Just us.
No-one else.
Those who matter in the distance.
Those who care, held close.
Our thoughts in your thoughts.
Your warmth together.
Just us.
Two peas. One pod.
Wrapped up snuggly.
Joined. At the hip.
Together.
Stronger as one.
A union led by destiny.
No pressures. No worries.
Challenges to face together.
Fearless and relentless.
For us.
Hope and glory, in lands, over the seas and by green trees.
Bound at the hands.
Rings on.
A bond. Embraced.
One.
What I’m trying to say, is that I don’t want your throat to hurt so much, I don’t want you feeling so sick, and I’d take every ounce of the pain and suffering away, if I could take it from you. I’d kiss every drop of this evil bug from you.
I’d run through walls to defend and support you. Travel oceans, climb mountains, and rattle off clichés to make you understand that I am here and I am there for you. I’ll hug you closer and suffocate loneliness from you. You’ll be embraced so much that our skins will fuse. It’s that strong that even your farts smell of roses.
You have a way of doing things, and I respect that. Don’t push me away. I need you more than I need air. Without air, I might just be able to survive through some sort of chemical restructuring. Without you, well, what’s the point?! A sore throat comes and goes. I’m here forever. Until you get bored of me, that is.
Watching you sleep, restless and sweaty, face in contortions resembling a gurning competition, I am reminded of Egremont Crabbing Fair. Let’s go together. By then, you’ll be still, calm and feeling much better. Or, we could stay at home and do nothing. Just spend time wasting time and enjoying time in great company. You’re the best. I’m blessed. Let me treasure you. Stay strong. Stay positive. This bug will pass.
Prove your status.
Copy that letter.
Twice.
Translate this to that.
Duplicate, duplicate, duplicate.
Thrice.
Indicate at the tick box.
Here, there, and HERE.
There again.
Copies of a passport.
Duplicate and photostat your household register.
Voice print.
Embassy and Consulate verification required.
University experience desired.
Nose print.
Passport photos. Wedding photos. Holiday photos.
Travel history records. Paper money trail. Bank statements.
Dental records.
Fill in this.
Provide a copy of your birth certificate.
Photographs.
What was your dog’s mum’s maiden name?
And, what did your ex-wife eat for lunch yesterday?
Evidence.
Bloodtype, fingerprints, retina scan.
When did you last sneeze?
Health check.
How good are your genes?
Swear an oath, an affidavit, an allegiance to the flag.
Sing the national anthem. In Swahili.
Verify.
What are your political beliefs?
Trump or Xi? Sunak or Churchill?
Confirm.
Height, weight, favourite colour.
Where do you plan to go?
Bureaucracy.
Hand over your loved ones.
Get down on your knees.
Pray.
Relieve yourself of all sins.
Seek absolution and fix this.
Hurdles.
Why do you discriminate against me?
Why do you think you’re better?
Who allows you to talk over me?
Am I too unambitious if not a go-getter?
What makes you the king of this castle?
Whose voices are you speaking for?
Why do you bring me all this hassle?
Was it my forefathers in that long forgotten war?
Didn’t you understand the mistakes of the past?
Is it my skin, you fear?
Do you blame me or my people for that blast?
What values should I hold dear?
My religion or your religion?
Hate us? Hate me? Hate our future?
Where is the peace dove or grey sooty pigeon?
What makes you think I’ll level a score?
Equality or inequality?
Why do you raise your voice?
Why do you question my ability?
Why do you ask me for my choice?
Will your hateful words always haunt me?
Do you decry the freedom I seek?
Where is forgiveness and the blossoming new tree of the free?
Are you unhappy that I am not weak?
What makes civilisation?
How do I know that you know?
Where is my destination?
How will you show we can no longer grow?
Eyes so precious and swirling with colours deep as an ocean and broad as a mountain. A smile that radiates heavenly light. That smile I’ve seen before in your ancestors. A touch of grandparents, from my line. Great grandparents, too.
Wavy dark locks of hair, and a head shaped to think, fight, and strive for brighter days. Hands to grip the day and right a rocking ship. Such light skin, yet shades of Mother and Father, should ward off any ray of danger. Yet, the curse of the mosquito feeding ground is within you.
Satisfying stretches as you reach to the sky. Your arms will know no limit. Each kick could be a practice for bike rides, games of sport, or swimming trips imagined. Or, to show your sounds of giggles and pleasure are practice for leisure.
