Tag Archives: Blogging

At a Loss

Sometimes I honestly have no idea what to blog about. And today is one of those days. How I’ve kept this up for nearly two years boggles the mind. So here I am sitting in my lounge, the gloom of a British spring slowly darkening the skies and I am at a loss as to what to type. In order for there to be something to blog about I generally have to be doing something that could by considered “interesting” or at the very least, be the tangential spin-off from some writing that I’ve been doing. And recently? Well I’ve been doing precious little of either recently

So with little else to say I will tell you what I did this weekend. I bought milk.


I bought the fridge some milk. Fridges love milk.

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Going Dark

The radio is dead, the frequencies awash with a white noise hiss a sound perversely organic in its deadness. Then through this sea of audio nothing comes a voice, quiet and broken, on an unending loop:

… moved house…
…going dark…
…radio silence…
…my god…the boxes…
…they’re everywhere…

Blogging is Hard

If anyone ever tells you that writing is easy you should punch them in the face. Hard. If anyone ever tells you this they are either: a) lying; b) wrong, or; c) an idiot. Alternatively they could be one of those few, truly gifted individuals for whom words simply flow out of their minds and their hands like high pressure geysers of idea flavoured water. If that is the case you should still punch them, if only to make yourself feel better. People can harp on about how the struggle to write is a character building journey which makes the end result all the more rewarding. You should punch them too, because no amount of empty platitudes are going to detract from the fact that you and not them, still have to slog your way through to the end. It’s like telling a soldier not to worry, they’re fighting for freedom and democracy and justice and that in the end, it’ll all be worth it, to which the soldier in question is more than entitled to respond with “Well that’s nice and all, but I’ve just had both of my fucking legs blown off! You are not helping! Don’t just stand there! Help me stop the bleeding!”

My own personal foray into the world of writing really began with the inception of this crass and tawdry corner of the internet; my first tentative steps into the blogosphere. That was five hundred and ninety-nine days ago. This is blog post number ninety-nine and I will tell you now, it’s not gotten any easier and I still have no fucking idea what I’m doing.

A Map of The Blogosphere – Matthew Hurst

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I’m on the wrong side of a four and a half hour string of train journeys. I feel like a cheap, badly constructed replica of myself, like I’m made out of cardboard and regret. A pale and shadowy simulacrum, a husk of a man. Everything aches, I can barely summon the energy to stay awake. My mouth tastes of stale spit, a taste that reminds you that you’ve been on the move for too long, that you’re badly dehydrated and in dire need of a decent meal and a cup of tea. I crave sleep like a mad junkie craves the sweet ministrations of his favourite intravenous cocktail. I am not a well man. I am a tired man. I’m still trying to shrug off the cloying embrace of a hangover and the experience of sleeping in a friend’s spare room and a bed that is not my own, a thing which has never sat well with me. I like the comforting familiarity of my home, my seat of power. Being away from it for any length of time leaves me drained. Needless to say this is not a state conducive the rationalised and coherent thought or blogging in general. So in lieu of any thoughts from my own fevered imagination I thought I’d share with you some of the blogs that have really tickled my fancy recently.

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Special Guest Star

This week sees me pass something of a milestone. Ali over at 12 Book has decided to go off gallivanting and galumphing across Europe; she’ll be gone for about a month. To fill her blog in her absence she asked for guest posts. I wrote one. It goes up on Wednesday 25th of April. In years to come when the world is a blasted ruin and we all live in caves or cardboard houses, when the sky bleeds acid and the very air is a noxious and cloying poison, Ali will look back on this day and say “That. That right there, is where it all began. Where it all started to go horribly wrong. That was the first, big, mistake.” Probably. I suspect that it won’t come to that though. Probably…

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