Sunday, 30 March 2014


How far does our imagination go?
Is everything we think something new? Crisp and fresh.
Or are our thoughts already there, waiting to be stumbled across? Old and recycled.

A rainbow full of colours yet we can't find a combination that hasn't already been mixed. Everything we think has already been thought a thousand times before.

There are over a million words in the English language but every pattern, every arrangement has been spoken before - you could say there is no more to be said.

I sit here, on this bench, surrounded by nature, such a beautiful, perfect thing. But not only that, there are creations, little things that aren't just there. Things that somebody must have thought of: cars, coffee, cigarette lighters. All these things, where did they come from? Somebody must have thought of them, little conveniences to make our lives easier, more comfortable, a break from reality. But seriously, where did the ideas come from? Were they there all along, waiting to be found?

Everything must have bloomed from a single seed, but where was this seed and who found it?

Is there an answer, a way of working out what will happen next? Or is life completely unknown, are we trapped inside this labyrinth with no way out?

Imagine how far you would stretch your imagination, if only you could.

Sunday, 16 March 2014

Don't Panic

Breathing is something we do from the second we're born to the moment we die. How can something so natural be so difficult?

You feel like you're suffocating, like your lungs are filling with water and you're drowning, like you're in a crowded room screaming for help but nobody can hear you.

Surely something must be wrong for that feeling to control your life, as if you're trapped, scared to talk incase the tears escape. Surely that can't be right?

You say you'll be okay, like you've done a million times before. As if everything is just going to blow over, as if everything is going to be fine.

Then after so long, all those days, months, weeks of being strangled you hear a song, a perfect arrangement of notes, a lullaby to your sadness. And for the first time, you can breathe. You take it in, all the way. In and out. That satisfaction as you hear yourself, breathing for the first time. And in those few minutes, something so simple which seems so impossible almost becomes easy. All your problems and worries fade away with a single breath. Somehow you feel free, like it was all a dream. Like you've woken up to a beautiful reality. Everything almost seems normal.

The song finishes and the breathing stops, you're back to that familiar feeling. Taking gulps of emptiness, hopelessly searching for the cure to your continuous pain.

How can something so peaceful be so exhausting?