Life at time seems electric Possibilities too many to define Swipe left, swipe right Turn to p173 if you trust the goblin Social media stories started but the middle unwritten Words flow charming, hilarious First time photos are beautiful, enigmatic Heart open, body tuned and toned

But sometimes the electricity dims Options are defined, limited Stories are written, only endings remain Speakers block set in Preservation not adventure is the goal Scuffs and stains and fair wear and tear Stuck in identi-kit building in bright summer day At night sky full of stars now seem dead and cold; a place once so magical now hurt to behold.

I thought sex was all free flowing Passion Minds melting into one Intuition Subtle guidance Waves of control and submission Spirituality and connectedness

But now doing it properly According to certified specialists Is all about intense mechanical communication Before, during and after Nothing left to chance Everyone should know exactly what they want How they want it What all the wrong ways are Like an IKEA step by step instruction list To be followed to the letter

It’s been a revelation Creativity and play are old news Procedure and instruction are the new kids on the block

If wishes fell like rain, then certainly I am a storm I spend in the currency of hope Big Hail Mary passes ‘This time next year Rodney we’ll be millionaires’ I see big changes, never yet materialised, around the corner

I guess something happened when I was younger A big abandonment A magical hope of return Some internalised message that I was defective, different Turned into a narrative that I was different, Special Worthy of a big wish coming through By virtue of me being me

It took 36 years to realised I’m scared I live fearfully Fearing failure Fearing rejection I used to think of it as vigilance Heightened awareness of danger But it is more

I read that fear is the mind killer The little death that brings total obliteration So I will face my fear Head on Fight it With courage To not be cowered by fear of Being despised Suffering rebuke Being birsmirched Forgotten or ridiculed And be strong Certain of myself And the love that surrounds me

Sunday, 2nd July Something happened in a field In North London Two old foes England and Australia Fought in the gladiatorial field of old Cricket

One side arrived to win at all costs Competitive, ruthless Every margin Every opportunity to be exploited Regardless the cost to limbs Body and mind Regardless the cost to convention Grey areas of fairness And, yes, in the past, flat out cheating. With no regard to a sporting format that has dwindled over time Too boring for the global masses Revered by fanatics in the remaining island outposts of England, Australia and India

The other team used to be like that But see the future And have reflected on the past Realise the game has changed Winning with flair, on the right side of fair The only way to win Anything else not watchable Not tomorrow’s cricket

Anyway the former won At great cost To body, mind and spirit And kept the game where it is

And, yeah, it was well out of order

Woken Xcited loins, No time Yawn Zero hour, the day of the captive human begins

One day I will achieve something Something I’m proud of I won’t have that feeling of relief Or ok, but I could have done it better Or earlier Or differently No ‘I can’t celebrate this now’ Or ‘oh that - that’s a work in progress’ But something that will allow me To feel unashamedly proud That I fearlessly broadcast aloud

One day soon That’s my commitment to me

It’s continuous now Work iPhone, laptop, Headphones, Car stereo Desktop On the train In the park In office Home and away

That’s bad enough Then there’s interoperability That subtle thing About how technology talks To each other Expected to work without Subtle language, empathy, power Just co-operate to get things done And when it doesn’t quite work It can bring a grown man to tears Thinking about all the time lost In that continuous expectation of work So just get along won’t you?

It was sad I was sad Not any more But seeing someone so close die Even though it was their time Does sow the seeds of sorrow Not a full harvest A vegetable patch That you need to tend to Lest it be forgotten

You know the type That metronomic, mechanistic Productive type Day-in, day-out Turns up, gets stuff done How do I become that? I’be slipped into a rhythm for a few hours Had a good fortnight But then it goes Boredom, procrastination Unfocussed, fuck the man Who cares, manic output, I’m a hero, can’t be arsed, Who am I? And all of that before 9am I guess some people have it And others well kind of sometimes do, Maybe, Fleetingly, Tantalisingly But not permanently We’re the variable ones Trying to make it work On average And masking that standard deviation Our source of shame But who we are And always will be Day-in, day-out