An account of the struggle to survive in the war that is modern life
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Very few countries recognise an individual's right to drink their self to death... America is possibly the only one left... this is why it feels like a home to me.
He lay alone in the darkened room. The blinds were closed to the maximum in order to block out any potential light breaking through from the dazzling Spanish sun. It was the day after his birthday. He had spent the previous day with his girlfriend. But that now seemed an eternity away. Lifetimes had passed since then. It was a Tuesday morning and he simply did not know if it would be possible to get out of bed and go to work. Life seemed empty. Everything was lost to him except the deep throbbing pain reminding him that he was alive. To be alive like this… in this space of black desolation and despair… was it even to be alive? He had found something, something worthwhile and meaningful… something that brought light and hope, but it was now lost. It was inevitable. It seemed as if it was surely, at the very least, the end of his Spanish adventure.
The journey began on Saturday morning. A short walk across the street to the DART train station where I would catch the train to DFW Airport. I reached the airport in 20 minutes and then discovered I had 2 minutes to make a 7-minute walk to catch the next train that went from DFW to Fort Worth. If I missed it, I would have a full hour to sit at the station and await the next. With my backpack and suitcase, I sprinted to Terminal B and made it to the second train in just under 2 minutes, boarding a matter of seconds before the train departed. I sat back and relaxed, fascinated by this part of the Dallas Metroplex that I had not before seen. Everything was green and delightful. It was like stepping back into a time when everything was cared for and clean and somehow innocent. Old trains exceptionally maintained adorned the stations we passed through, and conductors in Super Mario uniforms collected tickets whilst guiding and informing customers how to reach their destinations. ...
Writing is a window to the mind. A true view of the full person behind the words. Face to face, when speaking, an individual can come across as calm and collected, they smile and use charm… they pretend to be what they want, and they wear a mask to disguise what lies inside. When they write, it pours out… their inner darkness and angry and emotional despair. For some, it also reveals their grammatical chaos… often caused by simple and pure blind fury. Writing is a powerful tool to use… it is also a powerful tool to be used against you if you are only a good person behind your mask. Communication in all walks of life is vitally important. In the professional realm, it is required to be seen as credible… it’s about timing as well as delivery and audience. As a leader, it is absolutely crucial. A leader firing off spouts of furious phrases that are poorly worded and contain grammatical er...
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