Angel ● Demon ● Dylshkibab

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I wonder how many other people’s playlist to how they process life would sound like a mixtape of clumsy-cool, chillout-cheese, trashy-Tarantino or both boss and ohmygawdblind! at the same time?

Mine’s always been like that. Informed no doubt by an evergreen fascination with flying cars and mermaid tails. Pirate enemies to pretty fairies. Love. Heartache. How the hounded become heroes…


I know.

So I can’t be surprised when people respond to my contributions – personal, professional, polite or poppycock – with the conclusion that I may be a few pork chops short of a picnic. Thankfully, it’s generally more kind than killjoy. I think people are genuinely delighted by the opposite of dishwater.

However, every now and then, that which looks to be endearing turns out to be evil. And then, no matter how disproportioned the ratio is, or how topped-up my confidence was, I’m crippled by caustic’s cut.

It seem so conspired. That they lie, waiting. And then rather than nudge or jibe, they go for the jugular.

…it has been an uphill struggle of one disaster after another with him since the start…

…I strongly believe he is in need of professional help…

I have to consider that this dismissive, Dulluminati do genuinely believe – from behind eyes on screensaver – that I am not all right. And to be fair, it could be argued that anyone given a hall pass to wander among the corrugations of consciousness inside my head – may quite possibly need theirs read afterwards.

The extremes are likely to enflame.

And then I remind myself that, although each time may hurt like the first, none of this is news to me.

Conflict is par for the course when your mind works in ways that won’t let you marry mainstream mentality.

This is not a bad thing.

It means that you are here.

In the moment.

And each one is yours to manage, which you should be able to do in a way that celebrates the opportunity of that moment for you to add value.

To make a difference.

Because of your magic – which is unique to you – because of how you celebrate the inimitable possibility of your presence in the here-and-now.

But not everybody knows– or wants to know this.

And not everybody takes kindly to those who do.

That’s life, right?

Come to think of it… maybe I do sound like a mad man?!  :mrgreen:

Ergo… There is light and dark in all of us.

Angel. Demon. Dylshkibab.

The one we feed is the one that lives.

I don’t always win in trying to defend myself against the delinquent, destructive dalliances of the demon. But I do try… with audio as the armory of my angel.

So we push play, and persevere.


#KeepPlaying #WritingStoriesDifferently


1st look cover

Imagine that big scary thing that cripples your core, walked in to wherever you are right now, sat down across from you and began to speak.

A spider? Snake? Debt? Your boss? The darkest low? The highest heights? HIV?

Mine would be HIV. So I imagined what it would say, if given the chance to present its case. What would I hear as it hauled forth its howl? And theeeen, I get to what I must admit is the consideration that maybe the Bible and its bully wasn’t far off after all… Because I will put everything I own and everything I’m worth on it, that the Mark of the Beast is here: it is our intolerance of that which scares us.


It ends there — I promise. The rest is just your anybody-everybody’s, any-day-any-way, and in the many both mindless and mad ways…

And whether with the courage to salute a secret and set it free — because of how stifling the sanctioning of it is across every silhouette you see… Or with the war cries we walk, waddle or writhe to when we wake up and walk out on worry (for an appointment with wonderful!)…

…our owned magnifying is magic!

Because it is only the owned moments that matter.

Whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, looking back is your back-row-all-to-yourself, magical moment — between both the cringing and courage — to bask in how beautiful you are.

I’m a writer by profession, so it’s not always how I want to profess after a day of paid-for-professing. Ergo, I do this #WritingStoriesDifferently thing. And with a Love that is Alive, I thank my Light, everyday, that people like Larissa, Catherine, Gillian, Nundi, Niki, Thato, Gerhard, Kyara, PamLindsay, Linda, Bonnie, Dave, GlynnisMel, Natasha, Caddie, Fay, Hayley ‘Ellis’ and Hayley who, when they can – and whether they do or don’t get what I’m ‘saying’ – say something when they see me in it.

So what if no one is listening?! Tell the world – or even just a wall – the story of who you are.

All any of us has is what is in our heart.

And whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, whenever you slide through them sludge-moments of feeling small (and you will), just look at what has touched every. single. jostle. you’ve. journeyed – ever!

Your fingerprint.


Compressed Compassions │ 1st Look