I’m sorry for my mistakes and past, and all the moments of doubt. I give you the future, no matter its struggles and worries. Let your resting head lay on my shoulder and allow me to be the protector. We can tackle every worry and solve problems. I vow to cleanse my soul and body, to live better to give you the brightest possible start. To you and your gorgeous, strong-willed mother.
There shall be tears, torments, and tremors on our path, but I shall stand by you both until breath no longer enters and exits my vessel. For you, you both, you are each and everything I longed for, and the watermelon seeds we wished for are within you. Growing a fruit with limitless flavours. This is a day I could never imagine. Thank you to you. You are a miracle.
The future is now, and you are the future.
Words taught. Ideas thought. And spoken. A gift, a token, a day awoken. Mums are brilliant. They’re resilient, they’re efficient and sufficient. A guide along paths. A shoulder to turn tears to laughs. Mums, moms, mams, 妈妈
Books given. Lies forgiven. Lessons learned. Trophies earned. Encouraged. Discouraged. Pushed on. Troubles gone. Forever enduring, securing and helping you before and during. A fanatic supporter helping and scoring. Moms, mams, mums, 妈妈
Try this, try that. Do this, do that. Eat your corn. See her scorn. Tidy up, fold it up, put it away. Have your say. Listen to the way. Day after day, always there for you. Truthfully, forever true. Mams, moms, mums, 妈妈
Loving, caring, sharing (through choice or not), supporting (win, lose or draw), there for you, no matter your lot. MUMS, MAMS, MOMS, 妈妈
Thanks for being my friend.
Eternally.
How long is that?
Forever and a day.
Surely that is too long, right?
Always.
When does that end?
Until I know when, I’ll carry on.
Until I know how, I will turn the now into the future;
And the future into the past.
Interminable. Apparently.
I don’t want to see tubes coming out of your nose; or your face lacking cheeks coloured in rose.
I don’t want to see wires attached to your skin; nor your arms stretched out so thin.
I want to tell you off for trespassin’; I want to see you read Carl Hiaasen.
Or, shout at you for hiding your homework; watch you frustrated shouting berserk.
I want all your worries, testing times; problematic homework, and accidental crimes.
I want to learn alongside you; watch you grow strong as a Sky Blue.
We should be together, I apologise; when you’re older you’ll realise.
Wise as it is, life ain’t simple; especially seeing your still simple.
Finally, I believe we shall laugh together; walk on hills whatever the weather.
Those tubes and the fear can’t last; hope you recover ever so fast.
To pray is to say, to wish fear away.
Not just this day, but tomorrow and the next one.
To push aside worries and wrap you in warmth, in our arms, you sway.
Feel our love and all your troubles are gone.
So be it. Amen.
Time waits for no man.
No man should wait for time.
Nor woman.
Key worker and essential cog one day, discarded the next week.
“Valued employee” and “fine example” until you’re not relevant.
“Outstanding” and “innovating” before being outdated and obsolete.
“Indispensable” or “central to the team” as a budget slash deems your release date now.
Punctual, loyal, and attentive to fine details, followed by succeeded and outdated.
Moving on up, rising to the top, but all of a sudden, tumbling and spiralling downwards.
There’s a margin. A wafer thin gap. A sliver of light between dark and lost. A piece of hope dangling on the thread of chaos and change. Which way it blows is not always your choice. Which way you respond, use your own voice. A pathway here or a tunnel there. Give in, or go on?
Go on.
It took everything from my system. All energy is sapped. It hit me like a tonne of bricks. A freight train to the soul.
I lost comfort.
Hope vanished.
Life’s path took a dark spiralling turn south.
Goals and ambition kicked into the gutter.
Shattered connections.
Unhelpful, unhealthy solitude.
All I could see was emptiness and fear.
A vacuum of a chasm.
Empty demands and is spoken of in snide words.
Lost belief in myself.
Hurt. Gutted. Irrelevant.
Life being a cunt. Tortured. Shamed.
You gave me everything, every smile and every belief. You fueled me. You lit the lighthouse once again. A defibrillator to hope.
You gave comfort.
Life took a huge mountainous climb towards the sun.
The constant goal and need embedded.
You asked for nothing and embraced my confusion.
Impressive reality and challenges ahead.
It’s a wonderful miracle.
Without judgement, without demands.
Gained a soul this last year.
Excited. Overwhelmed. Relevant.
