Blink and it’s gone

Earlier this year, National Geographic reported that the average attention span had dropped to an alarming 40 seconds. You can read more about the research, and even learn some strategies to restore your attention span, in the article by Vittoria Traverso by clicking anywhere on this sentence. The headline begs the question; just how much are we missing by jumping from one thing to the next too quickly?

You may wonder what prompted my sudden urge to look into this. Well, I’d enjoyed my first real autumn day – you know, when it feels as if the slight drop in the evening temperature has miraculously purified the air, yet it’s still warm enough during the day for a light jacket and trainers – when I woke up to find the sound of wet splashes against my bedroom window was in fact sleet and not a more season-appropriate type of precipitation. Stupefied, I asked myself: had my favourite season come and gone without my noticing?

Thankfully, the winter weather cleared after a couple of days, but my rather rude Saturday awakening (on World Mental Health Day, no less) had me worried. First of all, of course, that this meant a semi-loose plan of an Autumn catch-up with a friend was now out the window. Then, when I’d managed to snap myself out of such futile speculations, I started to worry about everything else that seems to pass us by when we’re no longer able to stay in the moment long enough for it to register properly. I’ll give you an example:

I’m lucky enough that I occasionally get to attend conferences and events through work, during which there’s often a good selection of interesting lectures. This year was no exception. Always keen to learn something new, I signed up for a couple and mapped out my day accordingly. When I arrived at my first lecture, though, the room was full of people that seemed to have stumbled in there looking for somewhere to have their lunch or an outlet for their phone charger, reminiscent of an airport Costa Coffee during public holidays. Kicking myself for my obsessive compulsive time-keeping habit bringing me there 15 minutes early, I found a seat with no feet and/or bags on it and tried convincing myself that the chaos and chatter would surely come to an end before the lecture was due to start.

I could not have been more wrong. You’d think that the introduction of the speaker would be a hint strong enough for anyone to realise this was their cue to shut the fuck up. Yet, instead of directing their attention towards the person on the podium (and, indeed, stopping their incessant talking), the majority of the audience took the intro as a sign to go get their phones from their respective charging stations and start snapping photos of the lecturer’s PowerPoint presentation. No stranger to social faux-pas, and quite frustrated I couldn’t actually hear the lecturer over the constant chatting around me, I made a few fruitless attempts at shushing the people closest to my seat.

This, however, provoked the same infantile reactions you’d expect if you’d done the same thing during a secondary school assembly. Which, of course, exacerbated my frustration. If they didn’t want to listen to the lecture, fine, but surely they could see that a few of the other people that had signed up for it might like to? Also, what good would taking photos of some slides with no text do them, if they weren’t going to listen to what was said about the illustrations?

Surely, filming or sound recording (with permission, of course) would have been better options for anyone looking for anything other than mere proof of their own attendance. Or, you know, they could have just asked the lecturer to email them a copy of the presentation to save themselves from having to unscramble pixelated copies of its slides on their phones. But, again, without paying attention, there was no way they’d be able to understand what the slides were meant to represent without any context or the lecturer’s own notes.

Long story, I know. So, to narrow it down… Whilst what irked me initially may have been the lack of respect and empathy in my unruly colleagues, the growing concern the experience left me with is what is still eating away at me now; the concern that this is a prime example of human devolution. Being taught that relying on shortcuts is preferential to actual learning, it seems that taking a photo has been accepted as a perfectly decent replacement for knowledge. A sort of human screengrab; as if looking at a picture would help you conjure up a non-existent memory of something you weren’t paying attention to in the first place. If your focus is on taking the photo, rather than on the Kodak moment itself, I’d argue the only memory that’ll crop up is that of you doing just that – not of what was said in the lecture.

Are you really willing to rely on your technological devices to document your present, rather than living it and actually making real memories?

Obviously, I am just speculating here, but I keep making observations that support my concern that critical thinking has become somewhat of an anomaly with artificial intelligence now forcing its way into every nook and cranny of our fragile existence.

Now, if you’ve read some of my previous posts, you may have already guessed that I am far from excited about AI. Nor am I particularly fond of its popularity and how its usage is welcomed, adopted and enforced by certain industries; with complete disregard to the potential harm it may cause if they fail to properly educate themselves and their employees in regulating its use.

So, while the reason for my reluctance and/or defiance shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, I’ve come to realise that it is not as obvious as I’d like it to be. Thus, to clarify, I can see how AI can be a useful tool for some and that it can be a real timesaver in certain processes. I have done my research to properly understand (and use) it, I have experimented with it enough to know that not only does it impair the quality of my work, but the fact-checking its usage requires severely slows me down. Therefore, I can conclude that I am better off without it. So, on the back of what I mentioned about the lack of critical thinking earlier, my issue lies not with the tools themselves, but with the constant misuse of AI, the lack of understanding why usage needs to be regulated (for both professional and personal use) and the dangers of letting AI ‘do the work’ for you without checking its validity.

