Time moves in one direction, memory in another.

Is life now simple and uncomplicated, where once it was complex, tangled and twisted.  Is time forgotten, wasted, where once we treasured every second.

 

We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.

Time moves in one direction, memory in another.

 

Time, is something we need to fear, time would rush by or seem to be slow in pace, but it moved at equal keystrokes, each second the same distance as the last.


The future, will meet us and the past leaves behind us. We find ourselves reliving the moments, sometimes over and over, but never forget that the future and life is in front of you.

Time, ticks by, second by second...............

tick. tick

It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/elizabetht387638.html#jlhuEdRLpgweUQb3.99

It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/elizabetht387638.html#jlhuEdRLpgweUQb3.99

Garbled thoughts, of a confused mind

Simultaneously, as soundlessly,

    Spontaneously, suddenly

As, at the vaunt of the dawn, the kind

    Gates of the mind fly open

To its world beyond, the gates of the time,

    The noiseless gate and the ivory gate

Swing to, swing shut, instantaneously

    Quell the nocturnal rummage

Of its rebellious frond, ill-favoured,

    Ill-natured and second-rate,

Disenfranchised, widowed and orphaned

    By an historical mistake:

Recalled from the shades to be a seeing being,

    From absence to be on display,

Without a name or history I wake

    Between my mind and the day

 

Only this moment, wholly in the right,

    As, in complete obedience

To the light's laconic outcry, next

    As a sheet, near as a wall,

Out there as a mountain's poise of stone,

    The world is present, about,

And I know that I am, here, but alone

    Within a world, and rejoice

Unvexed, for the will has still to claim

    This adjacent arm as my own,

The memory to name me, resume

    It’s routine of praise and blame,

And smiling to me is this instant while

    Still the day is intact, and I

Am sinless in my beginning,

    Still previous to any act

 

I draw breath; that is of course to wish,

    No matter what, to be wise

To be different, to die and the cost,

  My mind, confused, dark as midnight

No honest equal, my accomplice now,

    My assassin to be and my name

Tis burnt of dreams, of thoughts apparition

   Fragmented fixed, contemplation delusion

 

    For a lying self-made pity,

Afraid of my living task, are dying

    Which the coming night will ask

So cold, the earth cakes the tomb

   The thrashing of the thunder, tears do form

As dying await, my fate is sealed no turning

     Solitary in life and death, the powers deemed

Decayed, forgotten, life expired

 

 

 

 

Journey to Death

First Chapter of Journey to Death ...... Publication date TBC

 

The scream rose from her throat like a tidal wave crescendo, beginning with the smallest screech to the heart wrenching, death tugging sound that couldn’t be ignored. Yet.  People walked by, tutting as they went, complaining of the noise, thinking they were simply teenagers messing around. It wasn’t until the all-encompassing silence and the bitter red blood spilled onto the pavement, that someone took heed. But then it was too late, her final breath had exhaled from her body, her limbs now unfunctioning.  The blood matted chestnut hair in contrast to the tinged pallor of her neck, her eyes blank staring into the distance, an emptiness of black unyielding pools of darkness, her body still warm but unfeeling.

Running feet pounded on the street as the people who had walked on by, now stood gawking, at the macabre scene in front of them, guilt and disbelief on their stone faces. Still no one moved closer, each scared, frightened what if she was playing a game.

A thin tall guy, his hair streak with grey, knelt down and touched her hand, feeling for a pulse, a sign of life, nothing. He yelled someone call an ambulance, but he knew they couldn’t help. Taking off his beige overcoat, he gently laid it over her lifeless body, talking softly to her, reassuring her that all was alright, everything would be ok. Mainly for himself, but also for the crowd, so that they thought she was still alive. Murmured voices, what, why, how, question that seconds before no one cared to ask, now they all wanted to be part of the horrific scene being portrayed before them, a highly developed sense of tragedy, the adrenalin pumping through their veins as they realised that this was real.  Unlike like a play on the stage or the cinema screen. Their fifteen minutes of fame.

