just keep plugging away at this stuff for as long as is needed, and keep on writing in the spaced in between. That’s what matters most of all: not the recognition, but the words that narrate life’s inevitable progress.

That’s something I’m getting increasingly good at controlling.

Electric Dreams

It had been a bit of a struggle to come up with a theme for June’s content, until an idea for the Twitter short story presented itself…

This week’s been a lot about how Online deals with reality and vice versa, and with a cracking idea now in the planning stage, it was time to start making the graphics and planning a way forward…

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I’ll sort out the #Narrating2018 and #Soundtracking2018 titles in the next few days, but I severely doubt there’ll be any struggle coming up with suitable subject matters. The Internet’s a big place, after all. It’s also full of some QUITE RIDICULOUS STUFF.

The problem I forsee, at least is planning, is finding enough stuff other people haven’t shared about a bazillion times in the first place…

Experimental :: White

Bleached out, harsh albescent morning:
Bitter wind flattens inner growth
As the daffodils falter,
Spring ironed from their stems;
Crushed hope in winter’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.

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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 the Haiku is clearly doing the dirty, this set of micropoems 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 ruckus in certain circles.

Please consume your 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 ‘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 is 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 life’s spark
Little death our end.