Yeah, and right now, refill the bird feeder.
Long month? Not really, this time round. But a reminder to date-stamp ideas: they go around the head, and sometimes it's ridiculously easy to miss the inconvenient detail that in thinking about them, I haven't actually done anything to bring them into being. End-of-month resolution for the year: get a grip. Do it yourself. Do it. With the focus on <Do> regardless of whatever idea, big or small, <it> might be.
Yeah, and right now, refill the bird feeder. Three days into the next year in the series. Woke early, five-ish, in the flow of a dream about brightly coloured chrome/metallic-paint cars, and some kind of threat. Walking with a soulmate across a landscape of freeways, cars, crashed cars, half-built ziggurats encased in scaffolding. I remember registering that as I woke up, I said, "But it was beautiful." Dreams don't need meanings sometimes, or interpretation to take them away from themselves. Enough in that vivid blue wreckage, the sand-coloured roads, the intricate building. And I'm not quite willing to mention the casualties along the way.
Is it a New Year thing to feel the air clearer? The birdsong in the slow light? Perhaps it's a new-beginning thing, this slow picking-up of the threads, this interval gradually to set everything into a frame: let's take a step back to check the course, check the compass, all that; write out some objectives, and from them, a schedule. What is the vision? Sometimes, right to push through the opening doors, but sometimes, even better to take a look at the new room, the new hallway, before passing to the next. What to leave behind? Such a quiet morning, but for that bird. Light coming in gradually; a day reluctant to start. Almost |
What happens hereThis site is updated weekly, usually on a Friday although I might change that (again). I write it because (1) I like writing it and (2) I like having a deadline. More often than not, it works out as a commentary on the week just passed*.
There are no ads, no pop-ups and no tricky business with cookies. I don't take money for my own opinions. [Except when they come out in book form.] I write this for myself, without a set agenda, on any subject that catches my attention. If you're interested enough, it's not hard to work out my interests. Not impossible, anyway. *Although I seem to have gone away from that recently. Normal service may or may not be resumed. No data is kept on this website overnight. Blog posts are usually shared to my Facebook page. We can discuss them there if you feel so inclined.
Where are we now? We're hurtling round the sun, held to the ground by a weak force that we don’t begin to understand, arguing about trade deals between the land masses on a planet mostly covered by water.
The dolphins must think us ridiculous. No wonder they only come to the shallow water to play with us, not to signal their most complex philosophies. More. Riddle. It takes two to make me, but when I'm made, I'm only a memory. What am I? Scroll down to find out.
Is that a catastrophe I see before me? Could be. There was a clear sky earlier, but now clouds are encroaching from the North. We could be in for a storm. More.
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Welcome. Thank you for coming. But am I the right William Essex? Click here to meet some more. Read My Shorts?
Here is yet another page of old blog posts and other writings. Sorry, but I need my metaphorical sock drawer for metaphorical socks. The link to the page is right at the end of the paragraph here.
Roads without end
Here is a passage from a review of the book The Road to Somewhere by David Goodhart. I haven't read the book (yet), but the collected reviews would make a worthwhile set of political arguments in their own right. More.
State of the Union
Several commentators today saying that they've lost confidence in the US. Making their point by talking up the glories of the past. After two weeks of this administration, they're not going back.
Were they wrong, and they've seen the light? Or has the US changed? I guess the latter is the intended meaning. But we should at least acknowledge the possibility... More. Categories
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