Spur of the moment


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Just a quick post today, as I’m blogging remotely, via my phone, and trying to save battery!

I decided on a whim to go out camping for the evening. I looked up a free camp site about an hour or so East of Melbourne (Oz), threw a few essentials into the car, and simply left. Just like that!! It was kind of crazy though, as the weather was really awful… Windy and heavy rains! Still, I was undeterred and launched of into the wild rather, determined to enjoy my adventure.

Sitting here now, the wind had died down, there is no rain, and the sun has just set behind the hill that I can see out of the entry to my swag. I’ve been hearing so many different nature sounds that it’s like someone was trying to make one of those relaxation sound tracks, and went overboard with the animal effects!

There have been at least 3 different types of parrot, kookaburras, and 3 or 4 others that I don’t recognize by their call alone. Cows lowing in the distance, crickets in the fields, frogs in the nearby creek… And some guy farting in his tent over the other side of the camp ground!! Apparently the “wind” isn’t only in the trees!!!

Camp site for the night

Camp ground is nestled in a horseshoe creek bed


The evening seranade

Morning visitor

I really do love this country though.  It’s such a beautiful place to live, and it’s a privilege to be able to enjoy these beautiful places!


You don’t stand a chance when poetry combines with music!


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Over the last few days, I’ve found myself spending a bit of time on Youtube, just surfing from one video to the next, to the next, as people tend to do from time to time.  It can be a little addictive. You pick a starting point, and just see what links in to the video you are watching.  Usually this ends quite predictably with the videos eventually showing up some sort of either very cute or very gruesome thing.  For instance, start listening to music, you eventually surf through to dashcam footage, people having accidents doing ordinary things, jokes, someone showing off “products”, and eventually, you’ll get to either funny cats or pimple popping!!

Thankfully, my recent surfing binge took me to some music videos which ended up leading me to playlists of popular Reggaeton tracks.  Now I’ve always enjoyed a little Reggaeton.  I first became aware of this genre when I saw The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift and fell in love with the soundtrack, and with one song in particular called “Bandoleros” by Don Omar.  It’s likely that I’d heard music in the genre before, and yet for some reason this particular track stood out and got me looking up what this Reggaeton was all about.  Now, as my musical tastes go, I’m very much the eclectic, so I’ll listen to something for a while, then move on to something else quickly.  My daily shower serenade usually involves listening to something tangentially different to the previous session, and I’ll drift from Old 70’s classics to contemporary pop, to 90’s grunge, to modern indies, and so on.  For some reason though, finding these Reggaeton mixes has kind of got me hooked (for the time being).  And as usual, there are a couple of stand out tracks that are the ones that I find myself playing over and over, even though I don’t understand a single word… Well, that’s not entirely true. I do understand odd snatches of words or phrases, even though I don’t really understand or speak Spanish… stuff I’ve picked up over the years, but not enough to justify my falling in love with these songs.

Which is where this story takes it’s little turn and brings me to poetry.  Yet another fairly recent passion of mine.  I’m not passionate about it in the “ability to be quoting Keats or Byron” kind of way, but in how it seems to be this universal means to communicate thoughts, and more importantly emotions.  It’s a beautiful, and sometimes even confronting form of expression, and it surpasses those arbitrary boundaries of culture and language, while also embracing them.  And if I put on my amateur psychologist hat, it fascinates me just how expressive and emotive poetry can be.

And what is a song truly, if it isn’t poetry with a soundtrack.  And this is perhaps the most potent way to present poetry.  Using a collection of rhythms and melodies to punctuate and accentuate the verses being presented.  OK, sure, some songs are just gibberish phrases thrown together and repeated ad nauseum… and yet, add a little percussion, throw a bass line in, and get someone really famous to express those words passionately, and the gibberish phrase has the ability to stir emotions in the listeners.  Yes, I’ll also admit that having someone with huge sex appeal singing those words probably stirs up more of the emotions than the song might sometimes deserve credit for, but isn’t that the point?  To stir feelings and provoke the imagination?

