I polish ghosts into a golden age, the past appears the way I need. Where I reside is carved on the page, walls erected outline my screed.
So many names dissolve into the dust, a lifetime’s work reduced to yellowed ink. One path is quietly being discussed, another burns alone beneath the drink.
Stitched a self from fragments within, a life becomes the story that remains. Bus rides through the snow become a hymn, breathing softly in the smallest pains.
Is artistic dedication noble or just self-imposed isolation? The mystery is solved inside the story, but the mystery itself is an illusion.
I’m not sure what prompted it but the title of Seth’s comic, It’s A Good Life If You Don’t Weaken, has been in my mind recently. Not having read it yet, I investigated the story and themes and came up with this write. Intrigued, I’ve also pushed this book higher up my to-be-read pile, which changes often.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Consider Your Feelings Too
It’s easy to take offence at another’s wrong Yet you have similar failings too Forget your anger and what compels them For what else could they do?
With the first stones of the First Intifada, I learned the rebuilding of my world with thumbs in mud, not marble, sheepskin stretched across olive tree twigs.
Brushes dabbed on UNRWA flour sacks, ration-stamped ghosts bloom into orchards. A boy with a door that still closes, an olive tree outside, the settlers forgot to cut.
Art as resistance, refusing erasure, imagination with its back to the wall, signing its name in cracked clay and smoke, the skies hanging from barbed wire.
Every scene is saying no every line a road I’m not allowed to walk, every frame a document, a moment, steady as a heartbeat in the flour dust.
Inspired by the artists of Palestine, making the most of what they have left available to them.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Definition Of Insanity
Carrying on against the grain Hope is not a strategy Doing the same thing again and again The definition of insanity
An erasure poem using text from the condescending and unreadable “The Chinese Have A Word For It” which I duly decided was only worth cutting up and using for this purpose.
I don’t know how to get WordPress to format text the way I would like so have added a picture at the top of the post, followed by the original text and below, text that can be cut and paste.
Key in the war 500 business principles grasped the bible
When derisive laughter import a reflected perspective
The appropriate war requires the management art vital death; the road essential the under thirteen
Each one is vital
success;
The principle planning first that can
While equal on flex it makes shapes ground by enemy as constant war constant; the victorious divine
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
If You Want To Learn, Be Humble
It’s impossible for a person to begin To learn what they think they already know If one wishes to get to the bottom of everything It’s time to make a start on letting go
“Now try coughing,” he repeated. An unfinished symphony.
The blue of the car’s metal, twisted and still.
The blue of the swimming pool, a cold, empty tile.
The blue of the television, buzzing in a dark room.
This is the blue of a cage with the door swung wide.
A terrible, hollow liberty.
She wraps herself in a blue crystal necklace, a weight from the past. She sleeps in a bare, empty blue room.
She wants the blue of silence, the colour of no pain, Nothings important.
“Tongues shall be stilled and knowledge shall come to an end.” You belong to all of us.
And the world leaks in. This blue is not quiet. It is an insistent hum.
The blue of his eyes, asking for a truth she won’t give.
She tries to give it all away, but the blue follows. It is the colour of the thread that keeps pulling her back.
The blue of the sheet music, a song she thought she’d buried. Music so beautiful it can’t be destroyed.
The liberty is not in the emptiness. It is in the choosing. You’ve always gotta hold onto something
“Tongues shall be stilled and knowledge shall come to an end.”
You belong to all of us.
The white of a wedding dress, left in a trunk.
The white of a pigeon’s wing, taking what it’s given.
The white of his own breath, ghostly in the Paris cold. This is a blank space, an erased life, impotent and powerless.
The white of a passport page, stamped with a refusal.
The white of a 2 franc coin, the last one in his pocket, that will not let go.
He is nothing, a white zero. A man made empty.
But a white suitcase carries him home.
The white snow of Warsaw covers the same old streets.
This white is a clean page, where everything is possible.
The white thread missing. The white of a lie, perfectly told. A white, calculated revenge, by burying a white Russian in Powązki.
Equality is not in the winning or the losing.
It is in the white of two figures, perfectly matched in the distance. The white of a promise, finally understood.
A red sweater hung on a grey chair. A red light on a wet street at night.
This is the red of a closed door. The red of a stopped heart.
Across the street, a red lamp in a window. An old man listens to the secrets in the air.
He knows the red of betrayal, the flush of shame. Now, wanting nothing.
This is the red of a thread, thin and unseen. It connects a falling book to a worried hand.
A red judicial robe fading in a dark closet. People have a right to their secrets.
A red neon sign buzzes over an empty café. Another story that you don’t know.
A flare sent up from one lonely island to another. The red of a ferry’s light, cutting through the fog.
No longer a stop, but a start.
The red of a common pulse, beating in the chest. The red of a door, finally opening.
Who are you and what else do you know?
This fraternity is final.
Shared with dVerse MTB – colour and I was immediately reminded of the Three Colours Trilogy. It’s been a long time since I watched these movies and this poem did make use of AI to remind me of the details of the stories, from which I started pulling out and reworking various phrases and ideas. I’m not completely sold on my own formatting above and thought the French flag idea would be fun but this particular image is a little garish. I’ll try and come back to this a little later.
14th Oct 2025 – I have since watched all three movies again and revised this poem and flag image. I recommend these movies very highly. They’ve also got me back into watching the longer form, which is good because I have hundreds of unwatched movies at home! 24th Oct 2025 – Shared with dVerse OLN since this poem has been rewritten.
Written (after the fact) for the GloPoWriMo Day 4 prompt: write your own poem about living with a piece of art.
