When I consider how my light is spent
Milton, Sonnet 19
Notes from a Room
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I started writing because no one had yet given me the words I needed. So I wrote them myself.
Credo
Astray 21
Every day without work is a day of judgement. No money made, nothing proved. Who are these writers who read and write for hours a day without feeling guilty? Who pays the mortgage while they sit and refine their sentences? Continue reading
The Crossing
Astray 20
Two months without work. I’ve sent dozens of applications. I apply to AI training sites. The gigs are overcrowded. One involves listening to spoken and written sentences and rating whether they seem human. It takes half an hour and pays Continue reading
Egon Schiele
Astray 19
I wake up in trouble. Don’t hide your face from me. What can I do to justify my days? They go up like smoke. How long will you hide? You fashioned me in my mother’s womb, in that secret place. Continue reading
Astray 18
Religion’s a funny one, Rob says on the way to the pub the next week. Funny how? I say. What does faith mean if it means believing in fairy tales? It’s an act in itself. You like that kind of Continue reading