Think about it for a moment.  Take any poem.  Either a classic, or something you just thought up on the spot.  Release it into the world.  Go one step further and create some sheet music to accompany the poem.  It’s likely that it won’t reach very many people, because the general population isn’t really inspired to read poems… and for that I blame all of those teachers that had the ability to take something beautiful and render it lifeless and boring when they presented it to an already disaffected class full of self absorbed teenagers. Come on… you know you were one of those once!!!  Take that same poem, give it to Shakira or Adam Levine, let them sing it, emote it, and play the music for it, and suddenly you have a world full of people noticing it, repeating it, and responding to it emotionally.

Don’t get me wrong. I love reading poetry.  I particularly enjoy trawling the blogs and seeing how many different ways people have to express their thoughts and feelings.  Even the poetry that I don’t particularly enjoy or understand is bringing out emotions in me, which is why it fascinates me so much.  And this is where I am particularly enjoying this Reggaeton music that I’ve been listening to, because even with that barrier of language, I am still somehow responding to the emotion and the poetry of the songs… and yes, also bopping along to those expressive Latin beats!  I hear the same emotions expressed in another language as I hear in the music and poetry of my own language.  Some songs sound dark and angry, some are joyous, some forlorn, some are sexy, and some bring out an almost childlike delight that inspires me to learn more about both the song and the artist.

There are so many beautiful tracks which I’ve been listening to, so I’ll only post links to a couple that have stood out in some way for me.

“Hello” – Karol G

I really enjoy “hello”… partly because the “Hello hello” bit something easily recognisable, but also because the whole song has this really “catchy” vibe to it, it’s kind of sensual and fun, and also because it feels – lyrically – kind of poetical to this untrained ear that doesn’t understand Spanish.

“Dile Que Tu me Quieres” – Ozuna

This seems to be to be a beautiful yet somewhat sorrowful, almost painful song.  Similar yet different beats, and a completely different way of phrasing the underlying poetry. Themes of love, loss, and longing.  very powerful and emotive.

“Manicomio” – Cosculluela

Of all of the tunes I’ve listened to recently, this one has surprisingly turned out to be my favourite!  Or perhaps not so surprising.  It has a lyrical pacing that is slow enough that I feel I can almost keep up with it, and it’s subject matter really evokes some wonderful imagery in my mind. Yes, I had to translate it.  Manicomio is apparently a Spanish word for something like “Mental Hospital”, and the first line of the chorus translates to something along the lines of “A madhouse love which causes insomnia”.  For some reason, this song captured my imagination the most, because love IS kind of crazy, and it makes you crazy, and it sometimes causes you to lose sleep.

There is an element missing that I’ve “neglected” to mention here!

All of these videos help bridge the gap in language by providing some sort of imagery which helps to support the story being expressed by the song.  A kind of visual poetry of sorts.  If music to poetry is some sort of unstoppable emotional force, then these music videos are an even bigger unstoppable force that can stop the previously assumed to be unstoppable force! Particularly in the case of “Manicomio” which I linked to earlier, which seems to literally reflect much of what the song is supposed to be about.  Even so, when I simply listen to the music itself, when I allow all of those Spanish words to cascade over my eardrums along with that seductive and kind of addictive Reggaton rhythm, I still feel like I am floating in a sea of poetry.  I can still feel the emotion, even when I don’t understand the words behind the emotion.  It’s a kind of deeper layer of communication that really does transcend those barriers of language, and culture that seem to be a trigger for people to impose the prejudices which cause them to stop listening and feeling in harmony with other human beings.

Which brings me to one of the really beautiful things that marks a true master in the poetical art, and why perhaps I feel myself to be the most basic dabbler in such things.  It’s those poems which are translated from one language to another, and which somehow still retain the essence of the emotion and imagery of the original work in it’s own language… which is kind of where I’ve found myself when listening to many of these Reggaeton songs.  It’s really awesome when you think about it… yet perhaps it’s even more awesome simply to be open to feeling it.

Beneath the stars


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As we lay there beneath the stars
we counted the constellations.
Peaceful, stately, suspended in space,
enhancing our mutual flirtations.

Moon all aglow, it bathed us with light
unaware of our romantic leanings.
’Twas there in our smiles, how lucky were we,
what we found was beyond wildest dreamings.

As we lay there beneath the stars,
clothed only in warm summer air,
tenderly touching, with fervour we kissed.
Uninhibited love we made there.

