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No Dust.

Sherlock fan.

(yes I understand the problems but I don’t sit in front of a TV more than once a week anyway)

Sorry not actually sorry.


I *am* alive.

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Things got… stressful. And busy. Words stopped happening and I know a person can’t wait for inspiration, but I can’t just published crap on the internet. I don’t particularly care about anyone else’s standards – it’s your business, not mine! – but I will not do that. I’ll try my best.

Crap words that polish up crap are still crap.

Then Christmas work started and… *dry, sardonic laugh* Yeah. This is fun. I’m doing nights.

I’m still working on Dust, though. Still trying. Anyone out there, you’ll get it when I’m done with it.




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I am tired. Not ill, just tired. So overwhelmingly tired my brain is a zombie. And going through some stuff that I’m just too exhausted to face.

Two week hiatus starting now.

[If only playing time management games actually taught you how to manage your time.]

Jinx out

ded nao

So, DatW 3.07

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You get it when I’ve got it done. Hours late at the best of options and fairly raw. That’s what’s up here.

Jinx out.

The fire doesn't burn. I lost all feeling a while ago...


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Alas, alack, I shall not get to hang around in this garden, happily alone, for another year.

Edit: but I got the best goodbye gift.



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This might get boring, but this sunset was stunning to behold*. Nippy on the fingers, but fire in the sky.

I had to use night mode because everything else bleached out the orange in favour of yellow, and my god, the orange.

The sun is now setting the bottom of the horizon a beautiful dull scarlet, blanketed above by a thick mass of grey cloud.

But red sky at night, eh?



*Maybe I should make a sunset tag.

Hi sun!

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When I look up I am overwhelmed by the immensity of the sky.

I like blue. I love it. The brightness of a summer day, the clarity of autumn, the promise of spring, the ice of winter, the midnight sky with its stars and the ever-present sodium glow. All of it is blue. Jackdaw and husky eyes, alien in their faces. Estuary mud reflects the sky, and on a clear day the blue ribbons across the mud flats like irridescence on a pigeon’s neck. When I crave release from the overbearing grey cloud, it isn’t the sun I’m after. The warmth is welcome, but I want the sky back.

If the sea is time, the sky is forever.

Stand where the horizon isn’t hampered with mountains or buildings, and it seems to stretch out into eternity. The urge to walk rises. Not to go anywhere, just to walk, forever, chasing the uncatchable, to reach the impossible. No rainbow and its gold can match, no star in my hand would satisfy the urge. Onwards, onwards, until there is no more horizon or you come home. [The latter is hard. The former is merely impossible]. Stand there, be blown by the wind pushing against you, driving seas to rise up in foaming angry white at your feet. [Time will end one day. Forever will not.] Stand here, trapped in your skin, deprived of the wings you should have had, of the fast feet and the claws to grab, stand here and reach for forever.

It will wait.

It’s been waiting a long time.

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