Uncategorized, trails of thought

Freedom is a grand, indivisible, feeling

Been a long time coming, and yesterday I was being driven literally mad by the Lord knows who.  But I guess every iCloud has a silver lining, and even people who use tech against you might collaterally be allowing you to help yourself.

So.  I am 25 again, and suddenly able to carve out a life where love and hugs form a part of what I do, not just of what I write about.

And it would appear that even as this is agreed, kindness and gentleness may win out over rancour and too much pain.  The latter I hope, anyway.

My freedom to love, to live, to be, to see another and hold another and caress another and embrace another is finally conceded.  And whilst I must now find someone to enjoy life with – and I have absolutely no idea who or where or, indeed, why they might ever care to choose to be with me – the search can, now just as equally, at least, at last, begin.

poetry, trails of thought

Imagine a world, where nothing 

Imagine a world, where nothing.

Imagine a world, where something.

Imagine a world, where anything.

Imagine a world, where everything 

You thought 

Was just your thought and imagining.

And so – just as justly – 

You were able to reclaim

A responsibility total

For every crime and blame, and heinous

Same that punished your daily rail.

And so imagine this world.

And so imagine it true.

For that is where you and I 

Do reside

Hurt and tailed.

And dogg-

ed. man is man 

Now dogged, for decades and more

By the sore reality


Of quite foolish vanity –

Or mebbe, serious alternately, 

A cruelty beyond measure.

poetry, trails of thought

“U think I C ill, dear RED – do you really?”

U think I C ill, dear red,

but what I C is everything

there is

for anyone

to C,

if anyone is

of the mind to remind

themselves of truth in its entirety.

U, meanwhile, C only surfaces of happy flat,

which result in

pleasantness and fun and the running of

young child in that wilful ignorance of wild.


And if U R out to convince me I C only ill,

let me inform U I not only see

the very best stuff


this tough rock has to offer,

I am able – quite despite the horrors

U choose to ignore,

and refuse to con-

template – to enjoy the diamond amongst the


est of (delibe{rat[ed.]}) cruelties.


And when U enjoy your world,

and ask me Y not,

UR fearless loving is hardly brave conduct

on UR part, in the

least of petite strate-

gems U do seriously insist on

calling me out for:

and it seems to me,

in further serious honesty,

U do seem

to prefer

to treat life as a ball-game of highs,

when in truth

the most joyful people I know

have had the grandest of times

as, simultaneous-

like, they know all too well its lows.


So don’t question my capacity to have fun:

question, instead,

your inability to run with the truth –

and still come out on top;

that top I right do,


all the fro

and to;


all the come

and pretty go which, curious-

like, U eject like seat

of wind-up show.


poetry, trails of thought

CB (without the T, K – or even Y for that matter)

CBT may work or not for others,

But what never will cut it for me any more

Is CBTK as some big happy family.

And still I do believe that CBTK 

Without the T and K, and their dreadful control freakery,

Will one day soon, one day wooed,

Be something so bloody good for me

That even I shall be able to dismiss 

The cry of stupid why. 

And if CB were – casually! – in some manner

Part of that tiresome TK sack,

Maybe cipher-like, 

Maybe misunderstanding-way,

Or simply, flatly, ham-fistedly to the 

Disappointing max of thoughtless precluding,

Then conversation with her I’d love to have

To calmly and collectingly 

Put – reflected! – my position.

And if by some happenstance fabulous

She had been on my side this widely from the start,

Then there would be little left for us to do

Than let the motherfuckers talk.

Because you and I would have,


The tide of our lives!


Time …

and goddamn 

gorgeous rides.

trails of thought

The very small good even I have managed to do

My daughter says so many nice things to me lately.  I don’t understand why and why now, but there you have it.  And I fear she will not feel the same shortly; but whilst it’s out there I can’t not be happy.  She sent me this pic of a pic that makes me feel I was irremediably good at one thing in this life, and one thing only: my kids.  And whilst it’s so much to have done – she even said to me that 25 percent of her achievements are due to me (this is not true, but nice for me to hear all the same; in particular, as a man who believes in enabling and facilitating others, above all) – even so, the world does not value these kinds of things.  The world just values the mega-aggressiveness of the Trumps and CEOs and leaders various, full of themselves and their scheming, horrible ways.



And where I really failed was in showing that it was possible to climb corporate trees and hierarchies and maintain the enabling and facilitating grace of a good father or mother.  And so it’s true where you took me, the other day in Belfast: I am not of this world, and neither do I want it.  And the people I love only want me to get dirty; and the person I really love lives in that really dirty world.

And I realise, now, I would rather be a Batman of real solitude but absolute integrity than a Kardashian happy with the fruits of consumerist and material … well … I don’t think the word “labour” actually fits the bill.

And so your efforts to change me over the past year have monumentally failed.  And even my children will shortly hate me for what I have been.  And so even that bit of my life which I thought always right will become a black hole of terrible despair.

And the future will bring what the future will bring.  And I shall have to work out how to properly fight solitude on all fronts.

And in my darkest moments, I shall look at this photo and remember the very small good even I have managed to do.


trails of thought

Rhyming / Timing / People / Places / Institutions / Communities / Businesses / Support 

With the right sort of people, you can get the right sort of support.  Just ‘cos the wrong sort of people once used support to destroy and then control you doesn’t mean that everyone you’ll ever meet who wants to offer help has to be that sort of wrong sort of person. 




reviews, trails of thought

#Belfast [discarding the passed / embracing the future{s}]

My recent visit to Belfast showed me the kind of muscular beauty I love in any city or urban space.

And then, towards the end of my stay there, I ventured over to Queen’s University.  I had a fab Guinness in the SU Speakeasy bar; a grand fry in the Other Place nearby, the following day; wonderful walks around campus; bought a primer on Criminology at Blackwell’s; and generally fell in love with evident history and reputation. 

But what really blew my mind away were two buildings of such profound contemplation that the peace I found there – as I am remembering it now – can only make me a tad weepy in hindsight. 

The first – visited second – was the postgraduate School of Law building: curiously unsigned from without, and entirely sensible and embracing from within.  I spoke with a very gentle and softly spoken woman, who provided me with contact details for further information.  I went to the website yesterday: I now have a clearcut, absolute goal – achieve a 2:1 in my Master, taking the time I need to do so, and then researching at PhD level in a place I could only dream of being at a year ago.

The second was the wonderful wonderful McClay Library.  Oh, what a dream of a building and space.  And then inside, on the first floor, to the right as you come out of the lift, the astonishing C.S. Lewis Reading Room.  I wrote a poem whilst sitting there; and I wrote it in the presence of a beautiful young woman who reminded me so much of the beautiful Belfast woman the poem was about.  The woman who, if nothing else, has been my all-too-real muse over the last thirteen months.

And I realise my future lies in my future; and I realise there is so much I must discard from my past that I really don’t know where to finish.

But at least I have started. At least I have started.