Time was still for a while on that hill where we lay.
An eternity we enjoyed thus:
We talked and we laughed as the moon moved above.
Cuddled close there was no space between us

As they must all things come to an end, so they do,
yet that time will remain always ours.
Soon again to return into each other’s arms,
to share love and lay beneath the stars.

-Sean Robins


Learning to love


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My life can be a little crazy. Different perhaps… or should I say just plain odd.  I never seem to do things or have things happen in a way that most people would consider to be “normal”. Sometimes this non-conformity brings me nothing but pain, and yet at other times it has also brought me great joy. I was reminded of all this through a simple phone call today with my best friend, and my friendship with this particular person is perhaps a perfect example of the sorts of things that I’m talking about.

My story with BFF begins back in 2007.  I had been separated from my spouse for a few months, and on my way to a really dreadful divorce (a story perhaps for another time). I hadn’t seen my kids for those months, nor had I been able to exchange more than a few words, and I think that it’s safe to say that I had gone a little insane for a little while there. As the insanity started to wear off, and as I started to pick up the pieces of what I felt at the time was a really messed up life, I decided to go online, hit the dating sites, and see if I could hook up for a little casual and meaningless sex.  I can’t say that I’m proud of this attitude, but as I say, I was a little off my personal game and I guess kind of reaching out for anything that I could to shake things up and give me a sense of moving forward with my life. It was on one of these dating sites that I first encountered my BFF.

As people do, we exchanged a message or two, and something clicked because we quickly moved from exchanging slow messages via the dating site to chatting on live messaging apps such as Skype. How wonderful this invention of communication in real time via the internet. With a camera and a microphone, we were able to see each other, exchange a few smiles, flirt outrageously, and we took the time to really get to know each other. 3 years later, we met face to face!

This wonderful person was there for me when my life was essentially in the toilet. Even though she had her own stuff to deal with too, she had time for me at any time of day to chat through my problems. She has been my counsellor, my confidante, and my friend since our very first message exchange, and to my delight and honour, I have also been able to be hers as well.  We’ve each been in several unsuccessful relationships since we met, and each time, there we were, talking things through, giving each other the support we each needed, and sometimes even that little dose of reality with a well timed “reminder” that the other “is an idiot!”.  We love each other very much, and yet we have never wanted to be more than just the loving friends that we are.

About mid 2016, my BFF said to me that she wanted me to attend her hen’s night. It was perhaps the most unusual request anyone has made of me, because you just don’t see that many guys hanging out with a group of drunken middle-aged women on a hens unless they are either the security guards escorting said women out of an establishment, or if perhaps the guys are the strippers!  Now, keep in mind that I don’t really dance, I feel generally uncomfortable in crowds of people who I don’t know, and we had never actually gone for a night out together.  It was a lot for me to process, and yet because it was my BFF, I said yes right away.  The night itself was fun, even if I did excuse myself to a nice quiet corner of the bar where I kept an eye on my BFF, and made sure she was enjoying herself without being molested by the crowd of that particularly seedy establishment. So of course, the time came to leave, and we all formed a chain, holding hands to help us all pass quickly through the crowd. It was at this point that some guy called out to my BFF “Is that the groom?”, to which my BFF joyfully responded “No, he’s the stripper!”.

So a month later, the “stripper” finds himself at BFF’s wedding. To my surprise I had received a call from a fretful BFF only a week before asking me to stand in as a family member to give away the bride. To say that I was honoured is a HUGE understatement. When I arrived, I met BFF, and was introduced to some of her friends and bridesmaids.  Walking down the aisle, people were staring and I learned later that many of them were wondering if I was the groom!  The ceremony was short, and beautiful, and I found myself feeling very emotional that my friend was finally marrying someone not only perfect for her, not only someone that she loves very much, but also someone who is truly worthy of her.

So during tonight’s phone call, my BFF says to me that she was a total wreck just before the wedding ceremony, and she paid me the most amazing compliment when she said that when she saw me arrive, she instantly felt calm and ready to get married. The implication being that she’d have found it hard to go through with it had I not been there.

I have learned more about love from my BFF than I ever did through 2 failed marriages. Take away all of the romance, the passion, and the drama (OK, there’s drama but not between us!), and keep the friendship, and you have an opportunity to experience a deeper,  non-judgemental, and unconditional love for another human being.  In reflecting on this, I wonder why it is so hard for people to love like this all the time.