I see myself as a creative person. I’ve an education in the arts and humanities. I’ve more than a decade’s worth of vast amounts of content, from audio to film, photos to paintings and all sorts of written word media, from speeches to manuscripts, blurbs and articles in every genre, that demonstrates production ability and autonomy. I stopped applying for jobs I’m not qualified to do more than 15 years ago. So, you will understand my frustration when, as a qualified jobseeker, I am eliminated from recruitment processes due to my ‘lack of demonstrable experience with AI’ after the second interview. More often than not, I’ve been told I was the most qualified candidate for the job. Pardon my French, but who the feck decided proficiency is a negative?

Despite my need to air my frustrations, they are not the point here. Rather, the point is that we’ve grown too impatient and lazy to hold our horses until we know something is safe enough to let loose onto the unsuspecting masses. As we all know, research takes time. Protocols must be followed and boxes must be ticked before something can be regarded as a scientific discovery. Read this article, if you don’t believe me.

If you’re born before the mid-80s, you may remember a time when asbestos and its heat and electricity resistant qualities was all the rage? Then, research showed some disturbing links to deaths and illnesses, subsequently leading to controlled removal of such materials from schools and office buildings. I’m not comparing AI to asbestos (mainly because I think AI is a lot more damaging to society as a whole), obviously, but I’m just pointing out that something can be rolled out before we are aware of its lesser qualities.

If critical thinking has gone out the window, it seems to me, we no longer have the luxury of time to wait for research findings to be published. There are a lot of interesting articles online about AI and its impact on critical thinking, many of them regarding chatbot use specifically and its “potential harm” to critical thinking online. I’ll link to three of them below, for those of you who’d like to cut back on your sleep:

The Guardian, June 2026: Over-reliance on chatbots can diminish critical-thinking skills, study finds

US National Library of Medicine, 2025: The cognitive paradox of AI in education: between enhancement and erosion

Time Magazine, June 2025: ChatGPT May Be Eroding Critical Thinking Skills, According to a New MIT Study

For those of you longing for a less serious rant next week, I shall see you next Tuesday. Until then, enjoy this classic piece of fine comedy from a time where artificial entities were most commonly found in sweeteners and experimental drugs, not intelligence:

13th Oct 2026 0

This Autumn, take your Black Dog for a Shame-free walk

Finally, it’s that time of year again. When the darkness eats away at the daylight hour with an almighty, tireless hunger. Leaves turn brown, fall to the ground and all that was once green seems to have withered away overnight. The temperature drops as gale force winds threaten to lift you up and carry you off to destinations unknown should you fail to find your centre of gravity whenever you venture outside. The cold forces its way into your spine, determined to settle there until the sun gets some of its strength back. And the darkness… The darkness is everywhere… And, if only for a brief spell, we are all the same.

I take great solace in the darkness.

Still there? Good. Believe it or not, this isn’t as sad a post as it may seem – quite the opposite, actually. And, I’ll have to point out that I’m not trying to make light of seasonal affective disorder here, rather, I’m trying to analyse the sort of lift the darker season has on my own well-being as a long-time sufferer of chronic depression. Autumn ushers in the opportunity for me to walk my rather enormous, clumsy and rarely loveable black dog with my head held somewhat high. Together, we can walk among the living without drawing too much attention to ourselves. Hell, we might even feel a sense of belonging for a second or two.

Depression never really goes away, it seems. It’s always there, lurking, biding its time, always ready to pounce when the time is right. But we do get to enjoy a break away from the whipping post from time to time. Autumn has been that time for me, for as long as I can remember. Spring and the beginning of Summer is the opposite. I suspect it’s the pressure of the expectation that you’re meant to be happy all the time, just because the sun’s out for a few more minutes more than the day before. “How can you be so sad when everyone else is enjoying themselves? Cheer up!” they’ll say. Little do they know that those words just makes it worse.

Yes, I can see that ‘everyone’ else is having a great time, for no apparent reason. This only makes me feel left out, frustrated that I’m unable to drag myself up from the abyss, even sadder that happiness doesn’t come so easily to me. It makes me fearful. I stare so hard out the window of the bus my eyes start to water, just to avoid accidentally locking eyes with some poor soul and somehow infect them with my inner demons. Always afraid I might drag someone down with me, just by daring to think I should be allowed to exist among them when I am like this.

