11.15, warm, night air brings flying insects closer to a backhand, bam and I am swinging my arm through the air and spectacularly missing the winged creature. My neck cricked as the arm went up, ouch, oh, oh , oh, honestly, oh. Carried on rubbing my neck while stepping, “fuck! that fucking hurt!” talking to myself is one of my least worst traits, I used the power in my arms to rub my neck. Historical memory, how is that important? Who is still living, right, but when one nation has      abused  another it not enough until that country apologizes, the government. The history needs updating as it will help us all talk to each other, so much suppression, secrecy, anger to each other, we should love each other, we are human. Trying to put the key in the door and watch as my hand shakes until the left reaches out to assist. Just another embarrassment of the coming of age, I hate the way the light bulb takes a few minutes to brighten to its fullest. My right arm is numb, my left hand tightens and the position leaves me looking as if I have a claw, I lump three shopping bags onto the kitchen table, turn back into the living room, and breathe, slowly, slowly, deep out, deep deep out.

Hurricane looked at him intently as he spoke, writing is more powerful than a punch, words of that ilk, I can take inspiration from a movie, write a post, send a message, writing is powerful. Never pushed myself to prove the claim, just thought I knew right, right? Get ready now, cos here I come, and that is the power of writing. I can send a message, one that travels the realms of time and galaxies, will you believe if I tell you, or do I have to show you. How many things do I have to show you, before I can make you know, know, inside, you know cos you know, know what I mean?

Yesterday, I had one of those days that is best forgotten. if you had information to bring the most powerful country in the world, down, who would you take the info to, who? So if there was a takeover, it stays forever because why wouldn’t they? Well my problem was exactly, not like that but fairly similar, I found myself struggling to a level close to my optimum. Not gonna bore you with small details, here today, soon to celebrate the nineteenth birthday of my youngest son, hours actually, another little teaser, thank you universe, complexity a constant, when you are a galaxy, yeah? He is home from university for summer, missed him loads when he was away, he goes on holiday at the end of the month, cant wait, love him. Left last September, size of a footballer, come back like a tank, being into a sports degree, always in the gym, big. Told him today as a “wry” joke, be a judge when you grow up son, you will be good, true, not serious but the jist is close to the fact, if you get me.

What if, what if you don’t get me, am I obliged to dig my stirrup into the horseflesh under my big fat frame, turn around and explain! What if I did?


  1. Ah, yes, “writing is more powerful than a punch”. But only if someone reads it?

    Or is there power in just the intention of the writing?

    Writers usually write because they can’t help themselves – sound about right? Why are thoughts more powerful when written down? Is it because they can then be shared? or is it just the linguistic framing of our thoughts that clarifies them for ourselves, pulling together disparate thoughts into a single focused arrow or intent?

    1. The intention followed by action, once written the power is used, being able to write means the possibility of being read, without a word the power is still there, because we know it is possible, peace, friend

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