Christmas Eve Shenanigan’s – http://wp.me/p6orx0-1Vg
Christmas is coming, work is coming to an end, so I am going to take a couple of weeks off from the blog. Family time means more to me than anything and if I am not working, I am doing that, will be back in two weeks and will be around.
Till then to all those who liked, commented and read from this (or the other) blog in 2016 thank you. Your support has been so welcome and has been one of the brighter points of this year. We are all part of this wonderful world and it’s just us making it wonderful.
I’ll finish with this quote which kinda summed up how I’m trying to feel.
In the end, it’ll be OK, if it’s not OK, then it’s not the end.
Merry Christmas people, or happy whatever holiday you wish to celebrate. This year did not win, next year, we will.
This is a poem by someone I know from college, a talented young lady called Sam Price
I felt it worth sharing, with her permission of course.
Remember us together,
Lying in your bed?
Listening to a song of storms,
‘I love the rain,’ I said.
You said I was your dream,
But I couldn’t make you stay.
I was much too raw for you,
and so you tossed me away.
My hair, a wild tornado,
My eyes are stormy skies;
You may try to break my spirit,
But you will never see me cry.
I am a Storm Goddess,
The bastard child of Zeus.
Revel in my power.
Fear what I can do.
I can roar like thunder,
With the strength of Hercules.
Beg and plead for mercy,
Down there on your knees.
I hope that you enjoyed,
The gift I sent to you,
Happy Birthday, darling,
The storm is here for you.
A tiny dash of lightening,
Handful of sprinkled rain,
Each lovely, little droplet,
Water torture to your brain.
I hope my song of storms:
My lament, drove you mad.
A reminder that you lost,
The best you’ve ever had.
I hope that when you hear that sound –
That sound that I adore:
Rain against the windowpane,
You will think of me, forevermore.
And this last one.
5 More Minutes
Give me five more minutes
Just a couple of minutes hugging this pillow
Give me five more minutes
Before I have to be all for everyone
Give me five more minutes
I don’t want to be just yet
Give me five more minutes
I get so little peace and quiet as it is
Give me five more minutes before my son comes in
In he comes, all excitement and hugs
Maybe I don’t need that five minutes
Same as the last one, just different poems
The World is no longer Yours
The world is longer yours
You had a good run
You did your best
You spread across the land grew in number and variety
Then the sky heralded the end
A shooting star ended your reign
Winter fell, the world changed, but you could not
The small scurrying creatures thrived.
The world is longer yours
You stood upright, heavy of brow, square of shoulder
From trees to the cave, you have conquered this land
You made tools, you made fire
But now there are others, smaller but smarter
More cunning, more dangerous, they want to replace you
By breeding or murder, they will supplant you
The world is theirs, you are extinct.
The world is no longer yours
You mastered the world, conquered nature and stretched outwards
The clouds were passed, the sky left behind
The atom, the moon and the lightning all bound to your will
But now, like all who came before, you fear the future
Is is to be a virus, to cut a swath through you all
Will you turn your world desolate, unliveable by you and yours
Or will you create your successors, replaced by your mechanical children
Who knows, you had a good run, but all races come to the finish line.
Where is the magic?
Where is the magic in the everyday life?
Where is the magic in our monotonous strife?
Where is the magic, stuck in a traffic jam?
Where is the magic in a sandwich with ham?
Where is the magic in the grey cloudy sky?
Where is the magic? I hear you cry.
The magic is in the rising sun
The magic is there when we’re all having fun
The magic is there in that traffic jame
The magic that lets you dream when you can
The magic is in the shapes in the sky
The magic is in your mind, with which you can ask why
Here’s some poetry written by me, which was performed by actors at college last night.
A balloon on my chair
A card on my desk
Well wishes and kind words
Well intentioned attention borne of fondness
I cannot imagine a moment I dread more
He’s there again
Talking behind everyone’s back
Stirring up trouble, ready to destroy any joy
No one invites him, no one’s his friend
He says the worst things
Tears at you, tears you from each other
You leave alone, your evening in tatters
He tells you it’s all your fault
He tells you, you deserve all he has done
In your weaker moments
You believe him
Hello there internet people.
Took a bit of a break from here, time issues and emotional stuff, but I feel I should post something.
It’s been a rough ten days.
Had a therapy session on the 30th and lots of stuff came up and continues to come up. I’ve repressed for so long that no longer doing that feels so incredibly strange. I now get choked up over a song, which has never happened before. Lows seem lower, but the positives seem ever so much brighter. I feel a bit all at sea, but realise that this is some form of progress. It’s made the struggle I feel, seem more like a struggle. As part of the writing course that I am doing, I wrote a piece about the bad days. How a day in my life can go. It all just poured out of me, onto the page like some form of exorcism of typing. I heard nothing from the tutor, till it was read out to the whole group, since mine was the next to last one, and am one of only three men in the group the whole “no one will know whose is whose” defence didn’t work and watching everyone as the worst side of my day was laid out before them was … uncomfortable. But afterwards, many people said how it was enlightening and powerful. There were criticisms of course, but mostly constructive. I was compared to a solider, but I found that a little uncomfortable too. The words used were a soldier fighting a war no one knows about, against an enemy no one can see. Kinda reminds me of the song Marlena on the Wall, but that’s just me. It reminded me how exhausting some days can be, how heavy it leaves you feeling. Now I am feeling it more, or maybe noticing how much I was always feeling it, without the filter of repression.