Then, Summer turns dirty, grimy, too much – just like me – and the first great flood comes to cleanse us of our sins and wash it all away. With the deluge comes the crisp, clean autumn air. Everything starts dying. The seemingly endless summer nights are no longer as long or inviting as they used to be. No one’s jetting off on holidays or returning from one, looking as if they’ve been laid out on the Weber gas BBQ for a fortnight. Instead, they’ve retrieved their cardigans from the back of their wardrobe, stopped shaving and started making up excuses to avoid socialising.

Me? I can finally breathe. I can leave the house after 7pm without bringing two pairs of sunnies, a hat, brolly and/or a party burka (if all else fails). I no longer have to be afraid I’ll ruin someone’s good mood, just by being myself – everyone is already miserable by the time they run into me. So I start looking forward to the little allowances the colder weather brings along with it, like being able to cover my flaws in layers and layers of clothing, hiding my bad hair days in woolly hats and my face in scarves, lighting my candles and watching all of the Friday the 13th films in one sitting, the appropriateness of having a nip of whisky to warm up when the heater’s on the fritz and knowing that I will be left alone until the sun rises again, give or take 6 months from now. And I can let my dog off his lead for now. I never asked for this dog anyway.

I’ll see you next Tuesday. Until then, chew on this:

6th Oct 2026 1

Against the grain for the greater good

On the topic of last week’s post, let’s talk about human value again, shall we? Specifically in terms of making untraditional choices and society’s failure to realise that the reason behind said choices does not concern anyone other than the person making it. I am of course, yet again, talking about something people like to pretend doesn’t occur in their world, because acknowledging it would mean they would have to reflect on why on earth they didn’t take a beat to contemplate just how clever it would be to bake a batch of mini-mes with subpar ingredients…

Firstly, I’d like to begin by explaining that this is not necessarily about deciding whether or not to have children – we need to acknowledge the fact that there are quite a few people that would very much like to have them but cannot. The reason should be of no importance to anyone but the person and/or couple suffering from involuntary infertility, unless you are in a position that allows you to help them realise their dream of reproducing.

Secondly, many of my friends have kids. Some were perhaps more of a surprise than they would have liked at the time of conception and others not, but in every case they have shown themselves to be rather spectacular at this whole parenting gig.

So, let it be known that I am not against people reproducing. I am simply hinting at the fact that whether you want to or not should be a private matter. Furthermore, choosing not to doesn’t mean you hate children. In more cases than not, I expect it is the complete opposite.

Let’s say you’re just getting to know someone and you’re of a certain age, so you’re trying to find out just how compatible your lives are before commit to a serious friendship. Asking them if they’ve any children would be perfectly natural. If their answer to your question is no, however, you have absolutely no right to ask them why. Doing so would be rather cruel, plus it is none of your business.

It would be akin to asking you why your mother didn’t allow you enough oxygen when you were in the womb, or, indeed, why on earth you found it necessary to contribute to an overpopulation that is threatening to drain the earth’s natural resources. You can read more about the intricacies of population growth, environmental degradation and climate change in article published on the UN’s website by clicking on this sentence.

Regardless, you could stir up a whole turdnado (you know, like a sharknado, but with shit) by poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just think about it – would you be able to handle it if your ‘simple question’ was the last straw for this person?

Granted, for some, it’s about taking the responsibility of not forcing the life of an unwanted creature on an often unsuspecting world. But that’s a decision that will have layers to it as well. There might be a family history of mental illness or a birth defect of some kind, it could be the lack of any known family history, perhaps they experienced or observed traumatic events during their own childhood that impacted their choice. Or, hot fucking take, they just didn’t want to risk having their downstairs ripped apart by someone they might not even like, only for post partum depression to take over once the downstairs have stopped aching.

Also, in case you didn’t know, raising kids is expensive. Not everyone has savings or a steady job to help fund the endless list of activities and made-up holidays everyone has to attend nowadays. Or a partner with which to share the financial struggles, for that matter.

Then there are people who didn’t have a choice in the matter. Victims of rape, some of which might not even know they are pregnant until it’s too late to do something about it. Women that have been forced to live with a living, breathing constant reminder of one of the worst, most painful moments of their existence, only to develop a love for the thing, stronger than the love they have for themselves. Or women that have experienced the same and having to give the child up for adoption without their consent. Asking them why? Not okay.

There’s a multitude of possible reasons why one would make the choice of going against the norm. Perhaps the term childless is the culprit. We don’t call the opposite child-riddled, so why does not having kids deserve such a negative suffix? If I’d had more time, I’d dive deep into the etymology here, but I will save it for another day.

