Burn the boats.

Intellectually I understand the philosophy of knowing that things do not have to be as a wish they were, and often I act this out. To hold this belief that my life must be structured in a certain way causes anguish, and to know this and still participate in this mental construction is a kind of metaphysical self-harm. I’ve been known to do this…often,  I guess I’m just an all-or-nothing kind of guy. This all of nothing approach works in many aspects of my life as it eliminates any distractions from side-ventures, options and plans, and allows me to dedicate all of my focus on the main project. Understanding this, hopefully will help you understand why I put all my tofu in one basket, roughly speaking; is this a feature or a bug?

Do you ever see something and just that you must have it? “I want that one, that’s the one that I want” – a common phrase echoed in children stores in the western world. As we get older, this doesn’t particularly fade, the object(s) of desire just change, and often this fixation in the source of much heartache. It produces an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of your stomach, this feeling is a manifestation of the unknown. This is unmapped territory, your mind doesn’t understand what this terrain is and it knows not what it means; it’s a scary place, that’s for sure.

You will spot the glimmer of gold among the rubble with ease, this is not like finding a needle in a haystack, it’s more akin to finding a haystack in a pile of needles. I spot golden traits as if they were glimmering gold; My eyes locate the gold among the rough, the hope in the darkness and the positive in the negative.

I want that one”, an all-or-nothing attitude with almost guaranteed heartache.

Dogs and Cats.

To consider alternate viewpoints, and what a strange thing it is to be so attracted to a mind wide open; a deep-seated curiosity, supported by healthy scepticism makes for a polished mind. A subtle groan in disbelief prompts inquiry, discussion ensues, and with that, the deep curious fire within me is stoked.

Subtleties are hard to detect in passing conversation, I wish that I had subtitles, as I feel that I have no issue discerning hidden meaning in the written form. Your silhouette acts out such subtleties effortlessly, leaving me scratching my head. Your mind and your lips dance together out of time, I can’t tell in what direction you move; nervousness and excitement are one of the same.

Dogs see the cloth, Cats, they see the thread. It often feels that I am fourteen steps ahead, a deep, natural and automatic analysis adds two and two. I can see the path on the horizon, you just observe the horizon. I think that this duality, this dichotomy is not only beneficial but possibly necessary, for what benefit does an exponential single sided viewpoint offer? Yin and Yang, high and low, google earth and google maps; a perfect synergy.

Time offers all explanations.


I wish I was an emperor penguin.

I’m myself every second of every day, but lately, I’ve been feeling increasingly discouraged to continue, should I wear this socially constructed facade?

In tribal times, being different meant putting the group in danger; failure to conform meant you were the weakest link, an unreliable chink. However, in modern times, societal norms do not directly protect us from danger, however, they do uphold the cultural status quo. Think, why do so many people feel unworthy, or not enough? Unworthy, not enough, in the eyes of who? In reference to what? In order to feel unworthy, you must feel unworthy in the presence of a standard, a reference point.  Culture is the reference point. The ideal body displayed on your feeds, the narratives of motion pictures, and the imagery in Instagram marketing; 12 hot tips to lose 35% of your body weight so you are summer ready! Culture infiltrates your mind every day, you are a subject in a grandiose and cruel experiment; they call this experiment life.

We’re constantly told to be ourselves, but what the fuck does this even mean? Does being myself mean thinking and acting uninhibited, doing whatever I fucking please? Oh no, you can’t do that…that’s not socially acceptable. To discourage some fucking behaviour but encourage others? Who the fuck are you to decide?

At age 7 I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, a mild form of autism. I didn’t have many friends until I was legally an adult. I grew up socially isolated because I didn’t conform; it’s not that I didn’t want to, I just didn’t understand that I had to, nor did I understand any aspect of social interaction. Sure enough, this left me alone and vacuously depressed; my life pre-eighteen was nothing short of hell. As an adult, I read stories romanticising the strong correlation between tech entrepreneurs and Asperger’s Syndrome; this gives me hope, however, they have left out the struggle.