But here’s the thing, I don’t feel low. I’m having a bad day, that’s a given at this time of year, but you know what? Don’t care. Christmas is coming, both the day itself and the two weeks around it where I don’t have to be in work. The two weeks where I am husband and father and me, all wrapped up into one. Today started off badly, it got worse..BUT I still find positives, like moving the Elf on a Shelf around at night and watching my son see what the elf has been upto while he is asleep. Seeing everyone get ready for the weekend and feel a bit happier, music playing in work and feeling like I am making progress. I dropped a tin of sweets into work today, not for the first time this week. I don’t have to allow how I can feel to dictate what I do. I am going to win today. You are going to win today.
The news tells us all about how shitty the world is and how bad things are and how hope is pointless and all that shit. But it doesn’t have to be true. Yes there is bad, yes it gets some more press, but that’s not who we are. No one is just how they are on their worst day, we are more. You are going to win today.
What I am going to do now is finish strong at work, get some shit done and go and enjoy my weekend. I am going to win today.
Every day can be a victory, every day is a win. Including today.
When the days don’t feel like a victory, MAKE THEM A VICTORY.
I have been taking a writing course in nightschool recently. One of the earlier assignments was to write about something you are passionate about. Now outside the top three things (my wife, my son and being with the two of them) the answer was easy, comics. So below is that assignment, unedited as I wrote it on the night. I would appreciate any thoughts.
Many people have vices, hobbies, addictions and that ‘thing’ they have. My father’s is sport, my mother’s is books about murder, or Victorian hardships and my brother has wrestling. I had comics.
I first fell in love with them at age six, the same age my son is now. At a corner shop in Bradford, I was given one as a reward, or a keeping me quiet thing, but it was a piece of magic. The comic was Original X-Men #1, this 11 page story, with fantastical images, overblown dialogue transported me into a world so far beyond my own. Its characters as real to my 6 year old mind as anything on TV, or even distant relatives. I couldn’t believe it existed, it was like books with better pictures, or cartoons where I did the voices. The morality of these four colour picture books was enticing, you judge a person by what they did, we were all equal, you stick up for the little guy and you did the right thing, just because it was the right thing. It reinforced the right and wrong my mother and father were teaching me and yet it seemed much more powerful, this was an idea. No it was more than an idea, it was something to strive for.
From the X-Men I learned that racism and discrimination of all kinds was wrong, from Green Lantern I learned about fear, how it stops you and how you must overcome it. I was voracious in my reading, when many issues were thrown out, I was heartbroken, I carried resentment towards my parents, who had done this unknowingly. They were the touchstones of my history. I was a lonely and introverted child, this wasn’t about escaping the world, but expanding my world into new places. So many words I use now, I first learned in comics, my vocabulary now is often a hold-over from that. I could read more words than I could say and scientific ideas were shown to be before school decided to.
I was still only an occasional reader, but as my adolescence became lonelier and I turned more inward, I re discovered them at 14 and my love for them intensified. By the early 90s there were 30 years’ worth of stories, intense sagas, small character pieces and a sense of ongoing narrative similar to what my mother got out of soap operas. I had no illusions that these comics were seen as ‘beneath’ me and often viewed as kids stuff and I was very aware of the difference between these fictions and the real world, but these were my stories, my legends and my mythology. I read of Mice And Men and enjoyed the tale of George and Lennie, but that paled against the characters that I knew better and loved longer. That guy at work who works on the floor above, have met with him and drank with him, but I related more to the X-Man called Cyclops. I admired real people (still do) but not like role models, they always end up letting you down, but Superman was always a stand-up guy. I kept collecting and when the current wares didn’t thrill me, I searched back issue bins and comic marts to get classics. Through a shop I visited I made friends, even worked there on Saturdays for a couple of years. They expanded my world in many ways.
But out in the world, I was embarrassed by this hobbie for a long time, not admitting it to others, or simply avoiding talking about it. But inside, I was a died in the wool geek.
When comic book movies were starting to happen, I jumped on each one, the idea that something in my hand (or longbox) could be on the big screen was amazing, despite the fact that it’d been done many times before since the dawn of cinema. When comic book movies started getting more and more common, well that was just awesome. My wife and I, on our first weekend together went to see Superman Returns. It became something I could share with her, or at least be more open about.
Then I had a depression related breakdown. I felt broken. I stopped enjoying things and after dropping my son off at nursery each morning, I had a 45 minute walk to work alone to cope with. With depression, your own thoughts are scarier than anything out in the world. In order to cope with being scared of my own thoughts, I turned to podcasts, internet radio shows. I gravitated quick quickly to comic related ones and discovered a new community to be a part of and for the first time in ten years I could enjoy comic fandom. Long after my need of them to chase my demons away had passed, I continued with them. It got me online, get into social media and have made facebook friends out of it, one of them (a podcaster) I meet up with at comic marts and we have a great comic stuff conversation. My life has changed, is bigger than before, I am a father, a husband, a blogger (or one could argue, writer) but I was always a comic reader. Another podcaster that I am a fan of, referred to it as a crippling addiction that they may never recover from. I hope I don’t myself.
Next to my feet is a bag with 6 comics in it, I am wearing an X-Men tee-shirt right now. I love my son more than I knew was possible, I love my wife more than my own life, they are the greatest loves of my life. But comics have been a constant.
I am a comic fan, my life is a never ending battle…
…to be continued.