A future filled with words

I began blogging before the word had become part of the common vernacular. In the early days, people wrote about their day – their life. Online journals formed the basis of LiveJournal, DiaryLand, and Blogger. Any thoughts of blogs covering niche subjects such as cooking, parenting, fashion, or beauty products were years away.

While I count myself among that “first wave” – that shared mundane moments of their daily life with the passing crowd, I can’t help feeling that it’s almost become a game of last-man-standing. The social networks and walled gardens have seduced the majority. Perhaps that’s the real driver behind the creation of this blog – an outpost of sorts, standing almost alone in the internet ocean. Me, railing at Windmills (how many more badly distorted literary references can I conjure?).

Writing online has become the Emperor’s New Clothes (and there’s another one). Everyone has been brainwashed to believe that writing online should be short, snappy, direct, regular, and focused. Forgive me for saying it, but that’s a sausage machine, and all they’re good at is churning out the same crap – again, and again – predictably.

Who wants to be predictable? Who wants to be the same?

I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this – but perhaps that’s the point. I’m writing freestyle, with no aim, and no direction. What you’re reading is almost a direct transcript of my thoughts as they left my brain, rolled through my fingers and appeared on the screen. The improvised stage play versus the edited movie.

I am reminded of “Finding Forrester”, where the reclusive author sits his student in front of a typewriter and instructs him to write. Not to think – just to write – write anything. It’s a similar idea to National Novel Writing Month, where quantity is valued over quality. There will be a lot of garbage, there might also be brilliance.

Perhaps I do have a direction here.

Sometimes I write a few words, sometimes I write a few pages. Long, meandering streams of thought. By wrestling your way through them you get to know me a little better – or at least better than you might through a photo of a cat, a quote of a philosopher, or a transcribed conversation from a television show.

Here’s to a future filled with words.


The Early Hours of the Morning

The clock ticked past 1am some time ago. It’s already Thursday morning. I’m playing the age old game of avoiding tomorrow while music quietly plays in the dark of the junk room. There is an empty wine glass alongside the keyboard – it held the remains of a bottle we opened several nights ago.

A line from a book comes to mind – “night is the hardest time to be alive, and 4am knows all my secrets”.

There’s something about the night. Perhaps after our brain has been busy all day, it begins to unwrap increasingly disconnected content as the hours progress – mashing it together and forging new insights, thoughts, hopes, and fears.


It’s late. I have work in the morning. I need to let my brain off it’s leash for the next several hours. Let it dream, before presenting it with breakfast, washing up, email, and conference calls.



This morning the vast internet machinery heaved the minute hand of an invisible clock forwards another minute, and filled the bedroom with one of the London radio stations. After a few minutes drifting between asleep and awake, my body clock finally gained some traction, and swung legs out of the bedclothes – planting feet on the floor below, ready to begin another day.

There’s a tremendous sense that each day has become “another day” at the moment – unravelling the future like a worn carpet I’ve seen before. There’s a flickering urge to somehow make today better than yesterday, but I’m not quite sure how to go about it, or what “better” really means.

While writing, the clock continues ticking. The planet continues revolving. Carpets continue to unfurl – mapping different directions the day might take. It seems that indecision is not an option – if we retrace steps, the junctions we return to are not as they once were.

If only the world had a reset button from time to time. A chance to start again – to re-invent the recent past. Of course no such thing exists, so we make the best of our situation, we look forwards, and we continue putting one foot in front of the other – marching in step with the ticking of the clock.

What if we could weave our own carpet though – construct a new path – choosing our destiny rather than leaving it to fate? Does fate exist, or is it a convenient construct to soften the consequences of indecision?

I think I’ll continue forwards, and shake my fist towards the machinery of the universe from time to time – pretending I have some say in the way my story unfolds – pretending I might introduce at least a little order among the chaos and mayhem.


Ignoring the Tomorrowness

May the fifth be with you. Doesn’t sound quite as good, does it. At the time of writing it’s eight minutes past midnight, so I suppose it’s already tomorrow. The sixth. Perhaps I’ll ignore the tomorrowness of it all, and pretend it’s still tonight.

I have a somewhat important conference call tomorrow morning. I should really be asleep already – recharging my batteries in order to appear somewhat cogent while sipping coffee in front of the laptop webcam.

The draw of the internet rabbit hole is strong. Oh, the hours I could spend reading about subjects of little consequence to me. Last night I found myself reading about the Trinity nuclear tests at midnight. I’m not sure why.

There seems to be an event horizon in the internet rabbit hole, beyond which all manner of interesting yet unknown distractions lurk.


Not Much of Anything

You find me sitting in the dark of the junk room, trying to switch off at the end of the day. I’m listening to a Carly Simon album, and typing into a minimalist online editor. I sometimes find it difficult to switch off – it’s difficult to stop thinking.

It doesn’t help that with a few days of work left until my vacation, I’m buried in thousands of lines of source code for a new project at work. I need to get it to a “good place” before downing tools on Friday – and I’m not entirely sure how that’s going to happen at the moment.

Of course I’m not really going on a vacation – I’m not going anywhere – it’s more a “staycation”. I’ll promise to read books, watch movies, and lots of other things – and I’ll do none of it. I will go running though, and I will go for long walks. Long walks help with the thoughts.

I must remember to take a notebook on the long walks. I often think of things to write about while out on my own, but almost always misplace the idea before reaching a keyboard.

I often solve computer programming problems while in the bathroom. How does that even work ?

In other news, I made it out for another run this morning. I went on my own, and just ran around town – a couple of miles. I’m still worried about the broken toe and don’t want to push it too much. I tell myself that, but in reality I’ve lost quite a bit of fitness while sitting on my arse for the last month. To be honest I’m stunned I can still run any sort of distance.


It’s getting late. Time to go brush my teeth, and sit in bed scrolling rubbish on a tablet instead of reading the book I purposely took upstairs to read.