All the world's a stage: complex characters having continual entrances and exits. Some scripts, simple and uninviting, yet the characters are constant, such that you can expect similar behaviour throughout scenes. There is no mystery there. Some scripts jump off of the page and burn themselves into your mind. These characters force you to the … Continue reading The hero’s journey.
To live, is to die.
You can't begin to live until you're not afraid to die, You must burn who you are to become who you may be, You have to leap in order to fly; a leap of faith, and I hope you'll catch me. A guarded heart is one that cannot feel, A guarded heart is no heart … Continue reading To live, is to die.
Getting hit for six.
Have you ever just been hit for six? You know, like in cricket... but not in cricket? Like your life force just left your body and went walkabout; like your chin snapped around and right back: knock out. The most ordinary of circumstances, energised with something. That something that really leaves you feeling hit for … Continue reading Getting hit for six.
Becoming pregnant.
Sometimes I feel this irresistible urge to write, to just spill pen to page and let my hands do the talking. Inside I feel so many fragmented ideas, emotions and the like, but I am not ready to give birth. My ideas swirl around within me, unformed, unborn. Becoming pregnant is more than a concrete … Continue reading Becoming pregnant.
Zelda.
Chocolate coated Labrador rips through the field, grinning from ear to ear, tongue flopping about. Eyes that could pierce the thickest of armour, the most guarded of hearts. Her being, a rejuvenate force: a single paw would heal the deepest of wounds; the most severe lacerations. My Zelda, the most beautiful dog, laid to rest … Continue reading Zelda.
attaboy.
Familiar face, unfamiliar place; something similar, can't quite put my finger on it. Pupil dilation, licking of the lips: oh, would you like a glass of water? Ease and comfort, a peculiar feeling. It's probably nothing, statistically speaking; the rational mind agrees. And yet, the feeling body, the intuitive sense, it does detect: but what? … Continue reading attaboy.
Till the soil.
A house doesn't build itself, no matter how much you envision. But only a plot of land until you till the soil, until you lay foundation, til' you sweat and toil. Curiosity and imagination are powerful forces: laying waste to nations and raising populations from the depths, but alone, they are not enough. You must … Continue reading Till the soil.
I’m tired of being humble.
When we have been dragged into the depths of hell, people will lend an ear and a shoulder and nobody will speak a word. As soon as you conquer a mountain and raise a trophy, now others see you differently. They project their own inadequacies onto you and try and cut you off at the … Continue reading I’m tired of being humble.
Category of one.
Competition is a silly business. Joining a category of many, standardisation of rules and aims, and let the gladiators do battle, trade blows, fatten balance sheets and crash equity prices. Nay, I disagree; what a pointless game: why compete? Why not create your own category and be the sole player, in a category of one … Continue reading Category of one.
Chaos embodied
I am chaos embodied, I know not the rhythm of stability. All of my life, chaos around me; an inability to organise my thoughts. Movement with breath, a bulwark against the storm. And yet, I do not know what I want... A turbulent path is left in my wake. Broken hearts, storm clouds and rain, … Continue reading Chaos embodied