There are plenty of happy childfree people out there as well, of course. Guess what? Their reason is also private, unless they bring it up.

So, my frustration remains with society’s lack of respect for the privacy of those who have chosen differently than the norm. Take, for example, a setting where colleagues are getting to know one another and one party is pointing out left and right the other’s ‘poor’ qualities, such as their failure to own the newest Tesla or a house in the best school district, their unsuitable romantic partner (or lack thereof) or how they spend their wages on ‘silly’ things that make them happy. Yet, in the same breath, they demand to know why you’re not bringing any children into the world; as if they wanted a filthy pariah to have little clones running around. Perhaps they’re afraid their offspring won’t have anyone to pick on, if the lesser caste refuse to comply with the demands of beige society.

My only fear is that all of the clever people have stopped reproducing and that the idiots have taken over.

Right, that’s enough for today. Luckily, I know that some of the finest humans around have managed to produce at least one or two good eggs over the past two decades, so I’ll not be around when the turdnado comes, nor do I need to worry about any descendants of mine suffering through it either.

See you next Tuesday. Until then, enjoy this little gem from NOFX:

29th Sep 2026 0

Putting a price tag on a life

Seems odd, doesn’t it? So, why is it that some people seem to think it’s alright to value one civilian child’s life against that of another, based on beliefs they’ve been fed by the media and not bothered to look into any further? Apropos of nothing.

Look at this frog in the photo. The poor sod invaded my home and, with no way out once the window was closed, was robbed of his life under a cardboard box stuffed under a bed in a room bereft of magic happenings. His near-fossilised corpse was not uncovered until a plague of bird lice (or similar, one assumes, as one is no entomologist) descended upon said bedroom (finally, some magick, albeit rather black). Did the frog really deserve being sentenced to such a bleak and merciless death, merely because he didn’t know any better than to jump through a cellar window in his desperate search for shelter from a storm? Or maybe he was hiding from his wife, I don’t know. Husbands seem to think that my house is particularly good for that. Was. I have since escaped my Fritzl-esque abode.

Apologies, yet another bee seems to have gotten itself trapped under my bonnet today. Where was I? Oh, denigrating the lives of strangers.

As I mentioned in last week’s post, World Mental Health Day is coming up and I haven’t really gotten my frustrations out of my system yet. (As if that’s ever going to happen – let’s be honest). Or, rather, I didn’t feel as if I got my point across as clearly as I’d envisioned. Now, I am not dismissing the importance of these events – without them I’m sure some people would be utterly oblivious to how much our mental health impacts our daily lives. What’s missing, though, is that it’s an aspect of our overall health, because some people seem to think that matters of the mind have been assigned its very own little branch.

Perhaps due to the minute state of their own mind, they haven’t the cognitive ability to comprehend such afflictions.

Either way, I’m not saying we should introduce World Meniscal Tear Day or International Sciatica Month (although, it would be nice if someone donated a few fistfuls of dollars to whomever is in charge of the research on how to fix those), but mental health issues really needn’t stigmatised further.

Let’s keep in mind that our health fluctuates. Some aliments are chronic, others acute, most are temporary. In most cases, life goes on. It’s not all suicides, extreme paranoia and drowning in an abyss you can’t seem to peel yourself away from. Sometimes you can remove a bit of the patella, rather than chopping the leg off altogether. There are good days as well as bad ones.

What’s more, there’s no such thing as perpetual happiness. Does that mean the opposite is true, that there’s no such thing as perpetual despair? Personally, I don’t think you could have one without the other. Of course, it’s not ideal when you only experience the extremes of either, but I think there’s something to be said for embracing all colours of the spectrum. Sort of an emotional barometer, if you will.

I’m getting away from myself again, but you get it. Let’s say someone you care about is in hospice. You wouldn’t expect them to sit there and wallow in their oftentimes excruciating pain – you’d allow them to have a laugh or crack a smile when something funny happened, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t take that as a sign that they’ve miraculously recovered, all of a sudden. Yet, if you saw someone you know with chronic depression doing the very same thing – daring to take pleasure in something so banal as a quote from, say, their favourite Leslie Nielsen movie, society/popular culture/random fantasists has taught you to suspect they’ve been faking it all along. Therein lies the stigma.

Bit of a rant today, I must admit. So, to wrap things up a bit (and maybe trying to find our way back to what drew you in in the first place), let’s get back to that price tag. What determines the value of an individual? Surely it’s their inherent qualities and not external factors beyond their control? Or, indeed, the internal factors over which they hold no power? Why do we seem to think that we are right to make any sort of assumption about a stranger’s value at all when we know nothing about them? If we’re all going to walk around pointing fingers, then what’s the point of the judicial system?

