WTF

It’s been a while since I have been here. The thing is after a while I delete stuff from my head. We all do it, right? Generalise, Distort, Delete or maybe I’ve succumbed to being my own algorithm. A god damn robot after all, eh? Well the truth ain’t far off.

About 10yrs ago I set out to nail the bastards who’d not only fucked me over but were also responsible, in part and quite separately, for pressuring my nephew into hanging himself, for the rape and torture of my now late best friend and the murder of another.

Thíng is I done it. Granted I have a few scars to show and the smack on the head earlier this year took out a few too many brain cells. But worse than that the ‘job’ also took me out too.

This diminished self didn’t particularly care. It’s all Generalise , Distort, Delete, right? Wrong. Sure, there’s a sense of satisfaction in looking a wrong doer in the eye and for sure it felt real good exercising blunt control and putting the fear of God into people. And there is rub. It felt too good.

Worse than that though is that I acted on blinded will to do harm the repercussions of which were without any thought for anyone else caught up historically in these separate events. The generalisations I had made weren’t far from the mark, the distortions justifiable, to me at least, and all that remains was to hit delete. Job Done.

Well, that’d be easy if I hadn’t been touched by others. The mothers, brothers, wives and children, others who are all but strangers to me except now they’re not.

The Rule of Law does serve some better than others, it’s a fact right? And natural justice too has its place, collectively right?

And it’s that collective I have found in the blogs here from private wars, leaps of faith and in the colours of madness too.

So, the delete function is deleted, at least for now.

Dusty Trails

Now here’s some interesting facts

WTF? (Where's the faith?)

Photo by Mica Asato on Pexels.com

Nearly a month ago, my neighbors’ only child, I’ll call her Felicity (one of my favorite names!), about whom I’ve written a previous blog post, relocated to attend a college about four hours away from home. I’ve not seen her mom, but her dad, as I’ve written about prior, is having a difficult time dealing with her departure.

All grief, as far as I am concerned, as I’ve also written about before, is valid. Whether you mourn the lose of a pet turtle or death of a child or grieve a child who has catapulted into the next stage of life, there is an infinite roll-out of feelings and emotions associated with a sense of loss. Grief is a natural response to a painful or traumatic experience that is part of the human condition over which we have no control over. This time…

View original post 704 more words

Miss You!

And Suma Reddy Balloons Go By 🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈 + you Suma 🎈

Bio-Blogger

Hi everyone, hope all of you are doing well and staying safe. This is to notify that I may take a complete break or may not be able to write so frequently for 2 to 3 months as I have couple of plans in place regarding my professional career which needs my full-fledged time and focus.

However I would try to read your writings as much as possible but please do not mind in case if I miss to leave comments on any of your posts. I am sure gonna miss all of you my sweet friends, especially my cute little Doll “IMRANA”. Until we meet again bye bye and take care 😇 ❤ 

I am writing down this poem
Dropping my heavy feelings
Triggered by your thoughts
Feeling your precious love

You became my fresh Air
My each breath inhales you
But I suffocate breathing
Not sure of hell…

View original post 180 more words

Ensamheten, existensen.

FAO RAW&REAL… Dishita…. This is a is a dialog with Fragile…

Yolanda and her creative scream

Gatlyktornas vals, krampar
den skrikande berusades spyor
gnistrar på stadens gator,
med bitter eftersmak

Pulsen – baren i gatuhörnet
dansar kritiskt, utan hejd
påminnelsen av ensamhetens explosion
reflekteras i en bitter pöl
i gatans lortigaste skrymsle

Tunna strimmor av gul, orange, röd
mot frostiga gator- och emotioner
mumlet inombords, ekots konsekvenser
trappan ner mot tunnelbanan, mot ett ångrat skoinköp
fladdrar mer mot perrongen

I hopp av flykt

View original post