No words came to me today. 


Wrote a little today. That makes me happy. 

Something About My Writerly Self.

So, I was tagged by antimonysouler. Suppose I’ll do it, but I promise nothing interesting. I’m not as hipster as most writers here.

Why I Write

Because I have things in my head and need to get them out. 


Eh? My writing looks like words on a page or screen. What is is supposed to look like? Although I do have damned good handwriting.


Sit in café (can’t write at home), stare at blank page, drink coffee, watch a serial on one half of the screen (if using laptop), procrastinate, then write or don’t write. And never be stressed by what the result is.  

At the Moment

I haven’t written in a while. I plan to rectify that tomorrow, if I can.


Some will say that not writing every day is a shortcoming, that I should if I want to be a ‘serious’ writer. I call bullshit on that - I write when I feel like writing, and don’t force anything. Better to wait and tell a story I have in my mind well, rather than force some piece of crap out. 

A Writer Is

Someone who transfers words, ideas etc from their mind to a form of physical or digital media. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Anyone have Steam?

Add me, if you like.

Username: omniduffer.


And so… closure.. *sigh*

Wow, that was hard work.

An uncooperative Master Yi sharing top lane with me, meaning no early-game farm, then being left to hold top lane 1vs2.

Really hard work.

Still too many deaths (yes, I’m too sacrificial), but I think I’m starting to get to grips with Tristana, that was fun to play (once I’d muted Idiot Yi).

Question - if I ‘like’ a cosplayer’s page on FB, does that mean I want to sleep with them?

My ex seems to think so, and seems to think I am a completely different person than I was before I went to camp.

Samsung GT-I9300

As dawn breaks over Tiny Mountain Town, Venus and Jupiter rise together.. Time to sleep.

Divided Loyalty.


Opening the skylight in my room, the cold blast hits me. Refreshing, sobering, mesmerising. Peering out into the gloom, I see nothing but fog. I smell things, I hear things, I feel things; but only see one thing. The Union Flag, hanging proudly from the balcony in the classroom next door to my annex. The flag of my home country.

Why do I not feel pride? Why do I not think of my motherland fondly all of the time? I picture the British countryside with a sense of longing, a desire to just hop on a bicycle with a backpack on my back and go.

Why does life have to be so complicated? Why is it increasingly more difficult to enjoy the simpler things in life? Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I left the UK for Poland. Perhaps it’s also one of the reasons why I left behind the city life in Gliwice for the unassuming country life here in Strzyżów. I really do not regret anything, and when I finally nod off to sleep I do so feeling free.

* * * * *

And then I wake up, mid-morning, to sunlight streaming through the very same skylight. I stick my head out and gaze upon the landscape before me. The fog has disappeared, my view of the wooded mountain unobstructed. Birds hum their cheery odes to nature and to each other; people mill around on their daily errands. 

And still the sunlight comes. It’s then, and only then, that I realise that I now have that which I most desire. Peace. 

What a difference four years makes.. 

What on earth did I do to deserve the position I find myself in right now?


the starry sky on the himalayas

Click the picture to see more.. 

Just wow.. 

I want to spend my days just wandering the wilds, witnessing this magnificence every single night.. 

Hah, this is awesome.

4:43am and I’m still up. 

Making a super-fucking-epic rock playlist because I can. 

Not having work or a social life sucks. 

Slept late. Feel ill. On with the editing, with a pot of Twinings Lady Grey..

"If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them."

anonymous reader on The Dish

One of the more helpful and insightful things I’ve seen about depression/suicide in the last couple of days.

(via mysweetetc)

- Truest thing I’ve heard in ages.