Life is a joy. Pleasured. Pride..
Don’t conceal it. Don’t hide it. Don’t fear it. Don’t fight it. Just put your head down and right it.
Don’t give in. Never surrender the win. Block out that enormous din. Just get yourself up and head for the win.
Don’t shatter your dreams. Avoid tearing at the seams. Watch out for low beams. Just look for the place with good teams.
Don’t slide about. Don’t scream and shout. Don’t ever make yourself doubt. Just let it all out.
If not, what have you got? Your thing, your place, your lot. You’re more, are you or not? You’re here on this pale blue dot.
Now go get it yourself! Trust in your health. There’s more to life than wealth. Put doubt firmly on the shelf.
Financially, mentally, substantially.
In a pickle.
Unquestionably undoubtedly, profoundly.
In a pickle.
Historically, periodically, profoundly.
In a pickle.
Oddly, secretly, openly.
In a pickle.
To the letter, by the books, across the board.
In a pickle.
No trust fund, no benefactor, no obligation.
In a pickle.
Without reserve, without doubt, without care.
In a pickle.
Take it all for yourself. Pool up the wealth. Cripple those in ill health. Myself. Each self. Yourself.
Why should anyone share? It isn’t supposed to be fair. Have power, will scare. Less care. What care? No care.
Copy it, market it, sell it on. Small trader’s hopes gone. Give in to each don. A con. This con. The con.
Hardened by grimy soot. Tough under each jutted foot. The struggling empty gut. Howling mutt. Growling mutt. Mournful mutt.
Crumbs shouldn’t drop to the floor. Beggars asking for more. Wounded families, sore. Greedy poor. Filthy poor. The poor.
Darkness crawls through the light. Crushing all that is right. Turning summer to winter’s night. Strangling delight. Sapping delight. End of delight.
I’m the rise against the odds. I’m the growl facing the sods.
I’m the vote that casts a change. I’m the matter that needs derange.
I’m the fighter in the field they want to mine. I’m the nurse fixing plasters rain or shine.
I’m the voice that they want to silence. I’m the battler against all manner of violence.
I’m with many who shout and demand new ways. I’m one of the glued-up rebellious art damaging strays.
I’m the silent protestor who annoyed the police sergeant some. I’m the leader of the change that has to come.
Stand alone, fall down. Stand tall and together, stand up for your town. Stand for the greedy and against the needy, stand opposite me, you’ll see. We’re the changes that are needs be. See.
The time is now.
I’ve been waiting, patiently and impatiently. Where are you? Perhaps, you missed me here. Hey adventure, where are you?
I know I’ve been distracted, confused and upset. Where are you? Just maybe, you’re too busy to call by. Hey adventure, where are you?
These days have been testing for me, unsure and hanging on the help of others. Certainly, you know where to look. Hey adventure, where are you?
I looked back at last year and the year before, and one before that. How come you didn’t visit me yet? Hey adventure, where are you?
Is it something I did, said or thought? Am I not the same person as before? Hey adventure, where are you?
When you call by, bring some tissues and a shoulder to lean on. I’m sure you’ll return. Hey adventure, where are you?
I’m feeling so low, blue and deep in shadow. You won’t see me outside. Hey adventure, where are you?
I need to feel the sharpness of lemons, taste the sweet cool air and smell of green life. Instead, you’ll see me between these walls. Hey adventure, where are you?
It could be worse I guess, cast off and unwanted? No letter of recommendation or wave off. Hey adventure, where are you?
Hey adventure, where are you? I need you. I need. I need you. Need you. You. Come get me. Hey adventure, where are you?
Hey adventure, where are you?
How many old dreams of the past are dormant? How many dreams of the future are yet to be realised?
The flocculant rain falls, and the howling wind calls, as he bangs his head firm on walls.
How many days drifted in and out? How many hours in light? How many in night?
The foundations of the house shake, they ripple, bend and quake, all the while his feet flip, slip and bake.
How many lights shine out bright? How many rays cast no shadow? How often does light fade to black?
The will of a man is tested, his head ill-rested, broken undigested, wasted hope scattered and shattered.
How come comets flash and zoom by? How do meteors find their way? How often do they evade all sight?
The feel of his feet grow rough and sore, unable to walk no more, lost on a map with no detail, cast off to sea without a voyage.
How does a guide find a route? How do you define what’s in a suit? How often is a path well-trodden?
