The Trouble With Troubles
I initially started writing this as a full historical post, explaining the development and the nuances of my current political views – but what’s the point of any of that? I’m trying to comment on something current and my feelings on that; the past does not require re-hashing. So let me get to the point.
Last week something nice happened. Not to me specifically, but some things transcend the realms of the personal. Every now and again, I feel proud of my little country, and last Wednesday was one such time.
I F**king Love Sci-Fi
Hang around my favourite social network, the ever-irritating Facebook, for long enough and you’ll discover a preponderance of pages entitled I Fucking Love…, amongst which my favourite is I Fucking Love Science. It’s one of the few good reasons to continue to use said website instead of just living one’s online life completely on Twitter.
Since…er…I fucking love the I Fucking Love… phenomenon, and since I fucking love science fiction, I hereby bring you a humble little homage to both.
An Online Persona
I’ve added a blogroll to the sidebar, additional to the longer one here. I emailed some readers when I un-privatised my first post here – ie. when I started to blog at AtMoM properly – in April, asking that they not add it to any blogroll they may themselves have, as I was scared of the ramifications of any visibility. I’m not now. Sod it; I have nothing to hide. So, if you’d like to add it to your list, please do go ahead 🙂 Don’t feel an obligation to do so, but the option is open to you.
Guided Imagery in Therapy – Part Two
This is the second post in a series I am writing exploring the use of guided affective imagery as a psychotherapeutic device. Each post is/will be, broadly speaking, a free-writing exercise based on my experiences of this technique in my own therapy sessions. The first post in the series can be found here.
The door is open, and I can now see inside the house. There is a corridor – well, a hall I suppose, but it feels more like a corridor, as it’s not particularly homely – stretching out in front of me. It’s a musty brown in colour, though it feels as if I am looking at it through a lens of grey. It doesn’t feel frightening as such, but there is something about it that urges caution in me.
What leads off from it? the voice enquires.
At the Mountains of Madness 