I know, a bit far-fetched towards the end there. I’m not trying to teach anyone a lesson here, I’m just airing my frustrations over our collective existence’s great injustices. I bet the wrong person reads this and ends up using it as an example of why we need to shut people like her up. Och, well. As you can clearly see, I, too, am guilty of passing judgement left and right, using other people’s past and future judgement of myself as an excuse. I reckon we can all do better.

A Roman Emperor once said that you should first turn your gaze inwards before passing judgement on another. Carl Jung famously said: “Thinking is a difficult art, therefore most people prefer to pass judgements.” John Fogerty said it better; “Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself“.

See you next Tuesday. Until then, why don’t you check out this brand spanking new EP linked below? You might know the singer.

22nd Sep 2026 1

Would it kill you to educate yourself?

… instead of telling others what to do or think, that is? The content of this post might seem upsetting to certain readers. If you or someone you know struggle with suicidal ideation, or if you’ve lost someone to suicide, reader discretion is advised. If you’re in the UK, you can find one or more of the following links useful: Suicide Prevention UK, Men’s Minds Matter or Find a Helpline (this last one lists most, if not all, of the helplines in the UK).

If you’re in Norway, however, they’ve still got their heads buried so deep in the sand trying to pretend that everything’s fine, that there’s no helpline with competent professionals handling the phones. No one to reach out to, who won’t first inform you that they will have to let the authorities know if they suspect you’re at risk of endangering yourself or those around you. No one who will just sit and listen while you empty your head of those toxic thoughts that never seem to stop, without telling you how sad your pain is making them feel. Thus, no links, as I don’t think they’d be helpful.

If you’re lucky, though, there are some beyond decent GPs in this country, who can and will help if prompted. So, if you feel as if you’re not being taken seriously – and can handle the required research to find the right GP – it might be worth looking into a swap.

This past Thursday, the 10th, marked yet another World Suicide Prevention Day. You can read more about it on the International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP)’s website by clicking on that link, but if you don’t know why there’s a whole day dedicated to prevent people from diving head-first into the abyss – this advocacy and communication event was established in 2003, in conjunction with WHO, to make the world understand that suicide can be prevented. Here’s a thought; why don’t you use that day to educate yourselves on mental health matters, rather than telling everyone else to “check on their mentally challenged friend and/or relative” on the one day of the year they might actually want to be left the fuck alone?

I’ve written about this topic on numerous occasions – hell, you can even read about it in my book – but, unfortunately, it seems to stay relevant. Thus, here we are again. I am writing about it today for two reasons:

1: What I saw on social media on the day made me want to vomit. Moreover, it made me feel sick to my stomach with shame and even more alienated than I normally do.

2: World Mental Health Day is coming up in less than a month, so I’ll do my part to impart some of my wisdom (take that with a pinch of turmeric and maybe demote it to life experience) and see if it helps.

Let’s get to it, shall we?

First and foremost, telling people to check on their friend on the one day of the year when the company you follow on social media tells you to does not make you a good person. Nor does it help raise awareness, because you haven’t educated yourself enough to know what you’re talking about. Had you had the decency (or, rather, awareness and empathy) to look up from your smartphone screen for even a second, you would have realised you could do more by just acknowledging those around you. I’m not saying you should smile at any random feck that falls into your path, but at least take your bag off of the seat next to you so that someone else can rest their weary bones or, indeed, choose whether they’d like to sit or not.

The above is applicable to every day of the year – not just the one. Just like with our physical health, our mental health is also perpetually there, in whatever state it may be. What’s more, the general public’s failure to acknowledge each other in the everyday can actually be the one think that breaks the camel’s will to go on, so to speak. But a nod, a ‘me before you’, a smile or a wave at a neighbour could also be an actual lifesaver for someone whose only thought is that they’re so worthless they might as well do the world one last favour and shuffle aff it.

I must admit, though, this post isn’t fuelled purely by John Lydon’s favourite form of energy, nor by my appallment of how some people use their Instagram account. No, I’ve been inspired by how a recently bereaved friend of mine has been able to truly live in the spirit of ‘what they would have wanted’ in reaction to their loss. Instead of withdrawing and wallowing in their grief, whilst taking their time to properly grieve, they are out there raising money for research and awareness for the cause by continuing their pal’s legacy – ultimately showing the rest of us how we can help prevent more loss and that there is still a life to be lived after death.

If you are able to help, please head over to this JustGiving page where they are raising funds for FACE (Fighting Against Cancer in Edinburgh).