So in my own crazy and upside-down way, I learned about love through an amazing friendship rather than through experience with significant other. And in some ways it’s because of my BFF that I feel I am now more open to achieving a deeper and abiding love with someone special.  I used to think that I had been unlucky in love, but now I realise that perhaps I have been the luckiest of all.

The moral of this story? All experiences are valid. It doesn’t matter who teaches you, or even what you learn. What is important is being open to learning from any source, anything that life has to teach. Learning to accept that things don’t have to follow a typical path, and don’t have to be “normal” in any way. Be prepared to listen, and to remain open minded.  Different is OK too, and when it comes to love, accept it in whichever form it takes. Embrace it. Treasure it. And count yourself as fortunate to have people in your life who are there love you, be they family, BFFs, or even your significant other.

To my BFF… you are a joy. I love you dearly. I am so happy that you have made your happiness in life with your new husband. I am lucky that you have been a part of my life, and I am blessed that you choose to continue to be a part of my life. Thank you.

Love is a voyage


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I remember how you
clung to my arm,
Your life line
I kept you from drowning.
Besieged by emotions
weighing you down,
You bravely held on
and kept sailing.

Fear that perhaps
I was letting you down,
I hove to and
prepared to be broken.
To my joy t’was I
your search had been for,
In our hearts
new found love was awoken.

Though our seas may be rough,
And at times they be fair,
I know that
your heart it be true.
A promise my love
That I’ll stand by your side,
And and all times
see everything through.

-Sean Robins

So often we either experience it ourselves, or see it in others… people falling out of love.  I often think that people start from a place of fear, and in giving into that fear they never truly give their hearts over because they are frightened that they’ll lose themselves, or will get their hearts broken, so they never truly let go and commit to the journey of their love with another.  When a relationship comes to an end, it’s sad to see people never wanting to see each other again, and never wanting to maintain any sort of connection or friendship, and I think that this hurts not only themselves, but also all of those others who love them and who are saddened when people part.  Even worse, is abandoning any acceptance that the things that brought two people to a place of love did so and are still valid, even when the relationship ends.

Perhaps some relationships need to end, but I’d like to think that most probably don’t need to. Yet when people’s expectations are not met, when they have a perfect vision of their life and their relationship no longer fits that perfect model, many peolple just give it up, and stop fighting to build that which was beautiful between them before.  The trouble is, life really isn’t all smooth sailing. It’s mostly messy interspersed with moments of beauty and tranquility.  The trick is to know when to push through such storms, or to run with them and weather them until they pass, and to hold to each other in those bad times, to be supportive and loving, to be each other’s lifelines not just when things are great, but also when things aren’t so great. I think that those who truly accept this are the ones who understand that true happiness isn’t found. It’s made as a choice, with acceptance and love.



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We all know someone in our lives who gets really worked up about stuff from time to time, and after a short period of ranting about something they decide to do something about it… by writing a blistering letter to someone.  Usually the victim of such a letter is a local politician, a news paper editor, a school principal, or whoever is in charge of the person who the letter writer feels “wronged” by.

I used to be that guy. Not the receiver of the letter. Not the poor unfortunate who just happened to say the thing which set a letter writing spree in motion.  I was the guy who would end up finishing a rant by saying “Right! I’m writing a letter!!”.

We’ve all seen that guy. He gets that little gleam in his eye, as he stomps off to his preferred writing device – laptop, tablet, phone, typewriter, biro… quill… chisel… – and you can almost hear his thoughts as he’s writing his scathing review of all of the things wrong with the person, the person’s company, the likelihood that they’ll contribute meaningfully to the gene pool, and how there… will… Be… CONSEQUENCES!!!  Every word written with glee, and every sentences punctuated with “That will show them”, or “That will fix them”, or “You are SO screwed”.

As I said, I used to be The Letterwriter.  I had a kind of grumpy 30’s. I hit my grumpy old man peak early, which is good because I also get to enjoy wiser mellowness in my 40’s instead of waiting until I’m hidden away in some quiet corner of a nursing village sagely commiserating with my peers about how much easier the youth of today have things. I stopped writing the letters when I realised that I’d stopped sending them, even though I was writing them. I’d reached that whole “what’s the point of sending” stage when I realised that it was the writing itself that was cathartic.