Sirens wailed, blue flashing lights approached through the darkness, shouting, pieced the walls of the swallowing buildings, who is she, can you hear me, what happened. No one answered because no one knew. It was just another night of violence, another murder, another life extinguished.  It happened all the time on the streets of Bridgington, tonight was no different.

Tomorrow, all that would be left is the stain of dried blood on the dirty concrete, a single bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane that someone had brought from the supermarket, and whispers in the club about some poor girl who had be stabbed or shot, or maybe a drug over dose, so much speculation, no truths no lies.

The newspaper would cover the story for a few days, people would be asked how they felt, why didn’t they intervene, so many questions all predicable answers, then it would be yesterday’s news, yesterday’s tragedy, yesterday’s life.

But her life wasn’t yesterday’s news; she was loved by someone, once.  Someone, somewhere was heartbroken, someone knew her story.  But at this moment in time, no one even knew her name.  For now she was just another Jane Doe.

 

 

 

What is your justifcation in this matter?

 

Why

How do you know
Why should I listen to you, or even talk to you
Where are the sources of your information

Are you prepared to back your words with actions
What do you stand to benefit from me believing this
What is the underlying assumption of your justification

 

Have you been reading my words

Do you understand my feelings

Can you help me

 

"HELP ME"

Every day we are told what to do, what to buy, how to behave, what to say, who to listen to..

But how many people actually listen to us.
We battle against big corporate companies whose rules we are expected to adhere to, and if we ever have the audacity to challenge those rules we can often find ourselves in the court room.

The little people no longer matter, and the older you get that becomes more relevant.

We condone those that don't conform, we are put in little boxes, and expected to behave the way society says.

I am told I am depressed, why, because I have days when I don't want to go out, I lock the doors and keep my curtains closed, shut myself away.
BUT ... I am not depressed.......

I am not..............I just don't like the world as it is today.. maybe tomorrow will be better!

 

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,

to front only the essential facts of life,

and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not,

 when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

 

 

 

Time will let me go............

Time, a malformed deviant thing!  Sometimes it rushes by, others at a snail pace, never consistent.

In a perfect world we would know exactly how the time flows, we would never be late or early, exact moments would be so precious we would remember them in fastidious detail. 

So why is it that, some people just let it slip by unnoticed, not bothering to contact friends, family for weeks or months at a time. Do they have no perception of time?

Me…………. Well I notice time, I hate the way it controls my life. The way the morning hour interpolates on my day. The restrictions it imposes on what my life should be, the hours I should sleep, work, eat etc.

Whenever I have an arrangement to meet someone for example, I am usually early and wait patiently for them to be LATE……………

I get annoyed that they don’t let me know, and even worse if they don’t turn up at all. Surely it’s manners, it courteous to let someone know you can’t make it isn’t it?

 

Time, where does it go?

Does it disappear in the breeze or slip into the river and on to the sea?

Time and tide wait for no man, so the saying goes, well that is true... …..

Have we wished our lives away, wasting time, time that is so precious?

What would we do, if we could capture time and hold it future use?

 

 

 

 

 

Where am I going to?

Today I got in my car and drove 100 miles.... Nowhere and back!

I stopped at churches, walked round old graveyards, thinking this is where I will end up one day.....

I stood on the windy sands and watched the waves, the sound soothing but frightening too.

Sad, yes.. I wondered who would miss me. many people say they would, but you think maybe they would for a few weeks, months even, then it would be.. WHO?

Dream of a life............. what is a life

What is life?
 
We are born, we live, we die. how many people remember us after we are dead?


When tears never fall, and birds never fly,

Winter never ends, and children never cry

When the sun never shines, and the moon never glows

When darkness is too bright, and the river never flows

When the nights are not dark, and the days are not light

When forever does finally end, and the eyes have no sight

When confusion is so clear, and voices can't be heard

The sunset never fades, and no one says a word

When ears cannot hear, and the grass never grows

When silence is too loud, and the genius never knows

When strength doesn't strengthen, and flowers never bloom

When hearts can't be broken, and eternity is too soon

When the wind never blows, and the rain is never wet

When thunder can't be heard, and the sun refuses to set

When a dreamer cannot dream, and the obvious can't be found

When the ocean is not deep, and the earth is not round

When angels don't protect, and a fact is not true

When life can't be lived, and the sky is not blue

When the truth is a lie, and the fake becomes so real

The clock shows no time, and wounds never heal

When enjoyment isn't fun, and bells cannot ring

When a race cannot be won, and a singer cannot sing

When pain does not hurt, and enemies never fight

When rainbows have no colour and something wrong seems so right

 

