The Middle Ground

The two sides stand astride from the middle, a place in the midst of siege that with burden bares the blows of endless conflict as from the Unholy Trilogy a subtle poison flows with acidic curse, from the Dark Arts a deathly stream of daggers when the back turns away from their smiling merry eyes.

There in the middle marks the balance, a force of personality holding strong in the eternal second before it ticks this way or that before damnation and defeat as with hellion fury it holds back all but the accepted beasts, those that serve justice in ways only the damned can fight the sinfully fuelled horde of destructive dissent.

The mid line corrupting the poison as with harboured respect of its honest approach and unmasked motivations that force of persona extracts the very best, the daggers twistedly re-forged in acidic flames to be forcefully thrown back at forces others find blissfully welcoming, almost as if only a damned few are to be denied all the positive release of what is offered by those Dark Arts.

And as the blindly devoted fervour of the middle holds the tenuously perched line, a fragmented piece of rope sealed in parts with only the pressure kept up by the damning raids of either side, a force indeed kept in check by the darkest of those fragments so to serve the world better.

A world that flays the balance’s back in ignorance of its efforts, a human race that constructs the scaffolding that the damned bring their own rope to complete!

Service here guarantees not rewards but a tighter rod for the back…

Another Blogger’s pics hit the spot

A fellow blogger I have had many in depth exchanges with posted some photos, perfect pictures to make you stop and think

So unless she tells me off for highlighting them via my blog (really hoping I haven’t misread her gender and fucked up that bad!) I thought I would show them off for her

Here is her blog, much recommended:

KW 1KW 2

Just a calm expanse, cool clouds that threaten in the most beautiful of ways and no people or polluting additions to taint the shot


PS: To Mimi …really hope I haven’t pissed you off!

Realities of self

“The truth of who we are is all we need to know if we are to understand how we are meant to be, and how we can be better”

This truth is one of many, each a reflection of a different dominate trait that commands our mentality and phycology at its base level, only trumped by the primal drives that are inherent in all life forms and never changes but merely becomes corrupted to fit the socially accepted way to express these primal instincts.

Primal instincts:
Survive, reproduce, live, die and repeat

Man or woman we are bound on some level to these base logics, but by accepting them and learning to keep them within boundaries they don’t limit our ability to grow beyond them and instead give us the basic motivation to survive

Fail to respect their power or ignore them; fatality is more pleasant than when you go too far within societal rules of acceptable behaviour

Love, positivity and hope
These elevate, raise and lift us to new heights and as we gain control over the affects and objectives we aim for, so we shape where these forces take us

But let these blindly positive forces lift us too high without regard for the height we climb to; the air gets too thin and we burn up on the sun

Depression and negativity
These ground us with anchors to restrict and contain our ability to advance, setting limits that with careful control we can change, shift and in turn allow us to grow but within sensible parameters

But let these anchors get too heavy; we sink further into bleak places where our ability to restrain the destructive aspects of these forces diminishes to the point of self-destruction

Realism, unemotional logic and survivalist values
Which option has the best outcome?

That is the limit to your thinking and as much as it may benefit you in the long run, the sacrifices you make on the way when unchecked may not make you happy, just successful

Without emotional consideration the harm your decisions will bring upon others could be considerable, and with such wraith and ill favour upon you comes a fall unrivalled

In all of us are elements of each with added faith, family and social influences to shape the core logics that ultimately decide our personalities, a force indeed with all the myriad of complications that custom blend creates but ultimately one set of values will prove stronger.

And only by accepting this truth will you be able to master these forces and use them to become a better version of who you were meant to be, and/or who you want to be…

And as a matter of curiosity; which of these ‘truths’ describes you best?
And; do you like that it’s what defines you most?


Hold the press: I’m pushing a TV show on my blog


‘BoJack Horseman’ seasons 1-5, another season pending

Some works transcend quality and comedy to a point of excellence, take what could be heavy material like drug addiction, death, life issues, grief, making serious mistakes and living with the consequences and make them seamlessly flow into plots with ease, comedic elements not neglected so to keep the show watchable to an easy degree

This on top of well rounded and such imperfect characters you will see yourself in them so many times, like watching parts of your life on screen on occasion which endears the series to you and pushes you to watch the next episode with flawless temptation

But this is only a TV show? You ask


‘BoJack Horseman’ covers such a range of issues from mental health, troubled family relations to the wealth of flawed human nature that it could be prescribed as therapy, along with the purest bounty of quotes to deal with any pitfall life that may befall you

In terms of quality the only other show that excels in worth by comparison is ‘Justified’ and anyone who knows how religiously I and my family watched that show (even my mum watched it without resorting to doing puzzles on her tablet!) will know just how high praise that is!