So what, I hear you ask, has any of this got to do with the title of today’s blog post?  Well… it seems that the letter writer in me is back in a way. I’m determined today to write a message to the people who created the web browser that I use… not really to scathe or complain, but to offer a suggestion for a feature, or a better way to do the thing that this browser is meant to be doing,  yet which it doesn’t do well.  I like the browser, but I don’t like how it fails to work with some of the websites that I want to enjoy the full experience with, which forces me to go back to using my older browser and defeats the purpose of installing the new one in the first place.

Why am I not using Chrome, Safari, Explorer, Mozilla, Opera, or any of the more popular browsers? Basically for privacy.  I don’t like all of the tracking that occurs through the browser.  It’s a basic security risk that is far to easily exploited, it can become a great distraction, a source of virus and malware infestation, and frankly it’s just rude.  I do not need to have my kids see a simple google search result in a series of ads popping up showing me where I can purchase lacy armadillo stockings, or studded dog collars for mice.  I swear I only looked those items up once, and now google won’t let me forget it!!!   erm… moving on…  And as you’ve guessed, the browser of choice is supposed to block all of this tracking, and in doing so it reduces traffic on my computer and – or so I hope – ensures the browser works a little faster… only it doesn’t really work as I’d hoped.So, in order to make my suggestions, I needed to log onto a support forum, and I thought that I’d rather not display my real name, so I should come up with something that would represent my little secretive forum persona. Hopefully this strategic anonimity avoids a lot of potentially unwanted messages in future, as forums are sometimes mined for other personal data, and again that dratted google search could end up associating my searches with something else unpleasant gleaned from someone else’s forum post, such as those trolls who advertise stuff in the replies to posts, such as viagra or adult services, or even worse… how to improve my blog’s SEO!!.

Now, as I don’t really think that I have a great imagination when it comes to naming, I thought I’d seek help. And seriously, I’m really terrible at naming things. I had a budgerigar (parakeet to all the Americans who don’t know better) when I was younger that I named “Budgie”, and a cat many years ago was simply named “Puss”, and the best one was a bit of code to refer to a green button at the upper right corner of a window for multiple uses in an application I was creating which as you might have guessed was labelled in code as:


…which was funny in my mind, but annoyed the hell out of the other programmers I worked with.  So the last thing that I want is to type in a login name that reads “GrumpyOlderBrowserUserWhoWantsToMakeSuggestionsInThisForum”!!

My solution…I’d make an anagram out of my name!!!

Brilliant! Or so I thought!!

The trouble with anagrams is that they don’t always make sense.  You really have to go looking for them, and it helps to have a name with letters that result in cool combinations.  For example, “Debit Card” could become “Bad Credit”. “Bob Marley” could be “Marble Boy”.  Even George Bush lucked out with “He Bugs Gore”. It also helps to have that imagination that I fear I’m lacking, so I decided to recruit the help of an anagram generator.  The one I found was simple to use. Just type in a few words, hit the helpfully labelled “Anagram it!” button and you get a heap of anagrams.  So what did putting my name in give me?  Well, setting the anagrammer for creating 2 words out of my first and last names started off with anagrams which include the words “Insane”, “Sinner”, and “Inane”. Not truly an inspiring start!!  Surely I can find something cool. Surely I rate better than George Dubya!!

Scrolling a little further, I found this little gem:

Bran Noises


OK, So I’m definitely not picking something that turns my name into somethign that basically means “Farting”!!!   Well… it’s a start I suppose, and with a little tweaking I changed it to:

Barn Noises

I guess that’s not so bad if you think more along the lines of horses moving about in their stalls, and less along the lines of pigs getting amorous!!!

How about:

Ban Seniors

Less personally insulting while I remain under the age of 60, but perhaps a bit provocative.  I don’t wish to make a political statement here, just obfuscate my name and seem a little… I don’t know… Cooler?!…

Bisons Near

I kind of like that one… although I’d worry that people would not be able to concentrate as they’d be constantly concerned that they might get accidentally stabbed in the back by a bison horn!  We can’t have any of that!!  So I searched further and found the slightly cuter and Scottish sounding:

Bairns Nose

Again with the Scottish theme I found:

Bonnie Sars

I’m not so sure I’d describe one of the deadliest viruses known as being “bonnie”!!

