Sleep is when You’re awake, but unaware Or comatose, and oblivious Or dead, not a care Sleep takes The pains Out of all things Who’d want to be up Not me Let us sleep No flowers By request Advertisements
I’m apolitical. Nay. I’m anti-political. I suspected that my country was holding a parliamentary election one of these days, and my fears were confirmed when I retrieved a set of ballots from my postbox. It was a bulky envelope bulging with two or three dozen ballots, one for each party running. I was unsure what
To take a break from contemplating suicide, I thought I’d brainstorm some ideas to stay alive instead. That’s my notion of testing the power of positive psychology. I believe I’m doing it right, theoretically, but really, I’m not feeling it. Let’s go through the exercise though. Here’s a bunch of random reasons why avoid suicide.
Part of WordPress’s writing course Finding Everyday Inspiration. Here’s a semi-free-writing exercise on the metaphysical topic Why I Write aka Why I Even Exist, which will spiral down to bleak existentialism (Warning, warning), however, relieved by sardonic bites on the way. I will list a succession of reasons why I might write and will test
The future starts in the past The past ends in the future Your first rites turn into your last The moment you cease to nurture Cherish yourself as the first No one knows you but you How you bury in you the worst And shy away from the best too The worst ordeal
This is a poem found entirely in Robert Crawford’s monograph On Glasgow and Edinburgh (2013). On Glasgow and Edinburgh by Robert Crawford My rating: 4 of 5 stars Carefully researched and attractively written, this is a highly informative and insightful guide to both cities on their own and in contrast with each other. The Athens of
Behold Oh, drawer, what treasures you hold Buried in sand, dirt or clay To be scooped out every day I can smell the scent Of a present Left by my cat, the cunning fox In the drawer of her litter box
Thick, short, cold fingers digging in the thin, soft, warm skin. Digging, ripping, tearing like claws, knives, forks. The flesh splitting, yielding, giving in – unfeeling, uncaring, dead meat. This is him eating his chicken meal.
A hero began As everyman Everyman grew up Everyman broke up Everyman sobered up Becoming bitter and brave Daring to kill the ill The ill that never will Live again good and brave A hero became A hero went and Fell Dead Everyman ends As a hero
Thoughts you think when tied to the sink Ambition, aspiration, art Life, love, liberty Put an end to it Already You slit Your wrists