Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
The villain within
Always makes
Convincing arguments.
It exists
As contrast,
Whispering darker words
To challenge
The lighter ones.
Without that inner villain,
How would we recognise
True evil
When it stands before us?
The Devil’s advocate
Lives quietly
Within us all,
Not to command,
But to tempt.
Our moral compass
Is not measured
By the darkness we hear,
But by the direction
We choose to walk.
I am inspired by mood,
By scents,
Flavours,
A good cup of tea,
In a nice teacup,
The smell of fine cigars that don’t linger.
I’m motivated by memories,
By originality,
Good humour,
Dark humour,
Kindness,
Wickedness.
I’m inspired by the skilful,
By the romantics,
By craftsmen,
Artists,
Musicians,
Writers.
Ancient cultures,
History inspires me.
Acts of chivalry,
Honesty,
Integrity,
Decency,
Generosity inspires me.
I’m inspired by those people
Who make a difference,
Who can be their true selves,
And encourage others
To do the same.
This episode explores some of my bleakest and most doom-laden work, drawing heavily from my enduring love of cosmic horror. These selected pieces are both a homage and a love letter to the late, great H.P. Lovecraft, whose imagination helped shape my understanding of world-building and creative expansion.
Lovecraftian horror has always been a strange comfort to me. It taught me that an idea need not remain a single thing, it can grow, evolve, and become something far larger and more unsettling than its beginnings.
So venture forth if you dare. Beyond this point lies a landscape of ancient terrors, creeping dread, and no small amount of doom and gloom.
References:
Becoming successful in life
Is a deeply personal journey.
Like the sleepwalkers in my tales,
Each path differs.
No two lives are the same,
And so no two measures of success
Can ever be alike.
To keep my mental ship steady,
I rely upon simple things.
Routines.
Small achievable goals.
Daily milestones.
They are my safety net.
For me,
Success is reaching them.
Anything joyful or unexpected
That arrives beyond those routines
Is a gift.
A welcome bonus.
It may seem small,
But it brings a sense of achievement,
A quiet feeling of success.
I have learned to be wary
Of lofty ambitions.
The spirit grows weary
Chasing dreams
That were never meant for it.
Success for me
Is maintaining focus.
Meeting attainable goals.
Expanding them when the time is right,
Without overloading myself,
Without burdening my mind,
Without clogging the flow of thought.
If your foundation is contentment,
Everything else works more easily.
Life becomes manageable.
And from that foundation,
Other projects,
Other dreams,
May grow.
And remember:
Never do things
Simply because others are.
As Oscar Wilde wrote,
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
Therefore any success you create,
Will be uniquely yours.
I have grown by allowing myself to be more open and vulnerable with my readers.
Part of that growth came from stepping away from social media and limiting other negative influences. In doing so, I created space to focus on what matters most to me: writing.
By slowing down, taking greater care with what I share, and approaching my work with more thought and intention, I have become a better writer. I have spent time developing richer worlds for my words to inhabit, and exploring ideas and emotions that I hope will coonnect with others.
Most importantly, I have become more willing to share what is happening inside me. And I feel that it is working.
My writing feels more honest, more personal, and more connected than it has ever been before.
The world is hurting,
Everywhere, darkness now exists within the light,
People are lost,
The Earth is being devoured by the greedy,
Like crows stripping flesh from a carcass.
I’m drifting away,
Isolating, spending more time within imagination,
It’s for my own survival,
There’s nothing civil about civilisation anymore.
You had such sensitive ways, a kindness and gentility,
In the beginning you were so small and afraid of the world,
But you overcame this, sharing the warmth of a hunded suns,
Like very few others, you were our shooting star,
Shining so very bright, but sadly, fading out far too quickly.
Farewell Instagram, you will not be missed,
I was ready to go when my followers were dismissed,
But when you throttled my posts and censored my art,
You gave up on being what you were at the start,
You’re now a platform of racism, woe and American hate,
And I have zero interest in that country’s disgusting state,
Instagram is a love letter to that leader, the pedo groomer,
So I’m cutting you off like a malignant tumour,
Your removal saves me from a generation of reality refusers,
I’m free now from your world of skewed, toxic users,
Farewell Instagram, you will not be missed,
For now, it is you who is being dismissed.
February finds me
Barren of creative endeavour.
The world sits
Upon a great precipice,
Ready,
Willing,
To slip
Into unrecoverable turmoil.
My thoughts reach
No further
Than my own property line.
Beyond it,
The noise of humanity
Feels impossible to carry.
The company of strangers
Offers no comfort.
Creativity offers no refuge.
Nothing I make
Quietens the mind.
For now,
I am without
Artistic purpose.
So I retreat.
Back toward childhood.
Nostalgia becomes
My chosen medicine.
Its familiar shapes
Fill a space
Nothing else can reach.
For now,
That is enough.
Until the world
Calls my hands
Back to work.
We currently live in an age,
That considers artists,
To be of no value.
