Navigating Solutions and Darkness

The threat of further violence - the threat of death as a punishment - is very clearly an effective deterrent when it comes to women reporting rape as a crime in India.

Photo by  William Isted  on  Unsplash I wanna say I had a productive social media cleanse, but considering it was punctuated by horrifying real life situations, I'm not so sure it comes out to a net win.

Photo by  Mateus Campos Felipe  on  Unsplash "I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people,“ said the man. ”You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides. " He waved his thin hand towards the city and walked over to the window. “A great rolling sea of evil,” he said, almost proprietorially. “Shallower in some places, of course, but deeper, oh, so much deeper in others. But people like you put together little rafts of rules and vaguely good intentions and say, this is the opposite, this will triumph in the end. Amazing!” He slapped Vimes good-naturedly on the back. “Down there,” he said, “are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness. Not the really high, creative loathsomeness of the great sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you mi...

Photo by  Scott Webb  from  Pexels The entire familial unit was down recently for a visit, and I was braced for the usual volley of criticism. However, aside from the well-deserved declaration that my room smells of cat pee (I'm lucky to have an impaired sense of smell), and some unwarranted comments about how I laugh "like a hyena", all was smooth sailing. I mentioned that I needed a new cat carrier, because the one I'm using has a hole in it big enough to fit a skinny cat (read: Lydia). Predictably, my parents jumped at the opportunity, especially since the carrier had previously belonged to them. "It was fine when I gave it to you," my dad declared confidently. "What did you do?" "It was not fine," I snapped back. "The hole was there when I got it." "No, it wasn't--" he began, as I went to the offending carrier and turned it around to display the hole. And there, for all the world to see, was a crucial...

Photo by  Clever Visuals  on  Unsplash Frankenstein was the monster’s name. There’s no such thing as climate change. A solero is a type of hat. The planet is not round but flat. Six is the legal drinking age. Women are paid an equal wage. Elvis was influenced by Take That. The planet is not round but flat. Achilles had a dodgy knee. Terror comes from refugees. Insomnia affects most cats. The planet is not round but flat. There are no fascists on the rise. A politician never lies. It’s impossible to change a fact. The planet is not round but flat. - Bryan Bilston (Source here)

Mi son alzato O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao Una mattina mi son alzato E ho trovato l'invasor O partigiano, portami via O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao O partigiano, portami via Ché mi sento di morir O partigiano Morir Ciao, ciao Morir Bella ciao, ciao, ciao O partigiano O partigiano Bella ciao, ciao, ciao E se io muoio da partigiano O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao E se io muoio da partigiano Tu mi devi seppellir E seppellire lassù in montagna O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao E seppellire lassù in montagna Sotto l'ombra di un bel fior O partigiano Morir Ciao, ciao Morir Bella ciao, ciao, ciao O partigiano O partigiano

Photo by  Aaron Burden  on  Unsplash They say good writing comes from pain. The only thing that truly comes from pain, is pain. Sometimes, I try to stimulate inspiration. I hunch my shoulders as if I’m about to pounce. I prime my mind – I warn it, get ready. And for a fraction of a second, it  almost  works. I feel as though I’m on the verge of the greatest writing. And then I’m empty again. Writing isn’t easy. It’s just as difficult, as boring, as down-to-earth as anything else. Sometimes. But what about the stories I write every minute of every day, inside my head? Are they enjoyable only to me? Are they a masterpiece in my eyes only because they are tailor-made to fit my every whim, my every need, my every secret fantasy? For a long time, I have sought the secret to the perfect story. The one which appeals to everyone. The one that appears magically, fully formed, upon the page, and isn’t vulnerable to criticism from silly people who don’t...