Monday, April 21, 2014


There's barely enough light to see the way. Strangers keep bumping into me. Keep moving, I say to myself. You'll get there, I repeat. One step at a time. Home soon, where the rooms stand still and the children ignore me. I've had enough of this day. There. I'm home. Rest.


It's such a futile thing: hope. There is no act of doing, other than the thought itself, yet we expect action in return. Hoping has no connection to the physical. It remains with us. Hope doesn't built castles or save lives. Hope doesn't feed a famine or give warmth to a chilled body. Hope is a preservation of the wishful thinker, the individual who knows no other way. It is also an excuse for the unwilling and a fragile thread to hang on to. Hope doesn't connect. It leaves as greater chasm as it found. Hoping is doing nothing. Hoping is lost on the needy. Hope is for those who can well do without it.  Hope will not ward away the ravages of time. Nor will it fend off the attack from enemies.   Be thoughtful, then find another way.


He was here last week. I caught a glimpse of him as he stepped from the carriage, dressed for office work, carrying a fine case and the morning paper. I recognized him from the photos my mother had shown me. He looked strong and determined. I have lost the inclination to ask why he left. It seems unimportant now that I have seen him again. I I can talk to him if he remembers me. We are flesh and blood, after all. I know it was him. My mother tells me I look like him. He will want to stop and talk., I know he will. Maybe lunch together. Or a walk in the park. I have so much to tell him. Today he's not there. Maybe he missed the train. I'll try again tomorrow. What will I say. Hello. I'm your son. I'll wait to see if he's on the next train.

Right lane

and now for the weather.

Don't step on the cracks

Txt message


Looks like a nice day. Not many people on the street yet. I'll head over to DJ's first. They have some specials running. I need a new pair of shoes. Lunch at Drizzle with Wendy. That'll be nice. I hope she doesn't bring her sister. She's a pain. Never gives consideration to anyone but herself. Completely oblivious to the world around her. Some people. I need a new handbag as well. This one is looking so tatty.

Changing levels

Being upwardly mobile seems to be the thing to do. Aspire, perspire, achieve, be better than the next bloke, be on top, break the glass ceiling, be successful. Along with that will come admiration, wealth, 
recognition, respect and even happiness. If  it's the penthouse we are all aiming for, who is left to take care of the basement? Who can be happy on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder? Is contentment a poor substitute for aspiration? Can achievement be attained simply by being there and getting the job done?
Next time you reach the stairs, take a walk down and see what you might have left behind. It might be better than you thought.

Hanging by your feet.

The image projected onto the retina of the eye is inverted. ie, it is up side down.
It's by no slight of hand or magic that the brain puts it the right way up. Not only is it an easier way of getting around, it does put everyone in the same perspective.
Mind you, we could get used to seeing the world up the other way. A few days of seeing everything topsy tervy and we'd definitely know up from down. We quickly adapt. We can learn to do things according to how it appears quite easily.
In other aspects of our life, we are not so willing to give way or give in to the inevitable. We all experience situations when everything seems to have done an about face or we are going against the grain, swimming up stream or caught in a revolving door.
It feels like we are about to fall on our head.
Don't panic. You're just looking through a rain drop.

How sure are you?

How sure are you? Step in front of a fast moving train and there’s a more than fair chance you’ll not survive to tell the story o...