Tag: #poetry

a nearly new horizon lost, for which i missed legs day at the gym


i feel it is important to celebrate rejection. somewhere buried in the disappointment there is hopefully a lesson. something constructive to be taken. a way to improve. but even if there isn’t, even if you just tried your best and failed, isn’t it better to have given it a shot? and now, a year later, i can look back and i know that if i hadn’t had this rejection, i would have missed out on other acceptances.

#poetry #spokenword #writing #acceptance #rejection

spotting louder nearly home, millhouse coming up everything


remember the episode of the simpsons where millhouse is wearing sort of pedal pusher, calf length trousers? and the flood comes in and he is like, ‘it’s all comin’ up millhouse’? it is a sad day for anyone when they realise that millhouse is the character of the simpsons they are most like.


#autismawareness #millhouse #simpsons #poetry

story and sensation is all there is, between the end and the beginning


what is it to be a human? in any instant, all there is are the sensations you feel, see, hear, etc. a temperature, the weight of the earth pushing against your feet or arse, your shirt label on your neck. and then there is the story you tell yourself these things mean. but you know, you could be a brain in a vat being fed false experiences by a computer. and you are free to tell yourself that story if you prefer it.

cursed inadequate chuck-sticking, can’t hold cash either

i can’t really throw. or catch. i’ve got a bit better at it over the years, but i am just not a hand eye coordination sort of person. likewise, i am not designed to use raquets. i once chucked a tennis raquet into the air in frustration, only to catch it with my face shortly thereafter.

i don’t think i have ever successfully struck a shuttlecock. and how anyone can hit a baseball with such a narrow bat i’ll never comprehend.

so it’s little surprise that i am also hopeless at chucking sticks for the dog. yet every time, i’m a bit disappointed in myself. a bit of me seems to believe i’m eventually going to get the knack of it.

the king came with the bangers, we stayed for the ballads

in the 90s i used to take long coach trips. to france, italy, spain. one year, i must have been 7 or 8, for entertainment we got a documentary about elvis pressley. i was instantly obsessed. and then suddenly bereaved – my hero was dead before i even knew him. i cried. i listened to elvis tapes. i got a leather jacket. quite autistic, in retrospect.

i don’t listen to as much elvis these days. but i will always love the king. and if suspicious minds comes on the radio, i will give it my full attention every time.