Every day I struggle. Every fucking day.

Always embodying the energy that is me, wearing a genuine smile, looking out for the well-being of others, and seeking to always brighten each person day; I don’t understand why I feel so isolated? It cuts deep when the person that I am is not enough; is there something wrong with who I am? To be myself means I exist outside of the group, I must stand outside in the cold alone. This is the daily price that I must pay, an inescapable tax on living.

It’s not all bad though. I possess an energy that others do not comprehend, and yeah, neither do I; I can go 12 hours a day, all day, every day. Every second of every day the force that is my mind is analysing the world, observing patterns and formulating theories. This force is almost unbearable, but somehow I’ve managed to focus it toward improvement, rather than destruction (when I was younger, I did battle with this unrelenting self-destructive energy). I can think outside the box, and solve problems in unconventional ways. Now, I can’t validate the truth of this, but I hypothesise that it is because I do not, and have not ever conformed to the cultural group-think. There are definitely upsides that I feel in a big way, but is it worth the feeling of ostracisation, and the cold lonely breeze?

Today I am fucking angry, but tomorrow is a new day. Another day to get up, walk, run, and then trip, stumble and fall right back down again.

I wish I was an emperor penguin, at least they stand out in the cold together.

Modern-day hero.

I want to be a modern day hero; what a grandiose claim!

I want the white picket fence, with two lil’ monsters to boot,

I want to be the shoulder to cry on, and the callused hands to rely on,

I want to take on each challenge as a team because two minds are better than one,

I want to be Mr. Dependable and speak only words of support and encouragement,

I want to experience the breadth of human emotion, expressing myself fully,

I want to be the calm within the storm, solid in the face of adversity,

I want to walk an adopted pooch along the beach, fingers interlocked,

I want my words to reflect my inner transparency; honesty is key,

I want my actions to reflect only my principles, even if not in my best interests,

I want to selflessly improve my character, to benefit all those who interact with me,

I want to be a modern-day hero, such a shame that this is considered an ideal,

I dream of the day that the modern-day hero is not but a hero, but all men.



The life-force that compels me originates from a raging flame nested deep within my heart, and this inferno gives birth to all ideas. I wouldn’t say that they are my ideas, as that would imply that I generated them and this couldn’t be further from the truth. These ideas are born within me as if transposed by another entity or force unknown to me, and then they possess me. The idea sits at the helm of my consciousness, gripping the reins with such intensity, controlling my movements; the idea must be free, it is planning an escape. Against my will, I rise out of bed flicking the light on the way to my computer where I am once again thrown into a familiar throne. My hands dance across the keyboard, my mind blank. No analysis is exerted on these ideas, it acts on pure bodily felt emotion recognised by the idea at the helm; my pre-frontal cortex has lost jurisdiction.

My fingers halt, and I look up and observe the words that the idea possessing me has woven…my master delights.

My eyes open, the idea performs a self-exorcism, and now, I am free.

Within us exists an eternal ember, and to give rise to creativity you must feed the fire and fan the flames.

Feel it deep in your bones, do not criticise. Creativity exists as something new and by definition, new things have no matrix in which to judge and compare it. Creativity is not right or wrong, it just is.

Feel your creative ember burn inside you, you can turn it into an inferno.

Sore thumbs.

I’ve got sore thumbs.

These thumbs have tried to force a triangle through a circle so many times, and these thumbs ache a dull pain. The more I push, the more my thumbs ache, it’s clear that this isn’t working; to relent goes against my nature, a dull ache that I continue to feel.

My thumbs traverse the glass surface in pursuit of my goal, a futile attempt at forcing a triangle through a circle.

You give me sore thumbs.


I’m a dreamer, just of nothing in particular,

I dreamt of backing the home team, your number one fan,

I’ve felt the width of the English channel, a cold embrace,

Hollow words spoken softly, I grew deaf to those,

A frequency never forgotten, a warning sign,

A conditioned response paints a pretty canvas,

Each day holds me like you never used to,

I’m over you.