Is this the day when I am dead
I am no longer in your heart or head


Or are we confined by those that others build,
because we have a need to be accepted

Forgotten, laying in the cold
Unopened letters, never unfold
Presents gathered in the dust
No names, imaginary friends I entrust
The television soundless, no one hears
My silent, nor senses my fears
Mice scamper, between the sheets
Of bed unmade as no one sleeps
Is my name mentioned in conversation
Or simpley dismissed in dissipation
Maybe one day, they will remember
A life once lived, till late September
Till letters piled high behind the door
See my life laid out on the floor
As questions asked, who is she
Never knowing, name of me
Dream of a life, what life is that
Doesn't matter now, its just an empty flat!




 



 

 

 

 

Fix me, for I am broken

Can we go backwards, back to happier times? PLEASE

Last night I had this dream............... or was it a nightmare............

The dream was a violent an unexplained tragedy, being slowly torn apart by the corrosive need to understand why, what my life was all about. Everything was broken, I felt broken, smashed to pieces, but my dream was nothing like my life, or so it is to the outside world.  
So where had it come from. Was it a warning?  A deep set subconscious......

I woke the tears dried on my face, feeling bemused that I was in bed, and not standing in the desolate wasteland, it wasn’t real. The whiteness of the duvet a cloud of comfort and reassurance, a cushion maybe for what was to come. Well, I wanted to stay in my comfort zone if it was.

The panic rose in me, the dream had been so intense it left me shaking. The sound of the clock chiming, it was only 4 am, what was I doing?   The dawn was creeping through the dark sky............

 

 

Gone, to late to care

 

My heart is stung by harsh reproof, I can only run,  constantly seek the truth. Do I believe them if they say another word, the trust does risk goodwill, yet still may fly off like a bird.

My dreams are quelled, my dreams are squashed, as I listen to the voice of reason, calmly state, don’t break the line, don’t change the mood. Whilst it is good, can’t change its course.

So I quietly sit by grey-green lake, the old relationship assessment take. I heard their voices, listen to that sound, and knew I had to leave to turn my life around. So I decided to bid one last adieu, and make today the final rendezvous, to leave without a word to face, that fate that awaits me, along the road of hate.
 
A cowards way to leave this earth, the darkness engulfed like ghosts in the night.
Though many lie and laugh with mirth, I can’t hear, nor see, nor feel, the icy stares aimed at me. Looking, now there is a  need to see my life on a different page. Till I can suppress the volcanic rage.

To beyond the mirror of the face, my life is clearer a different pac. I trip and fall make amends, but will stand firm but then stop before I cause offend.
You may look at me and see the fake, the smile not real, the eyes don’t see. You will never know the real me, I will forever remain a mystery.

The dice was thrown, I lost the game. They called for me, I slipped the frame.
Sky blue smudged with cloud, grey hoarse voice shouts aloud, yet you can not hear.
Final moment flashes by, the voices, silenced, the dream now gone incessantly passed.
Life has gone, life will die, the blood has dried, the eyes now empty. It is to late to say I care.


Forget the words, forget me, for I was never there.

 

 

 

 

 

Today is the first day of the rest of your life

Life is full of cliques’ we live by them.

 But the one that says ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’ is very important today, especially for me.

I am fed up with my life. I am expected to be here for everyone, if I don’t answer calls, text, emails, I get accused of not caring, not speaking, disappearing. But I have sent a text to 4 people this morning because I feel very down and sad, and guess what, not one person bothered to ask how I was. The one that did answer was concerned about themselves.   

In my relationship, I never push, all I ever asked is text or call me occasionally, tell me you’re thinking about me. But I get kicked into touch,.

Yes I know, I should do something to occupy my mind, but it easier said then done. I pretend my life is so busy, maybe that is the trouble, but even when I say life is quiet, it seems ten times worse.

