Hey 2021, guess what?
I have a folder full of projects.
And if virtual folders could ever be like this then this one would be bursting at the seams.
Crammed. Heaving. Swollen.
A great big digital pile of documents all waiting for my attention.
Some nearly started. Others almost done.
But most of them are just between.
Reviewings. Revisions. Rewritings.
And that’s where I always seem to be.
I know I will finish some projects. I always do.
I know I will start some projects. I always do.
But I also know that most of my projects will remain between.
I’ve given up.
Given up completely.
I’m tired of everything being the way that it is.
The desperation. The despair. The endlessness of the inevitable.
The distance. The silence. The isolation.
The not seeing and not doing because there’s no one to see and nothing to do.
I’m fighting back.
I’m not giving in to the endless opportunities to always give in. To my tired mind up always seems to suggest a way out, an escape, an opportunity to climb out of something; a pit, a hole, a darkness normally of our own making.
Yet when we speak of defeat we talk of giving up which, I suppose, means (and I love to be wrong so please correct me) that we are relinquishing the opportunity of escaping by surrendering an up-and-out manoeuvre for a down-and-in one.
Down? In? Retreat? Withdraw? Include only you? Exclude everyone else?
I’m normally against taking stands but I’m taking a stand today against not taking a stand.
Not no more.
That’s why I’ve given up.
That’s why I’ve given up giving up.
‘This beautifully written dynamic book is perfect for kids and adults alike. It’s quirky and offbeat with a big heart. It has all the wonder and magic of classic children’s books with the innovation of contemporary literature. Falcon Boy is not to be missed!’
Don’t let stupid win!
Dr Don’t Know hates knowledge.
He wants to steal the answer to every question ever asked.
Dr Don’t Know wants the world to be as stupid as he is.
We can’t let this happen!
Only Falcon Boy and Bewilder Bird can save the world from Dr Don’t Know. The bad news is that they have been kidnapped. The good news is that they can’t stay kidnapped for long otherwise this story will never get started.
Will Dr Don’t Know succeed with his evil plan?
There’s only one way to find out.
Read on and remember.
Don’t let stupid win!!
Available NOW for order in all good book stores and online.
An old man wearing a ragged tweed suit and broken brogues stands at the side of Front Square. He has stood here every day for as long as anyone can remember. When Trinity College teemed with tourists this old man and his daily vigil was a noteworthy addition to the guided tour of the grounds. Now that the College, like the city, the country, and the world, is about to be finally destroyed this old man is no longer remarkable, is no longer anything. He is just someone else about to die like everyone else.
Since the very beginning it has always been considered that the most likely cause of the final downfall of the human race will be plague or flood or pestilence or virus or war or blast or heat or a final collision with a passing heavenly body. This is the sensible and serious narrative that has caused the world to always be wholly concerned with its own destruction.
The world could never have known that its absolute end would come about as the simple expression of a merely malevolent whim.
Amidst the chaos and the screaming and the suffering and the hatred and the horror and the hopelessness and the gunfire and the pleading and the taunting and the sheer futility of it all, a small child works alone in Front Square. A small child with a broken nose who works all day, using a household hammer to smash bricks until her arm burns and she cannot lift it any more. Spent and close to collapse, this small child then falls asleep near where I am laying. No one pays her any mind.
And yet existence can live alongside the very destruction of the same and though the notion of life here is clearly finite in its duration it is the same life that resolves to sing as the firing squad takes aim or signal eternal defiance with a shout from the scaffold and until there is no-one left to hear the song or hear the shout then there is always the hope that even songs and shouting might actually signal something more than simple silent resignation.
And even in the darkest darkness ever to have descended from way beyond on-high there are still voices to be heard. They may be single. They may be strangled. They may be shortened. But they are voices all the same.
The evil of the NotBeSpeak would make great art, were both things possible of existing in the same space. Which, of course, in this instance, they are not.
New and dizzying depictions of Hell and human suffering to be captured with oil and gauche and mechanical reproduction.
Images capturing earthly contortions and the agony of existence with a clarity and ferocity not witnessed since the Renaissance.
But much like an invisible ink designed to disappear during the very act of writing, any recording is doomed and must likely die in the same second that it is born.
None of this is to suggest or even suppose that the evil of the NotBeSpeak is founded on coffee, committee and conversation. This evil is very different altogether.
It is of the random.
And other words now.
Wholly detached from reason and emotion and therefore alive in the heart of other words.
Alternatively, these explorers might just leave this planet and cross it off as ‘dead’ on their maps and never wonder how Humanity lost its light. After all, the universe is scattered with countless stars all vying for the attention of anyone capable of exploring them.
So in this way, why should the Earth be any more privileged than any other dead rock floating in the endless void?
Imagine a list complied somewhere and then put before a committee and each item on the list was a planet being considered for further investigation.
What claim the Earth over any other?