Hi to all and everyone of you out there that is regularly dropping in and browsing over and trying to read the loosely constructed pieces of text that I am constantly trying to pass off as half decent sentences. Which I then further try to join together to create paragraphs, and if I manage to get them to that stage, they usually then have a tendency to wander off on tangents and meander around at the expense of never coming back together to either continue or conclude any of the tosh I tend to kick out – maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but the thing is, if you don’t criticise and have a go at yourself from time to time then invariably you’ll try and have a crack at someone else and end up far worse off then when you started. Do it to yourself, go on have a go, it’s more fun and potentially more creatively rewarding – trust me, it really is.

Anyway enough of that twaddle, here goes with a piece of prose that will make your toes tingle and make what bit of hair you may have left on the top of your head (women excluded of course) stand up on end and really give those follicles a good workout – read and try to relate my friends. Until next time, keep your questions sharp and your answers blunt, that way you’ll always be ready for an argument.

The everything about the something I know nothing about

I know everything about the nothing
I’m supposed to know something about.
I know something about the everything
I’m expected to know nothing about.

I’m expected to know something more
about the nothing I know nothing about.
I don’t know anything about the something
I’m expected to know a lot about.

Which means that I either know nothing at all
about anything at all or I know too much about
something I’m supposed to know nothing at all about.
It could be that I know as much as I need to know about
something that means nothing at all about anything at all.

Which beckons the question:
Do I really need to know anything more
on top of the almost nothing
I have yet to learn something about
in order to find out what it is
I really need to know just enough about to
figure out exactly who I am?

A poem by Stephen Austwick