I can feel the bruising in my mouth. The roof of my mouth aches. It’s a dull ache, tormented by my tongue – which really should know better. The ache is derived from a remedy. The need to suck throat lozengers. The attempt to inhibit a lung spasm cough. The hope to gain sleep.

With a desperation born of exhaustion I suck hard on that candy wrapped lozenge of hope.  Increasing the pressure to encourage saliva, to swallow and coat a raw and torn exit that my lungs are using to expel their conjestion.

I can feel the bruising in my mouth.


How do you give your heart away?

How do you give your heart away?

In a million moments – those tiny seconds, mere blinks in a lifetime measured in years. In the still of the night when you hear their murmer, the exhale of their breath; the pull of a hand, the linkage of arms, the sharing of body heat. Each but a fleeting glimpse, each but a little chip at your heart. Until enough chips have been gathered to make a “your heart” of their own.

Mid-conscious creativity

I suffer from, or maybe a better term “experience”, a lot of bizarre thoughts just before I fall asleep. I wish I could harness these thoughts and ideas as they are curious, intriguing, bewitching and enlightening. However – to record them would perhaps entail a level of conscious action that would negatively impact on the ideas themselves.

I retain a certain amount of the thought the next day – but like a dream it is tantalisingly lost in a mist of uncertainty. I can try to fill in the gaps – but it never has the same quality.

I have considered using the voice recorder on my phone to record the fleeting moments and then try to decipher them the next day. But am too embarrassed at what they might contain to have my partner hear. It is enough that I subject him to snores and sleep mutters without the bizarre ramblings of my uncensored mind.

An example would be the night I prepared a routine for being a stand-up comic. It was great,  I used and developed upon a range of true stories from my childhood – the potential was definitely there (and based upon a few I have shared at the office to my colleagues’ amusement – honest) led me to believe it was perhaps possible. However, my parents could never be in the audience as they have no idea about what I used to get up to.

So I am left with this drifting belief that I have a kind of mid-conscious creativity desperately trying to find a way out – searching for a gap between the realms, to seep into the real world, to be shared across minds. Yet I am utterly failing to release the ideas and give them freedom. Hence my attempt at a blog.

Perhaps here I can put the snippets together until a picture, direction or fully fledge idea can form. Then I can truly consider my mid-conscious ramblings to be something– and liberate my sanity.