The life of Riley, the hidden Eden, the leadership skills of Christ all the parts of Paradise’s Elysium far, far out of reach.
We’re all writers putting pen to paper, typing night and day;
Singing love songs come what may.
Banging out letters of dismay;
Giving our opinions on hearsay.
All in front of us, our display;
Making sure we have our say.
Place down your head, just go and lay;
Eyes to the left, eyes to the right they bend and neigh;
Come month end’s wait for our pay.
Should I go or should I stay?
Passing our eyes over the latest play;
Heartfelt causes won’t go away.
In hard times, we kneel and pray;
Write that letter to the girl called Fay.
Oh sweet Fay, the next day your name is May;
Life moved on and we found our way.
Children rejoice, they jump and say, “Yay!”
No more waiting, no such delay.
Watching movies until we hit the hay;
It doesn’t really matter if anyone’s gay.
Dipping our toes in the deep of the bay;
All around the sound of that lovely jay.
On cloudy days grabbing each ray;
Talk about football on the Saturday.
Watching movies until we hit the hay;
It doesn’t really matter if anyone’s gay.
Dipping our toes in the deep of the bay;
All around the sound of that lovely jay.
I feel like a roof won’t cover me.
I can’t busk under a tree.
Jobs will pass by me.
Nothing here, nothing to see.
The big issue is deep inside of me.
Confidence is my absent key.
I can’t earn this, unreachable fee.
Teaching, reaching and beseeching thee.
Fetch no path my way to feel glee.
Absence and opportunities aren’t free.
The other side: as a rotten wasted bee.
I’m going to explode. There’s a simmering rage. It’s rising up and ever closer to spilling up and out.
The mountain of hills and volume of small plenty is what this is all about.
I sense walls and fences stand only to be broken. Each panel a temptation to clout.
Leaning forward, I imagine a shattered wall, crumbling and littered with flaking grout.
From the wall windows litter with broken glass, alongside a sagging spout.
I look to the sky and beg, “Why? Why? Why?”. Each word grows from whisper to shout.
I stumble. I fall. No one hears my call. I snigger. I grip the trigger. Should I squeeze?
Yes, yes, God please. Do it. Do it. End it. End it all. Time to say goodbye. Time to go.
But, I take a deep breath. I focus my tired eyes. The black dogs snap at my feet. I throw them a bone.
You are not alone. You are not in company. You are not your own. You are not the company.
Twitches replace stitches. I fiddle less. I flick the pages. Reading makes me feel better.
The books are my escape. The escape is what I need. The last legs. The leg. The finale.
The fear never departs. The delay must stay. Keep it all at arm’s length. Control it.
Never ever give in. The black dogs can’t win. Snap all they want. Never give in.
For handkerchief opportunities, many of us have visited Forrest Gump and Jenny. The main character’s love life, marriage and his mother. The ending. In 1994, Winston Groom’s novel became movie legend filmed by director Robert Lee Zemeckis and starring Tom Hanks. Hanks, himself, also starred in Turner and Hooch, which again had me blubbering like a baby. When Tom Hanks cries, we all cry. I hope to see the Indian remake of Forrest Gump soon: Laal Singh Chaddha. Although, Turner and Hooch has kind of seen many remakes…
“The young doe, Marena, said, “In this very hour many of us are going to die. Perhaps I shall be one of them.” – Felix Salten, Bambi
World War II was brutal. As was World War I. All wars, for that matter, are grim. Tinged with sadness and heartbreak. Souls are destroyed. Isao Takahata released Grave of the Fireflies [火垂るの墓], set to the backdrop of a totaled urban Japanese port of Kobe. This was no ordinary cartoon. Like Watership Down, here is a movie truly worthy of the title tearjerker. It is horrific and doesn’t pull any punches. The characters are young and dynamic. Let the movie draw your heart in. The movie is wide open to multiple and conflicting interpretations, much matching the confusing array of themes.
The Angel of Nanjing focuses on the famous Yangtze river and a bridge (the Nánjīng Chángjiāng Dàqiáo 南京长江大桥) in the city of Nánjīng. The protagonist Chen Si (陈思) has discouraged hundreds of people from topping themselves. The fall downwards is about 24 metres (79′) into lethally fast-flowing waters. The Chinese newspaper People’s Daily once reported that this bridge has more suicides than the famous Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. The movie is a thump to the heart.
