Today is a tough day. 

I miss her too much. 

I want to just hear her voice, see her smile. 

I want to be around her, photosynthesise from her radiance.

I don’t want there to be this pain, this black hole in my chest. 

I just want her..

Contrast.

It’s a dirty world we live in.

Drink and drugs, mugs who flood the black markets for their own gain. Missiles and guns, tons of bloodshed in the name of peace or love or one god or another. Slavery and rape, taped together and ignored conveniently. Vengeance and jealousy, hellishly wielded like a flaming sword they call justice when in fact is anything but. Deceit and lies, cries from victims unheard in the sphere of law and order. All work and no play, say the people who survive among the weak and the poor. Conquer and manipulate, stipulate the cream of the crop, those snakes who slither through the corridors of power, who sit upon their golden thrones and pass judgement upon all. Influence and money, honey for the corrupt to gorge upon greedily. Brimstone and fire, the ire of an army or a navy or an air force when crossed. A world pessimistic and darkening, harkening back to a time of tribal decadence and strife.

But we still have dreams of another world.

Clean and bright, the might of nations re-forged in the fires of reconciliation. Hope and dreams, reams of statutes and law making them real. Photography and art, part of who we are, part of what we lost as the years went by. Poetry and prose, blows the wind and shines the sun upon masterful tales for the ages. Singing and dancing, prancing horses and mewing kittens, an appreciation of life instead of just clinging to it desperately. Decency and humility, abilities to be taught, tools to be given to our young. Imagination and creativity, proclivities for the realisation of one’s greatest ambitions. Oppression and fear, cleared from the streets like dust and dirt in the rain. Wealth and prosperity, solidarity in the face of all that which once drove us apart. Purpose and meaning, weaning the afflicted from their addiction and giving them a world to be proud of.

We still have those dreams, we just need to work together to realise them.

Stunning cosmic laser beams! (at Strzyżów)

Shine on, you crazy diamond.. (at Strzyżów)

Peekaboo! (at Strzyżów)

Come out, come out, wherever you are.. (at Strzyżów)

Let there be light.. (at Strzyżów)

"Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth."

Alan Moore, V for Vendetta.

Read something today. A book, a magazine article, an instruction manual, a label on food packaging - just read.

Sit down with children and read aloud to them. Let them hear you enunciate each word as you show them on the page.

Appreciate these words; the history, the culture, the opportunity they present.

Words are life and we’re a communicative bunch; without them we’d be pretty lost.

Happy International Literacy Day, all.

There’s something about sitting on the Rynek at dusk, with its granite cobblestones and wrought-iron lampposts and people of all ages occupying the wooden benches for a little while after church. Listening to the chatter and the birds and the traffic, all to a backdrop of the fountain’s water which changes colour periodically due to its spotlights and entertains the most imaginative of children. Gazing up at the painting that is the darkening sky, blue and grey and pink and red, and the comet-like streaks of planes making their way here, there and everywhere. Wishing I could be on one, riding towards another adventure, another new beginning, but being perfectly happy just sitting here all the same. Thinking of the past and the future, but living in the present, feeling optimistic and nervous for tomorrow and chilly due to the summer drawing to a close. Watching families wander by, laughing and smiling and not caring about the passage of time, wondering when my time will come. Regret, Hope; great generals warring in my hungover mind - but forgotten for now as I allow myself this moment of peace in this overly chaotic world we call home.

The Rynek at dusk, like a painting.. (at Strzyżów)

Tagged.

I was tagged by ladydragonslair.

Name: David William Duffy

Birthday: July 30.

Gender: Male.

Sexual Orientation: Straight 

Height: 5’10”

TimeZone: GMT+1 (Warsaw)

What time and date is it there: Currently 3:16 a.m.  

Average hrs of sleep I get a night: Six, if I am lucky. I don’t do sleep much..

Last thing I googled was: Bernard Cornwell, author.

My most used phrase: I really couldn’t say. It’s not like I keep a record of it all..

First word that comes to mind: Viking. 

What I last said to a family member: “Ok, you win.”