Now, I have no art on my walls, nothing at which to stare and contemplate its meaning;
All the flashy screens beg attention diverting my thoughts, more mundane;
In simpler times, a painting was all.
Yet, over there, a student’s picture – I requested her to paint my cats;
And glued to the wall, another friend’s attempt at writing a comic about Chinese rock music.
Band stickers adorn the cupboards and my favourite 30-year-old poster hangs tattily above the rows and rows of CDs, themselves, providing a wall of colourful design.
So, I guess there is art on my walls, scattershot and thoughtless, each little piece contributing to the library of my life;
The knights felt themselves so gallant One by one they knocked at her door As if their poorly tested talent Were enough to interest and explore
Their eyes focused purely on her dresses She saw through their prods of deceit Her castle would not receive their messes Until their charms were removed of conceit
Their suits of armour soon became rusted As they waited in impatient rains Self-aware they weren’t to be trusted And soon tired of playing their own games
What gift for the lady of situations? The one who wants none of your gold Deaf to their empty wild explanations She’s chosen her own heart to hold
Today I’m feeling:
Really good after invigorating exercise this morning. It’s cold this morning but as I’m charged up from the exercise, I’m ok with just a shirt.
All the kids are asking me if I’m cold, as they are wearing thick jackets already. I can feel that it is cold but I’m not really feeling it. It’s 18 degrees, so still a nice English summer morning!
Health:
Physical: 8 Mental: 8
Today I’m grateful for:
Both of my classes today being very accommodating and easy to teach, though admittedly I had stretched this lesson, about the TV show Hormones, out across two weeks, so that this week all they are required to do is some writing.
They all complain about writing and think that they aren’t learning anything – sometimes the best form of teaching!
The best thing about today was:
Along with the two classes was a four-hour break, which I enjoyed at 22 Grams as Couple Cups was closed.
I got some reading out of the way during this time but also felt that I didn’t have enough time to do all that I wanted. But that always seems to be the case.
Something I learned today?
Amy caught up with Nong Na for lunch today and then Amy caught me up on her news but most of all, I was happy to receive a gift of Toblerone from her!
Review your acts, Good and bad.
I’ve been chatting with Nong Fah a little bit every day to try and help her with her English. She was upset with her art teacher because she wouldn’t let her take her artwork home to finish it. She showed me a photo of the art and I was quite surprised at how good it was.
I’ve also been trying to contact Anchan, as when I saw her yesterday, she was in a really bad mood, and today she didn’t come to school.
A teacher in his natural habitat. One of my grade 12 students had an old-school digital camera and was experimenting.
*What does it profit a man that he gains The whole world but loses his own soul?* Holding on to the fantasy never explains What happens when he reaches the goal
To the manor born where his shit don’t stink He’s forever drunk on the power *The honey is not as sweet as people think And the milk’s gone fucking sour*
The empire imagined now rank and rotten The cancer manifests within Like everything ever, it’s all soon forgotten Until the next man chooses to begin
Inspired by the two quotes* from Terence Trent D’Arby that I read in Charles Shaar Murray’s Shots From The Hip. I hated D’Arby’s music but it seems he wasn’t a bad guy.
Today I’m feeling:
Fairly reasonable and relaxed. I didn’t drink too much in the end last night, so I don’t have any hangover but I’m also not exactly full of energy either!
Amy is finally up and hopefully we can get some hearty breakfast and decent coffee and prepare for the drive home.
Health:
Physical: 7 Mental: 7
Today I’m grateful for:
My own smelly bed again. I love travelling, and I love my home.
The best thing about today was:
Driving back from Chiang Mai, I ate a CBD gummy and while I didn’t really notice any effects, I did really enjoy listening to music on my old iPod while Amy slept a lot of the way.
What was out of your control today and how did you handle it?
After going to a few different bars last night, Nong May wanted to take Amy to a place called Warm Up. Amy was a little reticent as it was the place that she used to go to as a uni student more than 20 years ago, but Nong May said that it had changed a lot.
When we arrived, May’s friend Namfon met us and even though it was midnight on a Sunday, the place was heaving with people, both young and old.
I had had enough by now, though and didn’t feel like drinking anymore, so I left them to it and went back to the hotel. I knew it was going to be trouble when a full bottle of vodka appeared in front of us and Amy was already a few sheets to the wind.
I left the keycard with Amy and asked the hotel staff to give me another but then struggled a bit to get to sleep.
Sometime later, I woke with a start to two loud bangs at the door and there was Amy. Either the keycard didn’t work because there was already one in use in the room or she couldn’t find hers.
Amy stumbled around a bit, getting ready to get into bed but just as she was about to, she fell on the floor in the dark and I heard a thump on the bedside table. I jumped up, scared that she had hit her head on the corner of the table but thankfully, she hadn’t and I got her into bed and finally to sleep.
With all this drama, I was now awake again and checked to make sure Amy was still breathing. It took me a while to get back to sleep again at what must’ve now been about 4 am.
I woke up at 8.30 and when Amy stirred a little, she mumbled, ‘How did I get here?’ not remembering anything from a few hours earlier.
Something I learned today?
Last night, Amy met one of her students whom she taught twenty years ago and who is now a successful restaurateur. He was so happy to see her again and said that part of his success was because of her.
This kind of reaction is what I hope to inspire in my students and that in ten or fifteen years’ time they might say the same things to me.
It was especially poignant after yesterday’s birthday messages from my students, some of whom said I was the best teacher.
Review your acts, Good and bad.
I took care of crazy, hungover Amy.
I took this picture in the lobby at the Mercure Hotel because it looked like an interesting design where I was sitting and its intricacies only revealed themselves when I got closer.
1994ever 