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial that little extra terrestrial blob of joy left Elliot behind. The movie was almost entirely shot from a kid’s perspective. It had a touching poster with an alien digit connecting to a boy’s finger. Little whiny Drew Barrymore reminded me of my screaming sister Astrid. Divorced mum? Themes we could relate to too. Released shortly after I was conceived in 1982, it would be a few years before I watched and understood this story. Yet, every time since the music of John Williams and the direction of Steven Allan Spielberg has got me over and over again. Henry Thomas, the main character, was someone all viewers should have made a connection with, and probably will never ever shake that iconic movie away.
“You are who you choose to be.” – Ted Hughes, The Iron Man
The Iron Man, as a book, by Ted Hughes was lovely and warming. As a movie, it was renamed to The Iron Giant, its big presence shook the internal emotions left, right and centre. How graphic animation can leave a viewer enraged, baffled and devastated is beyond me! The director Brad Bird and his production team conjure up magic in this animation classic.
Thomas J. Sennett: “I’m gonna drive us to Liverpool.”
Shelly DeVoto: “Liverpool?”
Vada Sultenfuss: “Big Ringo fan.” – My Girl, the movie
Vada Sultenfuss (Anna Chlumsky) and Thomas J. (played by the middle-name monster Macaulay Macaulay Culkin Culkin – yes he apparently changed his name this way) light up My Girl with an earthly romance of youngsters. One of my favourite comedian-musican-actors Dan Aykroyd is a big name in the movie, as was Jamie Lee Curtis but neither are allowed time to upstage the duo of young starlets. They pull at your heartstrings from the get-go.
“I don’t need easy, I just need possible.” – Soul Surfer dialogue
Brief Encounter and Soul Surfer are two very different movies. The former is classic cinema noir. The latter deserves to be remembered and revered for a long time. If Jaws struck fear into you getting back into the water, then imagine being Bethany Hamilton who lost an arm to a shark attack. The movie Soul Surfer dips into her strength and determination to ride the waves again. She was 13 years of age when the shark caused her to lose an arm. Her quest to conquer the waves again sees her meet victims of the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami. This heart-warming tale explains why she wouldn’t change her outcome of life, if given the choice. It is a slab of inspiring cinema based on Hamilton’s book, Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board. Released in 1945, a decade after a play by Noël Coward, Brief Encounter, has become one of Britain’s greatest movies of all time. I first heard of it whilst changing trains at Carnforth railway station in Lancashire. The music, the story and the pace really resonate beautifully when placed with the intense black and white cinematography. Like many great stage play adaptations, this movie is full of clipped words and energy. The comparison to Soul Surfer is far apart, but both leave you clinging for Kleenex. As someone who has had my own brief encounters, and lost a little piece of heart each time, there’s a real sadness and pity to this yarn.
“The future was uncertain, absolutely, and there were many hurdles, twists, and turns to come, but as long as I kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other, the voices of fear and shame, the messages from those who wanted me to believe that I wasn’t good enough, would be stilled.” – Chris Gardner, The Pursuit of Happyness
Will Smith, when not busy slapping comedian Chris Rock, can be found in countless movies. One such heartfelt piece is his recent Oscar-winning role in King Richard. But, before he played the father of the famous Williams sisters, try The Pursuit of Happyness. Son of Will and Jada Koren Pinkett Smith, Jaden stars alongside his father striving to keep tears and depression at bay. The film is a modern tale that is all too familiar to many people seeking work in the many job markets defunct of opportunity. Will he overcome adversity? Perhaps the memoir (of the same name) by Chris Gardner and Quincy Troupe might be a starting point.
It is what it is.
It is what it is?
It is what it is.
It is what it is?
It is what it is.
It is what it is?
It is what it is!
It is what it is?!
It is what it is.
Is it what it is?
It is what it is.
What it is, is it?
It is what it is.
It is what it is?
It is what it is.
It is what it is?
It is what it is!!!
It is what it is.
The wall doesn’t keep you inside
nor does it stop you escaping.
The range of the boundary’s grasp sit inside
refusing to ruffle or fold ever slightly like two ever strong shoulders of foundation.
The fences you make prevent you living and pay sacrifice to the freedom out of your longing reach. Barriers change in time and
ruins rise to fall, with temples and churches spilling outwardly, full of prayers for one such deity or another, seeping your skin’s
inward desire to be led and let go,
while forever knowing you carry the
weight of slumping shoulders
bound by boundaries of the mind.