That’s all for today. I shall see you next Tuesday. Until then, do something nice for yourself. Maybe that’ll give you enough energy so that you’ll do something that makes someone else choose to go on, without it feeling like you actually had to make an effort.

Also, here’s a tune that’ll pull at your heartstrings and make you think – whether you know the whole story or not. Then again, who really ever does? The truth is subjective.

15th Sep 2026 1

Pearls and swine

“…bereft of me, long and weary my road has been”, sings Chris Cornell in the 2003 Audioslave tune I am the Highway. Now, before you start thinking I’ve sunk low enough to steal someone else’s words because I’ve been suitably bereft of the ability to think of any of my own… this is just where I’m at today. Left to my own devices, my thoughts have gathered at these words forever tattooed onto the walls of my inner workings, as they so often do when I refuse to acknowledge it’s time do admit defeat.

Why do we let ourselves entertain the hopeful thoughts so far-fetched even the most oblivious can spot it a mile away? Well, it’s better than never daring to hope for anything at all, I guess. And, as we all know, hope becomes the motivation we need to get closer to our goals. Although, I’m beginning to think that it’s time I started to figure out what my goals really are. Daydreaming doesn’t really cut it when you have to deal with the outside world.

Alas, I am not about to start moaning about my hopes and dreams. And, for those of you hoping that I’d become much wiser just because the number of days I’ve spent on this earth has increased by all of seven since last time you were on this site, I’m afraid you’re in for some disappointing news – the person writing this is no sage just yet.

BUT. There’s a lot to be said for having experienced the least disappointing birthday in all my days. If you were a part of it, whether physically or in spirit, know that there’s not enough gold stars in the world to decorate your page in my book.

There’s some sort of storm brewing, I can feel it. But I will leave any deeper reflections on that for another day and instead bring your attention back to the unicorn on the donut in the blog photo. Someone made sure I got a donut with Scotland’s national animal on it on my birthday and it was excellent. Even brought a smile to my face. And it got me thinking that this outside world might be ready for my return. Although, I can already promise you, that the previous week can attest to the fact that I’m nowhere near finished making ‘mistakes’. But, hey, I hear experience can make you wise… as long as you’re willing to learn from it and/or own up to the fact that the only person you need to honour and look in the eye (in my case, at least) is yourself.

See y’all next Tuesday. Until then, have a listen or two to the song mentioned earlier:

8th Sep 2026 0

These may not be the droids you’re looking for…

… But perhaps we can interest you in some noise producing humanoids instead?

As promised, all will be revealed today. After all, it’s the week of our birth and if no one seems to give two shits about the actual day, the least one can do is indulge in some more or less shameless self-promotion.

First things first, apologies for the odd Star Wars reference. Although, we’re hoping to ultimately ‘Jedi mind trick’ you one way or another.

If you’ve been following the blog, you may already have noticed some mentions of endings and chapters closing. Boy, this year has been littered with them. Luckily, they’ve been mostly of the good kind. Interestingly, all of them (bar one) have opened more doors than they have shut in their own unique ways.

I know I said “all” will be revealed, but this ain’t The Sun thirteen years ago. Thus, I will save some details for myself and dive straight into things before you give up on me.

Among the things that have ended is the band Kenodromia, but in its wake it leaves behind its second EP, entitled Black Swan Songs. The 4-song effort will be out on Thursday this week, as a Bandcamp exclusive, so if you have any love in your heart for the people who occasionally purge a few hundred words a week on this platform, I urge you to click on this sentence – this will direct you to the band profile. On the not so off-chance you despise these verbally incontinent imps, I urge you to do the same. Maybe you’ll find something new to hate?

Regardless. The name Kenodromia means ‘running in the void’. Although the name seemed apt at the time of its conception, perhaps the moniker was in fact the beginning of the end. Maybe it’s time this sense of running without getting anywhere goes back to being a metaphor. Perhaps now’s the time to let lessons learned make way for other, perhaps more fruitful, ventures with a little less of the sour grapes thrown in for texture (or whatever).

Who’s got time for those anyway? (Sour grapes, that is) I woke up this morning from a sneeze that would make Morla feel young and fresh – I’ve no time for dwelling on futile fuckery.

Today I leave you with a request. It is out birth week, after all, so who are you to deny us? The request is quite simple: do something for yourself that you’ve perhaps put off for too long, or will allow you to let go of some fucking stress.

In the words of Fiona Apple, “so, tell that girl you don’t love her and if you do, tell her two times”. Or, in my own, slightly less poetic, ramblings: tell the girl to fuck off so she’ll get the hint she hasn’t taken yet.

Life’s too short.

