As youths at school -- in what seems a whole lifetime ago, now, elderly fellow that I am -- we were sometimes asked by teachers what we wanted to be when we grew up. 

After two decades of being an adult and gracing a few arenas of employment, I'm still deciding. 

But this one goes beyond career or other signifiers of adulthood or tangible achievement: 


What do I want to be? 
I want to be better.

I want to give out a smile
Not expecting one back. 

I want to speak out 
Even though it might cost me.

I want to personally make sure
No-one feels left behind.

I want to go thru a single day 
And not once feel despair.

I want to recall my life's mistakes
Without beating myself up for them.

I want to look in the mirror 
And think: "Yeh... he's alright."

Praying for miracles? Perhaps. 
But worth dreaming of, yes?

What do I want to be? 
I want to be better.




Why so damn anxious? 
Think you're a big fat failure? 
Not giving enough? 

You feel left behind? 
Useless with a flabby mind? 
And no direction?

If you can... relax.
Things happen when they happen:
To each a season. 

Don't seek approval:
Our only judge and jury
Is simply ourself.

On the road of life 
We don't race anyone else:
Move to your own beat.


Hmm, in a subtly romantic mood, eh Buffy? How peculiar. 
And it doesn't seem to have been the wine, either...

Anyway, it makes a refreshing change, preoccupied as I have been with anxiety and the wellbeing of chums recently. 

This has its genesis in an intriguing conversation with a lovely and inspirational lady in a beautiful country pub this lunchtime... sometimes the country pub days make the other days bearable [!] 


Let me see True Love:
The sweet nectar of one soul 
Poured into twin cups.

Grown ups? They settle.
The sane, sensible option: 
So I won't take it.  

I've settled before: 
It brought misery to all;
My heart not in it.

Love with all your might: 
The heart, mind, body and soul
Must all be adored. 

I'll love, unreserved: 
Immature yet absolute;
For that's who I am.





Foulness in the air. 
The heady aromas of awfulness.
Bitterness surrounds. 
Dark days.
Dreary days. 
Days of ice cold apathy. 

If you've any energy left at all?

For fuck's sake: smile.

Even if it's a bad one,
Or a slightly embarrassed half-smile: 
If it has warmth in it, it'll do.

Give out as many smiles as you can. 
Because, after all? 
For some people that you smile at? 
It will be the only warm thing 
They'll get in their life today. 

Be the pinprick of starlight; 
Be the stab of blazing light;
The blazing light of sweet humanity 
Amid the freezing darkness.

A single smile is a flame
That sets souls and dreams alight.



Sweet Easter weekend?

A languid, reflective time;
Believer or non-believer. 

Appreciating life;
And what we love
Or have loved. 

Four days? 
Four moods: 
Hopeful, hearty,
Stressed and sad. 

These moods? 
Sometimes consecutive
Occasionally concurrent.
For now I'll be content
To be inconsistent. 

Hot handful of friends; 
Many mirthful words,
Thoughtful phrases, 
Delicious nonsense
And a few small drops 
Of lusty Socratic wonder. 

Lashings of saucy cider;
Whimsical whisky later:
Drowning in the delight 
Of a balmy British spring.
Days of jubilant joie de vivre;
Heady laughter to drown out
The steady hum of darkness. 

The final day begins: 
Time for WordPress? 
Not enough. 
Time to enjoy the company
Of blogging chums? 
Not nearly enough. 
A most happy addict, me: 
Wanting more of my fix.



Phew... and what an April it is. 

Don't get me wrong; things are nowhere near as bad as they were in January-February, but that's not to say they're fabulous. Far from it, indeed. 

My mind is ever-fuzzy, and the anxiety comes in waves; none of this being helped by my ongoing task of the week. 

A lot of my everyday life consists of emails and communications, but at the moment I'm trudging my way thru a complete proofread of an 88,OOO-word manuscript.

The thing about such extensive proofreading is that I end up temporarily going what I often call "text-blind"... words themselves cease to have proper meaning, chunks of text just go blurry in my mind, and I get fed up of "words".
The worst part of this? I've lost most of what I like to call my creativity. Proofreading really crushes the creative spirit.

I know it won't last forever, and I know [and am content, indeed] that my own literary or poetic talents are modest ones: but two things can be noted clearly from all this over-charging of my mind: 

[1] How much I dislike the 'fussy' element of editing and the like. 
Perhaps because of a certain finicky nature, I find such things stifling. I'm content to avoid such things, if possible. 

[2] How important creativity is for me. 
I do believe it makes all the difference between a healthy mind, which focuses on the good, and an unhealthy mind, which obsesses and gives myself a hard time from dawn 'til bedtime [and that's assuming I sleep]. 

I'm assuming point [2] is pretty much universal... particularly for anyone with a sensitive mind and soul. 

But I have to say, for all the tribulations that my own mind brings me, interacting with kindred creative people is worth its weight in gold. 
So anyway; be creative, mes amis... and remain so, just as much as you wish.


Drowning in red ink.
Rubbing my weary, red eyes. 
And red mist rising. 

Words clog up my mind; 
Literate suffocation. 
Time to get fresh air.  

But I love stories; 
Keep me clear of minutiae 
And all will be well.





If you have suffered
And truly know the suicidal pain 
Of gut-wrenching depression?
Then you are a survivor. 

If people have hurt you 
And made you feel worthless
But you know, deep down, you deserve better?
Then you are a fighter. 

If your own problems
Have made you hurt or overlook others 
But you're sorry and want to make amends?
Then you are a good person. 

If panic has taken so much of your life away 
But you badly want it back
And plan to one day kick anxiety's ass?
Then you are a badass. 

If you know the pain of
What some might call 'failure'. 
But you want you and your friends to do better? 
Then you are a winner. 

So... let's see? 
You're a survivor, a fighter, 
A good person, a badass, and a winner. 
Well, my friend... I'm proud to know you.