One place that makes me happy & why: Any forest, because forests make me happy. A forest with a river/stream in it - perfection. I live near-ish to the last primordial forest in Europe. 

Favorite beverage: Fresh apple juice. 

Last movie I saw in a cinema: “Lucy”, which was awesome.

Three things I can’t live without: words, my classroom, perspective.

Something I plan on learning: more languages, to drive, to forgive myself.

A piece of advice for all my followers: Learn to accept that the bad in life that we so desperately try to avoid as a species is just as important as the good - it gives us balance, perspective, something to be able to weigh the good against to grasp its true value. Learn to accept it as part of what makes you who you really are, because the moment we deny it, we remove a piece of the puzzle and we’re not ‘us’

You all have to listen to this song: The Sound of Silence - “this is a song about the inability to communicate”.

I tag vicki-leiks. :D

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. 

Aesthetic

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.

Process

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.

Shortcomings

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. 

Samsung GT-I9300

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

Disco lights over Tiny Mountain Town..

Two short clips stuck together, normal speed (no edit).

Creator.

When I came to be, there was nothing. A void in which I struggled to comprehend myself and my purpose. I floated there, for days, months and years that did not yet exist, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to come and guide me.

For such a long time, it never came.

I don’t know just how long I had been floating through the void when it happened, for Time was not one of my creations. An almighty explosion from an infinitesimal point in the blackness that left me puzzled as to its origin. How could something combust out of nothing? I watched it from afar, seeing colours and shapes that had not yet been named. Although I did not yet understand what that feeling was, now I have come to know through those I created that it was Awe; that what I was witnessing was beautiful.

And then things began to form.

Elements danced around each other, hurtling through the void at incredible speeds before crashing into one another. To my adolescent being this was magic, dark and powerful and terrifying. Yet fascinating. More and more elements came together, and huge bodies of these burning elements began to float along with me, spinning furiously and casting out great beams of light that faded into the blackness as quickly as they appeared. I kept my distance as more and more of these violent clashes took place, in fear of my own mortality.

But still I was compelled to watch.

Then there was a voice, from where I did not know. One that told me that I was the key to all of this; that this storm of solar activity was my doing. I asked how, but there was no response. I was left to figure it out on my own.

I was lost at first.

Then, in the confusion and the boredom, I began to create things of my own accord. Spheres of rock to circle the giants of gas that came to rule what later would be called the Universe. Some rocks were left unfulfilled by my early failures, great deserts of red dust and forbidding tombs of ice, reminders of my early struggles. As I became more confident I created colossi with intricate ring systems and raging storms viewable from millions of miles away.

Yet still I was unsatisfied with my work. I waited, trying to work out what the missing ingredient was. There was rock, there was ice, but they didn’t ‘do’ anything. My immature self craved excitement, craved activity, and it was in that moment that Life came to be. I chose one of the planets to be a host, gave it vast oceans of water, and watched as they swirled and flowed. There were plants and trees, bacteria and birds, and a whole lot of other creatures in-between.

And then there were the humans.

I am a god and yet I am nothing, but I now realise that have this trait you call ‘being human’. I make mistakes like any other, which is why you are right when you say that I made you in my own image. It is not something I could have changed, even if I had wanted to.

I have long since felt like you humans were my greatest creation, but also my most terrible.

At times I regret giving them ‘free will’, for they have used their immense creativity to wage war on one another, to destroy what they themselves had created. They have killed in my name, and in the names of countless others, and they continue to do so. And I was as guilty as they. I gave them fire, they burned. I gave them civilisation, they conquered. And evermore they grow stronger, as I once did, until I believe they cannot grow any longer. I fear that day, even though I see what will come to pass, but it is a day they must confront on their own. This is why I remain silent to them, refuse to meddle in their business.   

There was a time when I was a wrathful and vengeful god, bringing pestilence and plague and floods in a desperate attempt to right my wrongs. I also regret those days, for one cannot create free will and then attempt to influence it in such ways, and one cannot certainly judge when one is the reason for all this having come to be. 

When I came to be, there was nothing.

But now, as I watch patiently and curiously as you create and destroy in equal measure, as I continue to regret my mistakes and continue to learn, there is everything.