It has been a year and 23 days since I posted. The last post was about missing my Da. He has been dead for a year and about 50 days. I have written a lot about grief before, but never before have I spent so much time in grief, and not writing. It was unexpected but I lost my voice.

It is hard to return to this page, and this stage in my life. I do not know how to make my very disparate interests cohesive. I don’t spend much time looking for new graffiti these days. I don’t even take photos of all that I find. I love podcasts about Blockchain. I fall asleep listening to youtube clips about Sophia, Hanson Robotics AI pop star.

It aches to labour on my grief too long and so I instead I distract myself. I have discovered Juggling the Jenkins. I use Pinterest more and Facebook less.  I wonder if smart glass shares would be a profitable investment.  I have a wallet full of cryptocurrency but since I upgraded my iPhone, have lost access to it. My Google Authenticator needs to be authenticated.

So that is the nutshell and I am in it. Maybe my new brand is new things. Pop culture. Let’s see what I come up with. In the meantime, here are some photographs of stuff.

The final 70 metres,

The track straight

Duty free imagery

Teasing me

I look at her:

Three days

Three dozen hours

Finish line:

Auto reply –

Leaving

Help me say the words

That she irons out the worry

That was there since forever

And that he never

Needs to care

Cos she is there.

I wish I was a stoner, because I just realised that I don’t know of a word to describe the experience of knowing a word, yet being unable to define what it means. 

It passes, 

It promises,

It gives rise to –

And rules it all out.

It bastardises the truth,

And resets all the rules,

It plays havoc with hearts,

Messes with our minds,

And wreaks of the inevitable:

Until so relentless is it’s rhythm 

That we all fall in line behind it.

Whatever led me here

Gave me Tofu Gyoza

Miso and Sylvia Plath

Grateful fodder. 

We talk in memes/

Speak in tweets

No tongue 

All talk

And busting

At the seams

The menu read all smashed, all Super Salad with Acai.

The coffee was a sour roast, the type of inhouse shit I hate.

The men were bearded, staff and customers. 

They postured and peacocked against well placed mirrors – 

Those wall lengthers, adjacent to the stools with no footing. 

The stools people try for a moment while surveying the room for another option. 

The women looked, by old sexist descriptors, bookish. 

They read peer reviewed journals and ordered second coffees. 

While their bearded blokes practiced silence.

They were underwhelming in their ironically simple cardigans. 

I gazed over an undersized table at my devoted wife. 

She was sipping fresh juice through a waxed paper straw. 

I texted her the title of my next blog and she smiled knowingly: 

Men with beards and the women who love them. 

Post hipster uber hipsterism is the new next. 

‘Thawed’ when you were never frozen is not the word,

But it encapulates a simple moment, so I have heard:

That moment when you melt, but form a solid-

In the place of one gaseous mess of all things horrid.