It isn’t the panic
that draws you ever closer
within its tumbling realm of vision or that tremble in your loin,
dancing upon the shaking shoulders of sacrifice.
It is the bite that remains forever itching failing to heal and settle,
a ruin which ever leaks over your skin
intoxicating the inward desire
while forever guilty mite weakens
slumping from shoulders
into the abyss.
It doesn’t take much to trip and slip when the angry dogs are snapping at your feet. They’ve invited wolves this time and they’re agitated in ways you knew as frequently possible m yet could never escape. They howl and snarl drawing nearer without ever getting close enough to sink their sorrowful rabid fangs into flesh. Their dirgeful salivating pus-filled gums drip oozing brown liquids across the foot of the bed. You feel heavy-hearted panic for a moment. Chapfallen fear.
A white hot cold like steel pressing against your mind’s eye, sliding all senses beyond control, the rage simmers and bubbles threatening to erupt to the heavens above, bringing hell to the day’s gloomy sky. Yet it won’t and can’t. You’re in a mediocre state. The best that can happen is average. The worst is equal to the best. Flailing and flat lining just above terrible but far below lugubrious pleasure. A monotonous gray scale of simply not good enough. The dour silent rage.
You know you can’t escape the wretched day that hasn’t come, but woebegone, you know it is soon to arrive. The fed up walls will fold in and the ground will crumble. You’ll slip, fall, down and tumble. The saturnine strives you had and the live you lived will be gone. The forlorn ashes of the fires burning around you will blow in sepulchral raging winds from north, east, south and west before slamming doleful thunderous bolts of lightning into the parched remains of your skeleton. That morose skeleton itself, fused and beyond mobility. Useless mirthless blue.
Hope knocks at your dejected door but the disconsolate door’s hinges have long dispirited rusted and welded to the wall. The wall has been long-covered by grim vines, rotten downhearted hanging nooses, despondent witch trial posters and fragments of a long forgotten camera obscura lens. The crestfallen wall’s dusted windows each produced Pepper’s ghosts no longer. Their cast down faded glass panes are grimed and moulded beyond shape and figure. Faded features hang weary and low, tangled in slim twine macramé. Downcast melancholy.
Life is for living; it’s for seeing; it’s for feeling; it’s for playing;
it’s for kicking a football in a field; it’s for stumbling on stones and slipping and breaking some bones;
it’s for smiling; it’s for crying; it’s for…
…missing home; it’s for feeling that tear. That tear building in your eye; and that moment you look at something so stunning, you’re overwhelmed with feelings.
You try to find the words, but the words aren’t there. They’re out there. They’re in here. In your head. But. You just can’t pick them up and place them in the right position.
Life. Life is beautiful. It’s pretty, it’s witty, it’s exciting, it’s frightening…
It’s staring into the abyss and not knowing where you’re going.
When you want to go somewhere, you go somewhere. Having a plan is all fair enough. Having no plan: just as good.
Just live the way you want to live.
There’s only one way of life.
And that’s your own.
Hindsight is a gift.
It’s less than fifty stairs. I’ve moved up just one floor. My head is pounding. Is a gorilla crushing my temple? I feel my legs heavy and weighted down. Am I walking through deep clay?
There are stars dancing around my eyes. Something is shaking the ground beneath my feet. The view I see is bending and reshaping. It’s coming and going from shapes I know to blurred distortions in colours I know but I can’t place.
I feel I’m going to tumble and fall. I stumble. My knees are folding and refuse to work with me. My feet are rooted to the ground but they feel like they’re sliding away. There’s ice under me and the clouds over head are dancing, except it’s a ceiling. I try to focus but my pulse is in both ears and drumming so loud. I can’t concentrate.
This shortness of breath is terrifying. It is horrid to suddenly feel so debilitated. I’m gasping the fiery air and it is raking my pipes on its way down. It tears shreds of my windpipe and leaves my mouth tasting bitter and vile. The little moisture in my mouth has an acidic taste. I have and choke on a lack of air.
For a moment, I feel my heart speed up. It’s struggling. I try to slow myself down and understand these moments. I panic. I imagine my coffin and I try to say out loud, “Your number’s up.” I feel my eyes heavily close and I nod my head forwards. That brief moment of consciousness loss wakes me sharply. Not now. I breath in with all my might. Not today. I force air inward. After what seems like a lifetime, I stand.
Use the gift of hindsight.
ACTON28: AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC 