Tag Archives: journal

Cloud Journal #1

22nd December 2018

I ended my day with the sunrise.

I can hear the rubber slippers slapping from the veranda, sharp plastic metronome keeping time with the dawn. It was Mr. Menace ambling in his habitual slouch on the sidewalk, right through the smoke that blew from the garbage heap not twenty feet from the wharf.

5:55 AM on a Sunday in December. Kids are out on their bikes chattering as they swoop in and out while traffic steadily builds to a trickle, at six or seven it’ll be a stream. But for now, birdcall still dominates sharp and ferocious.

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Youth does not belong to the young

Journal Entry

4th March, 2017

Sunrise

An unfiltered shot of a view from my kitchen window at dawn.

Youth belongs to the brave, not exclusively to the young so don’t let anyone fool you.

The young waste away in insecurity not uncommon for that age, worries about real problems and petty nonsense. Sometimes – no, oftentimes throwing away precious seconds like spare change. I suppose it’s all a part of the growing pains.

Hopefully, the older we get the wiser we can become. When the cloud shifts and everything is clearer and defined, well, that’s if we’re being optimistic. When we long for the pennies lost in that one ugly couch we all had years ago.

This is the age when living means Continue reading

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Frustration: a painting in words

Frustration is defined as the feeling of being upset or annoyed when unable to achieve or change something. It’s a kaleidoscope of mismatched emotions born of my own inability to change, to develop in order to achieve what I possibly can. Personally, it is for – the most part – a two-toned orange and black fighting for dominance and you know you’re down for the count when they beat each other to a nasty mud brown.

Frustration is sometimes like being thirsty. So thirsty and the thought strikes you that, yes, the Sahara had to have been an ocean ages ago. A tall glass of water sits before you. Your frustration can be defined by either not being able to reach it; or having it in your hands, the condensation dripping wetly down your knuckles but finding that you refuse to drink.

Often, no … many times, the orange wins and the black and mud would swirl down and away into the abyss of a sinkhole. And it’s fine for now.

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