At last however, down towards the end of the list I found a collection of anagrams with the word “Baron”. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Baron Nisse
Baron Sensi
Baron Siens
Baron Sines
Baron Snies

Nisse is a town in Belgium. Sensi is a variant of Sensei, which means teacher in Japanese. Siens is a plural of the obsolete sien, which means scion or descendant. Perhaps I can mix the letters “einss” to make up something coolly non-sensical as a “baronial” name.

Hmm… I rather fancy myself as a Baron. Lord of all I survey. My little property the Barony of some place or other that will probably need another name generator to label it.

So now that I have lot’s of potential pseudonyms to go with, it’s time to log in and make a nuisance of myself on a forum. After hours doing something completely different to that which I’d intended, I’d better get around to writing my letter and seeing what may come out of it… and I’m grateful that I’ve reached a point in my life now where I no longer feel the need to stick it to someone just to make myself feel better. Besides, that sort of behaviour isn’t very “Baronial”, is it?!!

Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse


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I tell you it is here, and as the world stands by, a silent yet complicit witness to the destruction of all that we truly hold dear, the plague spreads like a fad or a trend that never seems to reach an end. The Zombie Apocalypse has begun.

Yes, the zombies are among us my friends, or are you really? Friends? zombies? I cannot tell… this disease has conquered the world so sublimely that nobody seems to notice or care that humanity is effectively at its end.

How prophetic that great master who sang that the music wouldn’t play. A prediction of the palpable absence of the music of conversation in our public places as humanity focuses not inward, but downward to their laps and the frenzied swiping of greasy fingers across lifeless screens filled with endless images of false perfection. Zombies lurching silently from place to place, oblivious to the real beauty that surrounds them, instead locked in a digital coma, enthralled by the meaningless non-reality at their fingertips as they stumble into street lamps and each other, yet utter not a single word.


Carelessly losing all connection with the rich complexity of their native tongues, slaves to that auto-corrected nightmare that encourages them to squeeze the life out of sentences, made even shorter out of necessity in order to link content that itself is lifeless and meaningless. Content presented only as a means to attract other zombies with attention spans limited to a mere 140 characters of near heiroglyphical insignificance.

Whoring themselves through smart digital devices, sucking at the tit of social media as if it gives them life. Take the WiFi away and they become listless, yet granting them access gives leave to do nothing but seek meaningless validation of moments selectively presented as “at their best”, the result of countless wasted hours in pose, and repose, while precious fragments of time are lost to the digital equivalent of the cutting room floor, where beautiful imperfections are treated with contempt and hidden to be seen never more.

Ask the zombies what they do all day. They’ll answer with all honesty that they were with friends, yet another currency of validation that has lost all meaning as they rack up the friend count, yet spent an entire day in their rooms, posting, posing, and losing all touch with human kind, preferring instead the cold and empty spaces between the ones and zeros of that digital whorehouse known as social media. Like me. Friend me. Tragic slaves to the opinions of trolls and other bridge-less villains, tallying the comments and likes, seeking the gratification of that viral orgy which reaches its climax in a global trend.


Beautiful, imperfect humanity, lost in entirety to fantasy. A perfect meal. A perfect house. A perfect party. A perfect day. A perfect look. A perfect body. A perfect love. All smoke and mirrors hiding the beautiful imperfections that would otherwise allow zombies to be human if they could but tear themselves away from the insanity that enslaves them.

These words are but the knife at the gun fight. Likely to fall on deafened eyes. Words that are a mere lump of wood fashioned to bludgeon the senseless into sensibility, sadly doomed by sheer weight of numbers to fail. The desperate wail of a lonely voice, lost in a silent crowd which sinks it’s teeth into what remains of the real humanity.

Like me. Friend me. I too am a zombie!


I beg you, put your cell phones away. Converse. Flirt. Laugh. Cry. Touch. Kiss. Read stories to your kids. Disconnect online in order to connect in real life.



  1. Images stolen shamelessly via Google’s image search from random blogs for the select purpose of my own self-aggrandisement.  If it belongs to you, contact me and I’ll credit you properly or remove as required. 🙂
  2. I’m not really a Zombie… yet…!!!

I am the seed


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I am the seed.