See you next Tuesday! I’ll be a whole year older by then (or a week, if we’re being technical about it), so perhaps I’ll have outgrown some of my less than charming antics. Or, perhaps not, maybe I will have embraced them wholeheartedly, knowing I am the only person that will have to share its existence with me. Here’s to at least one more year of digestive tract talk!

Below’s the only bithday song I like. Enjoy. Yay, me. Or us or whatever.

Also, there’s talk of the second coming of PIEMAGEDDON.

1st Sep 2026 0

Irreverent reveals

Someone commented on the not entirely spectacular fact that I haven’t posted anything on a social media account in over a year. Well, that’s due to a number of factors, but two of them are a) whenever I am out doing something with people whose company I enjoy, I tend to keep my phone tucked away and/or I’ve not got the Mark II on me, or b) what I consider a typical Kodak moment these days is something akin to the header photo. Now you know.

The above has very little to do with what I am about to write, though, other than that I found something that is revealed in the carving of the statue of which we can see the backside as particularly post-worthy. Why on earth would you spend time on including the cloaca of an inanimate object? It’s not like it’s going to need it? See, its mere existence beckons an array or questions.

On another note, you can do a deep-dive into cloacae (tee-hee) and/or other “digestive tract talk” by checking out the Three Bean Salad podcast. Perhaps start with the Adverts episode. Right, that’s enough of the anus for one day.

My recent posts may or may not have revealed that I’ve been on my second book, but somehow let procrastination get the better of me. So, in an attempt to force myself into holding myself accountable, I’ve decided to unveil the title, as well as the prologue to see what you guys think about it. Feel free to weigh in however you like, either by clicking on the icon you prefer below

or, you can comment on this post or use the contact form. If you’ve yet to read my book, the Kindle version is cheap as chips.

Next week’s post will also be a reveal of sorts, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Right… are you ready? Am I ready? Here goes:

Life in Reverse – Killing Myself to Live

Prologue / Suicide Note, Pt. 1

A year has gone by since we left Hannah on that bus, finally strong enough to take a step in the right direction and standing up for herself to a person that had caused her nothing but harm over her formative years. You would think she’d be thriving right about now, right? That she’s finally all settled in her lovely new flat, aching to get back to work with the support of her therapist, a healthy romantic relationship brewing somewhere on the horizon. It turns out, though, just because you’ve decided to start making things work for yourself, doesn’t mean the universe is going to get on board. Funny, isn’t it? We’ve all heard the words; It’s going to get worse before it gets better.

The problem is, we can tackle ‘worse’ just fine. It’s what we do! It’s the ‘better’ that might just be the end of us.

And, yes, all of the chapters are related to relevant pieces of music. Also, if that tickles you, you should read Trackman; a spectacular piece of writing by Catriona Child.

So, I shall see you next Tuesday, for my second unveiling. Until then, here’s the song mentioned in the excerpt:

25th Aug 2026 1

Squirrels and the magic of behavioural economics

I was sat outside contemplating my own existence when a particularly nosy squirrel very rudely interrupted my introspective endeavours. For some reason, squirrels seem to pop up everywhere like tiny brown embodiments of red flags whenever I find myself in a situation, but that’s neither here nor there. Or, is it precisely both here and there? Regardless, his incessant stare made me realise I was due a budget revision. Of the mind, that is. Here’s a few thoughts on something about a little thing called personal accountability.

Bear with me, it’s going to get very bleak before any occurrence of any light. Also, you shouldn’t expect to read much about the original definition of behavioural economics here, so if you get your kicks from neatly putting numbers into spreadsheet columns, read the Wikipedia article on the term by clicking on this sentence.

You’d think that, with the amount of sheer introspection I shamelessly indulge in every week, I’d be pretty much up to speed on which areas to focus on in order to improve my existence. Perhaps even to such a degree that the need for any ‘home improvements’ would be reduced to barely noticeable ad hoc upkeep tasks. Turns out, you’d be wrong. In fact, you might say this particular humanoid construction is permeated by the mental equivalent of black mould, water damage, termites and poorly and/or insufficiently laid foundations.

On the personal plain only, of course. The professional part has been meticulously built for endurance and longevity, protected by impermeable scaffolding at all times. Surely, though, as the two are connected, no one could fault you for questioning whether the collapse of one would affect the other?

You might wonder how I let my personal life fall into a state of such disrepair. Well, without going into too much detail, my theory is this:

From a very young age, it was instilled into me by my caregivers that fear was the best – if not only – motivator. Meaning, of course, that any flaws or failures were to be subject to castigation of the utmost severity (i.e., you’d be terminated from the household and stripped of your privilege of any further ‘caregiving’). Success equalled strengthening the brand of the commissioner(s) – previously known as the caregivers – whereas failure to comply would lead to the ruin of the same.

