"what I like about you is that you're not hung up on looking good"*

This is the one. The first post. The one that gets over the wicked hump of inertia, stage-fright, writer's block and related disorganisations.

I've recently written about ambition and in the midst of that concluded that this blog needs to come into being. Also, having failed for decades to muster the heroic effort to pull it fully formed ex nihilo, better to nurture a blogging habit - heeding narcissistic alarms - and tend to whatever it is that emerges.

*TITLE from The Fauves' "Suddenly Looked and Realised", Future Spa (1996)

photo

Watching Pocoyo in a laundry basket

poem

Stumbled upon this. Probably from the largely caffeine-fuelled year 2000.

>A POEM WITHOUT A NAME

for you i did the wackiest things. i chewed gum. i sang gut wrenching love-songs. i cut my hair and polished my boots. i bit my tongue. i lied seven times. i drank away my anger. i smiled sweetly in the photos. i threw away twelve perfectly good years. i cancelled every belief and crippled my mind. i forgot her name. i wished beyond reasonable expectation. i danced alone in unlit corners. i dissociated me from self and laughed it off. for you i did the wackiest things and brought forth the apocalypse.