Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Chasing Safety

We're always chasing safety.

Anything that's man-made or natural represents a threat to the harmony that we've surrounded ourselves with.

We run from change because the effects of it will never truly be measured.

The thought of being safe, when all around us presents real or perceived danger fills our hearts with a warm hope.

It's a hope that we can't replicate, irrespective of the situations or circumstances we find ourselves in.

We miss the rain on a Friday after work and retreat to the safety and sanctuary of our homes. That first hot drink seems so much sweeter; the first embrace even harder to let go of.

We're taught to grab opportunities but it's hard to take one step forward into the unknown when the other is wrapped in the bliss we've created.

Take Care
Speak Soon

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

Cracks in the pavement

Where do people go when there's nothing left to do?

Those people I see wandering around in a dreary labyrinth every day; faces too drawn out to give me a clue as to why or who or what.  I hope I never become one of those people who I see every morning. They wander as if cut adrift from the purpose, it may have never really existed.

I hope there's always something to do.
I hope there's always me and you.
I hope there's always adventures.
I hope there's always the blankets of clouds that seem to stretch forever.
I hope there's always the things that make us feel alive.
I hope there's always sheets of lined paper, cut into squares.
I hope there's always hope.

Speak soon
Take care

Friday, 27 March 2015


Growing slowly, 
Like the days before,
Sunsets mean opportunities,
Free is never free,
These people we cling to, 
The fast moving tides.
It all means something,
It never means nothing.
Every footnote transcribed, 
In perfect detail,
The same stars, 
Seas of blankets,
Seas of memories. 


Thursday, 12 March 2015

Shadows of Empires

It was a Sunday and I'd just made the trip back down the M1 after a very productive morning. I took a a meandering detour round a few old roads that had seen better days and soon found myself back in the middle of Stoke.

It's a funny old place.

It's full of a strange mixture of people who've always lived there, and people who have arrived there by mistake looking for Hanley. They've followed the road signs to the letter and somehow ended up in a sea of grey buildings, charity shops and second hand electrical goods.

We were moved out of the building above last Summer, as they'd received the planning permission to convert the whole thing into student flats. We'd all since moved into a much newer office in a more central location but somehow I knew that I missed the old building. Is that what I really missed though, or was it the people who I shared the dilapidated stretch of carpet with?

Maybe it all comes back to the same thing that all of these epistles come back to; a burst of nostalgic longing for a time when less things mattered during the sunlight hours. That being said, there was always a way to make things more important than they needed to be. Somehow though, the fire of bad intentions always seemed to be deflected by hiding away from the horrible weather in a Woodchip cocoon.

I do kind of miss that old place, if for no other reason than everything seemed so much simpler.

This old ship is picking up momentum as we speak, creaking into life as it sways from wave to wave. The tide will keep on turning, and we will end up where we may. Our paths will cross that much is certain.

Speak soon.
Take care.

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

The Voices of

The voices of Ravens, continually cawing and fluttering.
The impatience of the stares and silences, as the one period of control we have is eroded.
Rocks falling into the sea from the cliffs we never knew.
The ripples seem unfathomable at first, but are soon pulled apart by the unrelenting brine.

Thursday, 15 January 2015

Happy in the meantime

When the rain trickled down my window, it was impossible for me to focus on anything. As each drop of rain meandered down the window towards the cold, dark wood of the frame I became less and less connected with what was really happening.

Why are we always chasing the answers to questions that we could never truly comprehend?

I guess because it gives us a sense of a journey; a voyage between where we were and where we want to be. What happens if you are where you want to be though? What happens if you take stock of everything that you have, the friends that you've made and the people you've met and you're truly satisfied?

It's almost like we're discouraged to believe that this can happen to anyone. You can always buy something bigger/faster/stronger but what does it change apart from your electricity bill, and how quick you can access something that you probably don't overly appreciate. It's the curse of modern living.

These high def dreams fly through electric air on a constant basis without anything connecting them to where they began or where they end up. It's not so different to the everyday. If we had the answers we needed then we wouldn't have found out all of the things that make us stop and think how unreal this is.

I probably spend too much time thinking about things like this but there's something about the serenity of a cold and windy day viewed from the confides of somewhere warm and well lit.

There really is no reason that we can't be those people; except those people aren't those people. They're just looking at us wishing they were those people.

This begins again before it ever really stopped.

Take care
Speak soon


Wednesday, 10 December 2014

Flying home for Christmas

I always seem to keep saying the same things, maybe I haven't got anything new to say. This isn't dictated by a need to spread some kind of diatribe though, other than believe in yourself and strive to get better.

I'm currently staring down the barrel of learning a new, albeit similar, set of responsibilities for a new job doing a different thing for the same people. It's that odd period when the train crosses different tracks and there's inevitably much squeaking and sparking of metal on metal.

It's harder than normal though this week, massively so if I must be brutally honest. It's hard to explain just where to begin. It's never about me. If it was I'd want to do something where people could see what I looked like. It's about making sure that someone who has put their life into the last 8 weeks gets my full and undivided attention for 15 minutes. It doesn't sound a lot when you put it like that, but I'm always so full of fatigue when I'm done. It takes forever to sleep right and somehow even longer to wake up easily.

It was like a sea of noise and lights as far as I could see; nothing but elation soaked thoroughly in a frantic fanaticism. A slowly moving mass of humanity that took the air from my lungs as it rose to a cacophony that I really wasn't ready for.

Just a few days later I taught 4 people in a small warm room, overlooking a grey townscape. I wandered round that room for hours, helping my learners move closer towards their own individual goals and pursuits. I looked yearnfully into the distance as a plane slowly cut a path between the clouds, on the start of some fantastic adventure.

You forget why you do this somehow but then when you help someone and make a difference it all becomes real.

These two sides of my professional life are seemingly at other ends of any kind of spectrum, if one exists, but in many ways they're similar.

In both jobs I'm there to make sure that people are justly rewarded for their hard work and preparation.

I constantly spend my own time developing each craft to further increase just how effective I can be.

More importantly I never want to stop learning, and trying to get better and if you hit that point then it's time to answer those questions you've probably had for a while.

There's one thing my 9-5 will never be though, and that's able to give unbelievable dreams the opportunity to take flight and lodge themselves firmly in my memories.

Tales to be told in a warm drawing room as the winter cold is banished by hot drinks and warm hearts.

This doesn't end with me and it doesn't end with you.

Take care
Speak soon
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