Musings

Perhaps the only thing worth anything are thoughts and memories, sketches of the consciousness – certainly not worth much economically, but worth recording, even for myself and the very few people whom they might interest. It follows then that writing is one way of translating and recording these thoughts and impressions.

The earth is beginning its tilt back towards the sun and light is edging closer to us; colours are creeping back to cancel out the cold grey tones of winter.

It's easy to drift into despair at the current times. The frustration and sense of powerlessness is pervasive and universal. The pandemic ha...

It feels like I'm in a Terrence Malick film. Don't get me wrong, I really like Terrence Malick's films, but it's been running for over 3000 hours now and it's getting a bit tiring.

Another day, these four walls. Home as work, work as home. No avoidance. The same routine, the days melting and fusin...

As I sit here, there is a sudden rush of energy forcing its way forward. A stretch of milder days is being brought to its end as the wind and rain cascade forward and transform everything around me. It's been nine weeks since I've been outside in the old world, which perhaps does not exist any longe...

It's been eighteen days since I started working from home and in the begining this was staying away from the city but getting outside to have a walk or ride alone, at least. Believe me, before I say anything else, I do appreciate every moment of being able to hold onto some work, and equally know th...

Society, it could be said exists on a very delicate and precarious balance. These days, it all seems to be unravelling. All those times of feeling so frustrated at the injustice and absurdity of the ways that things are organised. But there was always bread on the table. There has always been bread...