Whimsical Musings of a Loon

Television is often criticised for damaging children's minds, corrupting young brains, the source of all eville and wrong in society. Whilst it is true we perhaps watch too much television or spend too long sat in front of a computer screen, it is an injustice to think television cannot be educational or inspirational. The other day I visited Dyffryn Gardens, a stately home in the Vale of Glamorgan with vast, beautiful gardens. The house is a typical Edwardian structure, a superb building to gaze at (if you enjoy architecture as much as I do). The gardens are a wonder, even to a gardening/flower ignoramous such as myself. Each section with a different theme, almost like outdoor rooms - my favourite, for example, is the Pompeii styled garden, with it's Roman-esque pillars and layout. My parents used to take us to Dyffryn Gardens regularly when we were growing up, but I had not been there for years. Returning there was a sudden passage back to my childhood, reminiscent of Sunday ...

Forgive me, I hath sinned...and I've neglected my film watching of late. I have been known in the past to watch a film a day. Hour. Minute even (maybe stretching that a little). All I wanted to do was watch films. It was almost tempting to buy a wall of televisions, and have different movies on each screen at the same time. The next stage would have involved surgically implanting extra eyes onto my body to increase the movie watching levels. I await Apple to develop an iEyeEyei technology. Then mundane things get in the way of my film nerdery. I shamefully began to lose opportunities to waste my life in celuloid fantasy to block out the pain of reality. Especially when I have t'interwebs to see to, post its to draw, people to annoy. However, the one positive of feeling flu-esque is that it gives me a good excuse to watch copious amounts of dvds. This past week I have watched a begillion and one films, including what I believe is possibly the worst one of the lot. Even worse tha...

Is this it, Unfathomable it, Cruel mundane, A heart to maim. Every breath, the blood does drain, Playing this damn waiting game. In such maelstrom, amongst the fog, In such vain, a useless cog, For once the waiting will cease, The ironing out, at the crease, It all just continues plodding along, No standstill, end, fuss or song. Barely memory, hardly a sign, Not even a shadow, a faint outline. That is it. Unfathomable it. Otiose, but It.

The elation of curious feeling, Certainly left me double-reeling. Finally grasping that message sent By so many, at last I knew it meant: It made breathing more than to survive, It was to be, exist, enjoy - alive. And yet it's like an eville curse, To make the whole thing even worse. For every up it's double low, For every good, a harder blow. Because this is severely blighted, A futile exercise, damned unrequited. So back forever, there I sit. In that wretched woebegone pit. Hope and good unemployed, Nothing to fill a torrid void. The barren solitude so great to fear, Causes pain so copiously severe. I kid myself that it never mattered, But the crux of my being is shattered. I am so cruelly blighted, Damn you fucking unrequited.