I go out of my way to see people, arrange things, meet them for lunch etc, then as the last minute they say they can’t do it because something important has come up… ya right!!!!!

Today I have sorted cupboards, put stuff in boxes for charity, and stuff for the rubbish.

I am bored but I do have a spotless house, and tidy organised cupboards. J

I feel better for writing this, for few moments at least… still NO ONE WILL READ IT ANYWAY...
NO FOLLOWERS OR COMMENTS...

 

Take care

 

who am I??????????

Who am I? that is the question...........

We could and probably do spend a lifetime asking that question and come up with dozens of different answers.

As we get older do we get closer to finding the truth out about ourselves….

No

if anything thing I lose track of who I am, before I was just me, daughter, sister, then I became, girlfriend, wife mother.

Now divorce and single again, children grown up, I no longer have a place, so I don’t know who I am.

I am me, but who is me?

Private hell

My world a private hell, because I feel I am a public embarrassment.

 

Do we keep our feeling to ourselves, or as someone said recently, we turn conversations about ourselves.

Do we then in turn, push friends and relatives away with our constant self-indulgence about our woes and miserable persona?

Do we ever stop and listen to ourselves or do we listen to ourselves to much?

Is there enough time to in our worlds to create a peace, or do we criticise, beat ourselves up, look in the mirror and feel sick, disgusted by what we see?

Do we in turn listen to others? By this I mean when someone says this or that is good, do we believe them or do we simply think ‘they are just saying it to be polite’

We fall fowl of good intentions, our goals, hopes and dreams, then complain about lack of opportunity, but do we create that failure ourselves. 

You may think this is absolute gibberish or you may agree entirely, but one thing I do know, it's exactly how I feel.

Some days you know you are in the right place, everything goes like clockwork, other days the shoes don’t fit and everything goes wrong. But on the day where everything is fine are you like me, waiting for the axe to fall.

There is not enough time for good and bad to meet and create harmony, we can bore people with our constant whinging, negative attitude, but isn’t that the way we are. We do listen to others, but it is all too easy to say ‘it’s just like when or how I did’ thus becoming a self-proclaiming voice.
 

Some days you know you are in the right place, everything goes like clockwork, other days the shoes don’t fit and everything goes wrong. But on the day where everything is fine are you like me, waiting for the axe to fall.

There is not enough time for good and bad to meet and create harmony, we can bore people with our constant whinging, negative attitude, but isn’t that the way we are. We do listen to others, but it is all too easy to say ‘it’s just like when or how I did’ thus becoming a self-proclaiming voice.

Are we then an embarrassment to our friends, become a negative vampire to them.  

The guilt kicks in, we shut ourselves away, hiding behind closed doors or like me the computer screen.

My world a private hell, because I feel I am a public embarrassment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My world a private hell, because I feel I am a public embarrassment.

Surface of reality

Hiding below the surface of reality

Having found refuge in the hands of fantasy
Illusion is what lies ahead
Stimulating my crazy head
The clock ticks as the time passes away
All I can think is you in my memory
In my soul you’ve been engraved, deep within
And keep you there, odd things between

Can’t seem to touch with my grasp

I can’t longer hold on with my clasp

It is strange you’re not so far
It is shows that you really are
Cool exterior is my false façade
Like a pompous admiration is what I hide
Can’t stop to think of you everyday
It turns out I am already in disarray
Your voice is like a gentle whisper
Your thoughts always made me wonder
Your smile if the curable answer
To all these things that makes me whimper

I am embrace with invisibility

I have this unnoticed agility
Invaded by hollowness
Torn asunder thoughts, its craziness
Sometimes I think you’re a mirage, an illusion
Ironically you have a different devotion
Don’t know when to get it all out in these walls
Confuse and sandwich still between truth and false

 

Drink me

There comes a point where the mask starts cracking.  Just a small crack at first, you inadvertently show a frown at the wrong moment, a self-pity phrase when someone asks you a question. Soon the wall gives way to your fatigue.  "You look tired."  "Why thank you."  At least you didn't tell me I look depressed. 

