Whimsical Musings of a Loon

I'm not sure why I am writing this, neither am I entirely sure who will read it (and indeed, if I even care). But I have to be honest. It is the last day of 2016, and I am tired. New year always brings self reflection. And this year is the same. However, every year always has ups and downs, good and bad, and we are misguided if we ever think any different. But the tiredness I feel is an indescribable cacophony. Its the type of tiredness that no amount of sleep will ever cure, even if you could sleep for multitudinous decades. I am drenched with fatigue. And its the exhaustion of being me. This 'me' doesn't even feel like me anymore. Someone has stolen my being and sold it off cheap on eBay like a broken piece of brick-a-brac. I don't even know who me is. Making the mistake of looking back on that digital BEST FRIEND! Facebook, I was dumbfounded. Was I that? Was I this? Social media lies and masquerades; a deadly online menace. Even I start to get fooled. The pi...

Processing power, gradually slowed, Hardware and wires, begin to corrode. Memory leakage, renders in vain, What once was strong, is now on the wane. Bright lights that were a glittering zone, Now grey and dark, the pixels are blown. There's a wretched bug hiding in code, Contaminating; nothing will load. Spiralling icons spinning and pending, Churning and twisting, so never ending. A tiresome flailing nonchalance, Waiting for.....no response. An Epidemic of bugs velcroed in code, And my own sad self, won't try to load.

There are a few places in the world that just by name, conjure evocative reactions. Often these are areas where, unfortunately, tragedy has struck - places where events unravelled that have sent tremor waves of shock felt across the globe. One such location has been a fascination of mine for a long time. And that place is Chernobyl. Photographing decaying and derelict buildings has long been an obsession of mine, something I've written and blathered on about many times. I yearn for it. I crave the ability to traipse through stale, dank crooked structures; rotten walls, peeling paint. Their ghostly existence crying out to be photographed - the documentation of manmade decline as nature engulfs it. Photography lends itself so well to capture these haunting scenes, the emptiness, the decay - which never stops, never pauses - only within the four walls of the photograph. Visiting Chernobyl had become a dream of mine. I had dreamed of seeing Pripyat, the city near the Chernoby...

Iceland. A mystical country that has intrigued me for years. When I stepped off the plane at Reykjavik airport in August, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Beautiful clear blue skies, and blindingly strong sun. Not weather you always associate with the coldly named country. Admittedly, I wasn't expecting iceberg arctic conditions, and to be greeted by a north face clad penguin to collect my bags, but still. As the bus from the airport took me to Reykjavik, I was struck by the volcanic landscape. Similar to the canaries, the land looked almost desolately lunar. It is an odd view, with its black, almost dead sensation, and yet not without it's own special kind of beauty. I was also struck by how sparse things felt - maybe too conditioned to the UK and in particular the city claustrophobic feel, where buildings are squidged next to other buildings to exploit as much millimetre of the space as possible. Reaching Reykjavik itself in glorious sunshine, I could almost ad...

Peaked arms of comfort, beckon yet mock, The luscious siren of greens & rock; Nature's vast canvas, over it shrouds, Charcoal sunk bleak, nefarious clouds. Majestic beauty so persuasive, Yet icy insults so abrasive.  Drenched relentless, to the beat; Yet un-abating, suffocating heat. Through pain,  Through pleasure, The mountains call. Despite the weary battle fight, Unseen demons of hidden fright; Suddenly I thrive. Suddenly: I become alive.