So here is an end to probably the only TV show shout out I will put on this blog…

Should you agree with my words, you have a friend for life
If not; I respect your opinion (even if it is wrong in my opinion!)

A wise man and his remedies…

Said he to the sage upon a rock bed of red coloured petals “How does one remain calm in these days of many stresses” with a nod to the contented face of the sage slightly smirking

The sage wisely rose from his hard based bedding, a sly look and spry energies “You lie on a rock bed and pretend to be a wise man, then everyone assumes you have all the answers”

Gripped by confusion he mused on the sage’s words and replied “So you really don’t know how to beat stress and survive this world without imploding” a hint of frustration edging into aspects of his tone

The sage coolly returned advice for the mans curiosity “When you look unshaved and lie on a bed of stone and roses” a hand motion to highlight the set up he was sleeping on “then everyone keeps bringing you food, money and good conversation in exchange for advise and you need for nothing”

He smiled widely, a look of good humoured jealously and no more words of discontentment to dim the mood as the sage’s words settled in

The sage putting on a jacket and switching on a smart phone “But eventually the wife suspects you are not at a business convention and you have to go home” before pointing to the rock bed “now it’s your turn until the world demands your return”


As he lay on the bed of rocks and felt the latest offering settle his hunger, a man approached with the worlds worries worn on his weary face, this man asking “How do you remain so calm in a world full of strains and stresses”

He coolly said with a sly smile, knowing the world once again beckoned “Let me tell you what the last wise man told me…”

Figures dark and fools who ignore the warning flames

A shadow of a figure lingers on the edge of everyone’s vision, fated death in his coldly blank eyes

Honest person’s subtlety shuffle to the farthest corner away as less positive hauntingly linger with glasses in hands, each with a suggestive nod of respect to the shadows where our figure occupies

Lacking in intelligence or self survival the most stupid turn without an air of caution to offer joyously toned platitudes of hope and happiness imbued

The figure casts stony glares with ill warnings carried with the deadest of tones, a warning carried with hellion implying words and tone

The fool turns to anger and threatens, insults and accuses the figure with ill advised energy in each dangerous term of insulting blindness to the flames in each of the figures ominously darkening eyes

A final warning thrown as daggers from an assassin’s hand, each a miss but each warning tone close enough to let even the most lacking intelligence know to safely retreat in apologetic step and begging form

Stupidity fuelled platitudes hath turned a shade of foolish insult, to anger carried so insultingly superior sounding that even angels of strong will have conspicuously stepped a thousand yards in opposite direction

Casually rising, eerily calm delivery for the hatred wielding flurry of poisonously flared verbal assaults and with a burning pitch of resentment in every razor sharp word blazingly thrown, the sinisterly escalating figure becomes as overshadowing as an evilly possessed god

The quiet of the room reflects the stunned silence in each fear afflicted eye in that pale frozen face plastered on the fool, retreating so quick as to neglect even the most basic concept of stability demonstrated in the frequent and amusing stumbling run our fool adopts to escape the room

From godly rage in every creeping tendril reaching from the largely scaled form the figure previously grew to, now slinking coolly back into the huddled mass of blackness that clings menacingly to the deep shadows

The room settles easy with the ghosts gripping glasses hunching back into broken images of former humans, complete souls pushing the edges of where light allows with weary movements, so to let the shadows bleak presence remain alone in their crippling hell

The figure’s demons satisfied and now lying low in the more warmly appearing face and features of that previously ungodly mad postured thing he had become, illusions of calm shimmering in perfections reflection of every wretched detail the dark figure has grown to detest but must project


The Count

12 hours

A deal to be done for destruction will doth beckon an edge on the day


An hour less to enjoy the sun in all the fading light may offer in salvations way


The clock that eats my time hath ticked and tocked into every second I see it die away


The panic yet to come calls a storm on the horizon saturated with grey and hailing clouds


Hope launches one more desperate plan in facing odds a gambler would give no eyes


Six foot of rope emerges from a darkening day’s ditch of six foot deep


In that rope a noose has began to tie tight the binds by which optimism chokes


How horridly the time flies into the lessoning hours of where the deal turns downward bleak


How the silence of the mind falls screamingly into the fatal closing act of an impending end


All consciousness falls numb to the final moments


As all in the eternities game plays on an act of impossible


Beyond the act of finality a fated thing is to survive


To feel fatality and know that the end eludes this mortal hurt