Then one night you're curled up on your bed listening to like-minded depressed individuals sing you songs and a tear slips and your roommate walks in before you have time to re stack the bricks.   "You okay?" "Oh, yeah.  Allergies.  Make my eyes tear." Sniff.  She buys it.  How could anyone buy that, you wonder?  Change the subject now, something cheerful.  You are relieved and terrified.  Terrified of having to do this forever, alone. 

It's exhausting just to think about it.  Curl up now, go to sleep.  Tomorrow will be better.  In the morning, your first thought is about how you feel.  The same.  Same as last night.  You reach for your mask but can't find it anywhere.  Wasn't it on the bedside table?  You're too tired to look for it and too tired to care.  You'll stay in bed today.  "Do you feel okay?" "Yeah, I think it's just some sort of stomach bug."   Oh good, I found it again.

One day you sleep the day through, hoping that you can continue to sleep through the night. The hours slip sluggishly by, you constantly look at the clock, talking to someone would  cheer you up, BUT there is no one there.

The mind fogs over, the words no longer drift in and out of your brain.  You stare at the TV screen, but can’t see what is there, because to you, its black, empty, silent 

It’s amazing how many times you can say “I’m just tired”…. No one takes any notice, till you take that step to the bottom of the hole you are dragged into.  The bottle on the table glares at you……………….

 

Drink me…… its calling out to you, in your despair…………………….

Take me …… The tablets appear to have written in tall red letters

Sleep, forget, forever….. Sleep……………………………………………………

You wonder... who will miss me, the friend that cries on your shoulder, but isn’t there for you

The neighbours who don’t even bother to say hi!

Your work mates who won’t have someone to do the work they won't or can't be bothered to do.

Sometimes we need to run way to see who is following, lock ourselves in the dark recesses of our mind.

It can be the loneliest feeling in the world. To find yourself standing up when everyone else is sitting down. To have everybody look at you and say "what's the matter with her?" I know what it feels like. Walking down an empty street, listening to the sound of your own footsteps. Shutters closed, blinds drawn, doors locked against you. And you aren't sure whether you're walking toward something, or if you're just walking away.  

Which is worse, to keep smiling pretending nothing is wrong, or crying alone in your room, still not knowing what is wrong. The feeling of isolation, desperation, screaming at the face in the mirror, give me an answer, tell me the truth.

But, you look at me and think, 'she's so happy' yet there's so much behind this little smile that you will never know.

Beneath the smile, my heart is crumbling, my bones are weakened, my whole body aches with pain and misery.

Yes I guess I am depressed, there I have said it………………….

I am depressed… help me find my smile, please…………..

 

 

writer, thinker, info junkie............

 

The written word fascinates me, the spoken word more so.

We write many things in our life time from the first time we write our name in shaky uneven letters, joining the dots to create the shape, to learning how to sign our name in the best handwritten way, to declaring our love in letters and breaking hearts in goodbye notes.

We write essays and exam papers, reports with long complicated words that we often don’t really understand.  The final act is writing our Last Will and Testament to leave our goods and chattel behind.

But we learn to talk before we can write, ‘mummy or daddy’ brings delight to our parents. We ask for simple things, a drink and a sweet.  Before long we are demanding attention, saying I want.  We yell and scream, we whisper, we sing, but how often do we sit in silence, with a blank piece of paper

Which is best, the written word or the spoken word.

They say a word spoken can’t be undone, but is that true?

Surely a written word can’t be undone or erased either.

Four things that you can never get back… the spoken word… your past life… wasted time… a neglected opportunity………… but what of the written word, can you get that back.

Think about this…. You send a text message, email or letter…. You know it was wrong, that it would upset and hurt someone. Can you then simply say ‘Sorry’ and take it back….

You can never get back the words you have spoken.  It is possible to “undo” some of the things you have done, by saying that word sorry - but you can never “unsay” the things you have said. 

Are spoken words more powerful, or it the written word just as potent?

Angry words are destructive, and untrue words so demoralising.  Kind and encouraging words such a healing comforting force.

When we talk are we not writing what we are saying on the hearts of the listener?  And once written, our words can never be erased.