Below me in the dark and the damp there lies the
mystery known only to those who came before me.
Each root and rootlet, each fibre and filament,
all a link to a dark and distant past.
Above me in the light and the warm exists the
mystery known only to those who will come after me.
Each branch and branchlet, each twig and leaf,
all tie me to a bright and endless future.

You are the seed.

Even though you are entirely different to me,
our roots intertwine, sometimes once, sometimes more.
A joining that is shared by all the other seeds
in all the other places of the world.
And though you are entirely different to me,
our branches and leaves will likewise intertwine,
in those times and places that will some day
treat such connections as commonplace.

We are the forest.

Together we provide cool and shade, protection and shelter
from the harshness of the world beyond.
Yet others who choose to dwell with us might not realise
the beauty that surrounds them.
Nor might they notice the beautiful diversity
which nourishes and houses them.
They seem like rocks and stones,
and yet they too have roots and leaves of their own.

They are the weeds.

Bringing change and turmoil, disrupting
the beautiful places between the seeds.
Sowing destruction they seem to have forgotten
that they too are merely different,
and yet they are also much the same as us
as we might be if we too were weeds.
But what would I know of such matters?
What am I really in the grand scheme of things?

I am the seed.

-Sean Robins 



When I showed this to my son, he wasn’t really sure what I was trying to say.  It’s an experiment in layering meaning behind imagery. Attempting to envoke different images and feelings, and even meanings that are special to each individual, even while providing a kind of loosely guided imagery as the canvas on which to build them.

The initial idea came from simply looking at my family trees, but grew – as trees do – into something more complex and meaningful to me. Yet as much as I’d love to tell you what I personnally mean to describe, I’m actually more interested in what others see and feel when they read this.  Call it an experiment if you will… an kind of examiniation of ego (in the Latin meaning of the word), awareness, and the core values of each individual.

So feel free to comment below. I’d value your insights. 🙂





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Owing to the obsessive blogging yesterday, I appear to be blogged out for the day. While I do reserve the option to change this state of being at any given opportunity (aka when I think of something interesting to say), I will for the time being leave you with the only thing going around in my head at this time particular time:


Poetic Inspiration


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I wish I had words to express
the deepest secrets of my heart
and paint a picture of my soul
to show the love that dwells within

But trapped behind a broken tongue
I struggle to release these chains
of doubting self and misplaced fears
an open heart leaves me exposed

Yet love will win of this I’m sure
I feel it working from within
in time I know I’ll break the spell
that binds my heart and stills my voice

Unfettered I would tell you true
of feelings kept in check too long
released perhaps such words might come
expressing feelings bound no more

To you my heart I shall bequeath
a well from which to fill your own
sweep the shackles from my soul
And only love for you remains

– Sean Robins


I seem to be writing a lot more today than I ever have before.  It’s amazing how when the mind is freed you become capable of achieving so much more than you might have otherwise given yourself credit for.  It helps to to feel inspired, and to recognise the sources of your inspiration when they appear so that you can tap into them and release your creativity.  Coming from me, this abstract expression in any sort of artform is a real surprise, as I’ve always been more science and logic than art and expression.

The poem that I’ve posted comes from a few places. It’s a little rough around the edges and could probably do with a tuneup, yet it’s also come through tapping into my core values, and reaching out to those who I hold dearest in my heart, namely my kids and family. I’ve also run into an unusually large number of poems and references to poems over the last couple of weeks, and I count myself lucky to have already spent the time developing my own self-awareness and learnign to be mindful.  And while I don’t really expect to receive any sort of validation from the Internet, I felt heartened that I had received a couple of likes today from other people who I would consider to be the “real” poets as compared to a dabbler such as myself.

All of these things I’ve mentioned have provided me with a great source of inspiration, and yet there is one more that is in some ways greater, more intense, and more immediate.  You see, I met someone quite recently and I didn’t really expect to feel so drawn to this person so quickly.  It really has been like a very welcome bolt out of the blue. She is very special to me and someone that I find myself aching to be around. It is perhaps presumptuous of me, and yet I really want to dedicate this poem to her. She most likely knows who she is, and I hope that she’ll not see this poem as being too intense, but instead as something that she inspired me to do… to create, to express, and to be open and unburdened, to accept and honour the past while enjoying the present. In doing this, I hope that in turn I can help this special person find that within herself that allows her to do the same in her own way.