crumble

 A cold grey day for a change, it is beautiful. It makes me feel, for a moment, that I am back in England. I ventured out for a walk through the little woods nearby, came home, showered, and got back into bed. Glorious. 

                  And it stands to reason… those of us who love the literary life, the punk rock life, the artistic life, a life of creativity… we live shorter lives. Because it is not a life of complete and utter boredom, it is not one of marriage and children and sipping health drinks while eating kale salad. We taste pain, we feel sorrow, we drown it with poisons and challenge the world in a creative rage borne of pain. Anything that has been achieved in human history is thanks to those who are trying to push boundaries, to speak freely, to create openly, and to take risks to express a feeling that is often common but which most people are afraid to break their silence for. 

                  It often means a loss of love and friendship. People walk away for various reasons. They may be envious of a friend whom they see up on stage performing in a band, or a friend who becomes an actor and tastes some success. A friend may publish a book and, unable to relate, people disappear quietly. It could also be anger over words that have been used or fear of being associated with a view being expressed. Like the fictional ‘PACT’ in Celeste Ng’s Our Missing Hearts and ‘patriotic’ citizens exclaim ‘we would never associate with them, we would never share their views.’ That’s how a democracy crumbles. 

                   You'll find me writing or reading at The Ginger Man with an old fashioned and my bicycle.