The positive outcome of this for me, personally, was that I learned how to make myself do things that didn’t come naturally to me (like, say, fucking maths, meticulously budgeting and sticking to it, always paying a higher than required tax percentage and calculating the energy prices in case of inflation – all things any child should know how to do, right?) by always expecting the worst. This makes me the perfect employee, as I will always strive for perfection out of the sheer fear of being furloughed, or worse.

Alas, for someone letting fear define what’s important, the balance between work and life would be more or less non-existent. Furthermore, striving to do anything that might spark any kind of joy outside of the workplace would be deemed unworthy of the same focus, as they don’t have that same fear attached to it. Or any. So, if fear is motivation and there’s no aspect of fear in what you are doing, you’ve no real way to convince yourself that it is valuable enough for you to work towards. This should be regarded as one of the negative outcomes, of which there are plenty. For instance, you can read a little something I wrote about “love” and emotional wounds by clicking on this sentence.

Conclusion: With this fear-based approach to success, one would fail to prioritise self-care when needed – or at all. Ultimately, this could lead to forgoing any social interaction, personal hygiene efforts or indeed after-work activities that only benefits the self, meaning you’d only really feel like a ‘real’ person when called upon by the commissioner. Which, in turn, would lead to a sense of increasing worthlessness that might lead to prioritising self-harm over selfcare.

So, how does one go about changing the script, so to speak? Do you really have to go reinventing the wheel, or un-learning everything with years and years of cognitive behavioural therapy? How do you know how to spot the bullshit – or, more importantly, the bullshitters?

Well, I may not have the answers you seek, but my money’s on this: It depends on the fucking person. The one guarantee is that there’s no cure-all. But, if there’s one thing you need, I’d say it’s accountability to yourself and to your goals. And your motivation cannot be founded in fear or regulated by negative self-talk. This includes the fear of not reaching your goals!

Perhaps the key to motivation lies in letting go of a fear-based driving force. Or, maybe it’s about learning how to accept and embrace that good things are in fact real and good, and not just some mirage or dirty trick. It could be physical too, of course. Maybe you just need to allow yourself to breath in order to let your shoulders down. Whatever it might be, I think it requires the self to let go of the assumption that society expects certain things or collectively looks down their nose at you for not being good enough. In reality, it is the self that has adopted this view and made it its mantra. And that just might be the key to change.

After all, if the person holding the whip that caused those scars across your back no longer bothers to crack it; why should you?

See you next Tuesday. Until then, enjoy the fine tune below:

18th Aug 2026 1

Swan Songs

Recently, a dear friend and I were talking about how autumn had suddenly descended upon us, and she mentioned how her partner had referred to the transition as not the end of summer, but “the beginning of their year”. I really liked that. So, as a few chapters in my life are closing, I aim to view the coming time as a new beginning – rather than grieve what could have been.

According to Wikipedia (and almost every dictionary), the phrase swan song “refers to a final gesture, effort or performance given just before death or retirement“. Not only does it sound better than saying something along the lines of ‘going out with a bang’ or similar, but I find it helps highlight the gravity of purposely exiting whilst leaving behind something of value to commemorate your efforts. In other words, you’re not just burning the bridge, you’re blowing it up in ways Guy Fawkes could only dream about.

Incidentally, the above phrase is also the title of one of my favourite Down songs (YouTube vid embedded at the end of this post).

As I mentioned, there are a few things coming to an end this summer. Some have plagued my mind for what seems like an eternity, while others simply seized to make sense over the past wee while. The cost had started to exceed the benefits to such an extent that it started eating away at my sanity and everything I’d worked so hard for started to come tumbling down. Only this time, I was able to see that I was going to have to make a choice if I wanted to get my head back over the water’s edge again. I might still be treading water, but at least I’m breathing.

If you missed my last post, about the detrimental effects of avoiding making choices I should have made, you can read it by clicking anywhere on this sentence.

Some endings are inevitable, other ventures meet their demise by design. Then, there are those that come to an end due to sheer self-sabotage. Here’s hoping that sort of thing has run its course forever this time.

Short and bittersweet, like most things one may be feverishly indifferent to, this post, too, has entered its final paragraph. I’ll see you next Tuesday. Until then, make sure your new beginnings fit in with your main goal, go read this post about hope – or, better yet (for me), buy my book – or just do something that makes you happy.

“Send me love and I may let you see me. Send me hope that can spin in my head”

FTS.

11th Aug 2026 1