Nowhere to go.. but inside my head

Every song has a memory; every song has the ability to make or break your heart, shut down the heart, and open your eyes, listen to your dreams.

I often wonder when someone writes a song, what are they thinking.

Not all songs are  happy love songs,many are about broken hearts, war, death, sadness and broken dreams. When they put words to music or down on paper, are they feeling that emotion, the anger, are they crying or are they laughing, smiling, even talking to someone else.

When I write, I am in the moment, often the thoughts in my head are going a high speed, but my fingers are typing at a much slower pace. Many mistakes are created and corrections have to be made, which in turn takes longer. So I will forget what I wanted to say, or it doesn't make sense.

The computer makes it so much easier to do this, I remember having to type on an old electric typewriter and the mistakes being 'tippexed' out, little white blobs on the sheet.  Being able to add in paragraphs or take out words with a tap of a key, copy and paste, ... wonderful.

But back to the writing.....

I set myself a task, write 1,000 words a night minimum, not that easy, the mind can go blank, and staring at the screen doesn't help. I am almost willing the words to appear....

I always keep a notebook with me, have loads around the house, in the car, in my handbag etc. Quite a collection of quotations, and lines from TV programmes and films I want to remember.

So many words.... so many thoughts............ where too from here

NO! NOT THAT WAY..................................

6 degrees of seperation

In a world of 6.6 billion people, it does seem hard to believe. The theory of six degrees of separation contends that, because we are all linked by chains of acquaintance, you are just six introductions away from any other person on the planet

Whoever you are, up, down, high, low,  rich or poor, we all know someone, who knows someone, who knows everybody on earth.

But the ugly truth is that some of us are not really connected at all…………

But how long can it last, till there is no more hassles, no more sleepless nights, no reasons to get up, no more crying.

Today could be the day

So how will it all end, what is the point?

Either 6 degrees or 1, how long have we got………..

The truth is I don’t know

Maybe someone will reach out in the darkness and takes your hand, and if they do

It feels good……….

 

 

The darkest night is often the bridge to the brightest tomorrow

Brittle life?

Life is so fragile we sometimes wrap it in tissue paper, like delicate china cups, but really it isn’t that brittle after all.

We are strong, we just don’t know it. We take the knocks and the upsets and when we can’t feel like there is no light at the end of the tunnel, somehow we know it’s still there, we just can’t see it. 

The cups bounce many times before they break, just as we do. Life creates many things we don’t want to face, love, heartache, illness, financial problems, and hatred. We look at them, and wonder what we need to do, we fear them, we embrace them, we try to elude them, and we even build brick walls around them.

Talking about things can help ease the pain involved, yet many shut themselves away, lock the door and suffer in silence.

Most of us take life for granted, we don't say thank you often or I love you.  We expect the ones we love to be alive in the morning when we wake up, but in all reality we don't know if they or we will be here anymore.  So when we say life is fragile, why don’t we do these things?

Life is fragile! Compared to eternity, this life is just like the blink of an eye. They say it’s not a rehearsal so why do we not live it to its fullest.  We don’t understand that is can stop in a spilt second, the spin of a coin, we expect it to continue tomorrow and the next day, into the next week and onwards.

 

Like the petals of a flower or the leaves on a tree, they fall and are quickly forgotten.

Yet, we watch the news, disconnected in our own lives at the fragility of life. We become unconscious of the world around us, almost glad that it's them and not us.

We’ve lost sight of everything that is simple, we are green with envy. We are greedy. We want more and more.

We are so caught up in the daily rat race, that we don’t often show appreciation and gratitude for what we DO have. We harp on what’s lacking, or what’s wrong. We take those we love and what we have for granted.

Life is fragile because illusions are fragile. When we rid ourselves of our illusions we are no longer walking on brittle glass. Do we live in a world of fantasy, do we live in a world of the media, the hype of a wonderful life that isn’t really there.

What is the truth, right or wrong, we all live our lives our way.

We must therefore live in the moment. Not in the past. Not in the future. In the here and Now….

The present…………………..

Brittle life, yes, let’s not forget, and stop wrapping it up in tissue paper, have it on show, for all to see.