Back here.

It grows up on you, the greatest shit storm of them all. Biting at your coat tails and pulling you, holding you back. You can try to run but at best you take a few stressful stunted steps before you realise it is as hapless as it is hopeless. Reality has you, responsibility grabbing and gnawing away at those freedoms that are all but gone, the wistful dreams and ambitions of youth now disappearing desperately out of reach. This is our world; we’re inexorably tied to it. The same dreams and hopes are set by the same conditioning that confines and binds us. I’ve never known anything different, except for a few all too short months when I set myself against the commercial charge of vanity and self sufficiency and put my all into a greater cause and tried to make a difference. But even that was in vain, there is scant reward for contributing to the greater good and even scanter prospects for the futures of those that do. At somepoint you have to bite the bullet and put quality of life over quality of spirit. So, just a few months later I find myself heading towards solvency but consumed by a corporate terror that shakes me to my core, I sleep at night but for how long. In this situation, as ever, the only way out seems to be these key strokes, this prose, this mess of a mind brought to life through words. Some vague hope that there is a dream to be fulfilled typing – with every word leading to pennies and security without treading that commercial path that consumes and dooms the soul in equal measure. Strange that the creative world, so revered at the highest level puts up the greatest barriers of entry, whilst the world of business is so unfussy in who it rewards and affords it accolades to. I have so much to say but not the time or means to tell it, these words here fall on absent ears.