Climbing Up the Walls



Through the woods and through the seas, I walked and swam lost to the world and everyone in it, and then there came a day when I put pen to paper, and lost I was no more. There was a time when I kept myself locked up and boarded shut, but the more I learnt to be open the less I felt like giving up and the more beauty I recognised in myself and my surroundings. It’s there for everyone, and yet how funny it is now to see those who are as I used to be. They just float around unaware of anything that doesn’t fit into the confines of their tiny lives. They exist within themselves and nowhere else, and even when they try to make a change, they make no effort in acknowledging who and what they really are. To be who you need to be, you need to pick at the holes in your soul and know what’s inside of you. Until you do, you’re just wasting time. Until you accept the mess of what you are you can never be beautiful, and to be beautiful in what you are is a gift so few will ever know. I’m not the world’s greatest writer, and never will be. I’m even less of a lover, and yet there is no shame in my flaws and no shame in my sense of brokenness because I know what I am and what I will never be, and although I’m poor and growing old and drink too much and am far too foolish for my own good, I smile in the face of my failures because there will only be one me, and the life I lead is just what it needs to be. Sometimes, when I’m writing into the night, tears well in the corners of my eyes at the thought of all that I’ve lost, but there is no sadness, only euphoria at having been lucky enough to have felt these sensations when so many were never given a chance. There was a time when all that had ever slipped through my fingers left me weary and crushed, but now I am a magician, and my losses are outweighed by my secrets, and these secrets guide my hands in ways I never thought possible. Well, in ways I was told were never possible. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? Most of the time, it’s not you, who fucks you, it’s other people. And once those seeds of doubt are planted, they take hold and flower until you’re as washed up and useless as they are.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

17 replies »

  1. Thank you for the daily dose of writing that feeds my soul. You are indeed a magician. “To be who you need to be, you need to pick at the holes in your soul and know what’s inside of you. Until you do, you’re just wasting time.” I almost can picture installing a porthole so I can look inside whenever I need to to be remember what and who I am when the world holds up the fractured mirror that only contains half truths. I’m sorry Stephen– I always feel like my comments to you become existential confessionals where I work out my own shit. But thank you for letting me do it.

    • Thank you very much, C.
      Existential confessionals are our bread and butter, aren’t they? Life without them isn’t worth considering. I just don’t understand how people live their lives without them.
      Ah, well, are they even living without reflecting on who and what they are?
      The answer is pretty obvious I would say.

      • Indeed. I am sure that you have also discovered first hand that those who prefer to be anesthetized or to live in blissful willful ignorance find those of us who poke the holes looking for truth. . . unnerving.

  2. What’s a life if it’s not lived ? With all the heart aches and weariness? And us? Who are we? Leopards with spots that can’t be changed? 😊 thanks for great reading

  3. Absofuckinglutely! I remember the day that I discovered photography again at the age of 47. It was such an emotional revelation and I recall feeling so bloody smug because I could see beauty in every single thing and others couldn’t. I still feel that thrill. I’ve always written and lately the two things have fought for my affections. I’m still not totally there yet.

    You are though. I can only imagine how you feel when you write what you write, because you touch so many people and you have fans. I can only aspire to that. X

    • I’m so pleased you discovered photography, and that it makes you feel like that. No one can take that away from you, and the more you believe in what you do the more you unbreakable you feel. I remember when I started writing. To think of those early words embarrasses me now, but it’s all about those footsteps. I’ve written every day for years, and although there have been so many times when I didn’t want to, and so many times when it felt thankless and pointless and all the rest of it, I kept going. I think that’s the most important thing. That we don’t quit. It’s what’s expected of people like us, and yet when we stand firm and don’t back down, we can only grow.

      Thank you for your kind words, and for taking the time to message me. I always appreciate it. It sounds so cliche, but the more we put into it, the more we get out of it. And the brilliant thing is when through our hard work we find people who are just like us. That is golden x

  4. The way to happiness is to accept you won’t always be happy. The way to perfection is to accept you won’t ever be perfect. The way to beauty is to accept you won’t always be beautiful.

    And you’re right. It’s never the things you know about, and try, and fail at. It’s the things that no one ever tells you about, that you never get a chance to know, that if you’re lucky you fall upon by accident and curse humanity for keeping its secrets.

    • Absolutely.

      It’s such a shame that people live their lives so blind and cocooned from the real magic that’s out there, but then again, it’s what makes it taste so special when we find and fight for it. That sense of glory knowing that we had the guts to do things the right way, while so many turned their backs and carried on doing it the way they’ve been told it’s supposed to be.

      It’s a glorious feeling we’re told not to believe in.

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