So this is it. A culmination of a year’s worth of Guise, a kept promise, and a time for new horizons.
This time last year I made a resolution, one which I thought would improve me a little, or failing that would at least prove to myself that I was capable of following through with writing regularly. By the end of it, I’d feel less guilty about calling myself a writer perhaps. That resolution was to write every week, to make a post as Guise without fail, and with today I can thankfully say I made it.
This is an achievement that I’m extremely proud of. It’s the first time I’ve seen a new years resolution through, but it’s also the first time I’ve committed to writing regularly.
I’ve learned a few things during this past year of writing. First of all, it’s really hard to stay fresh if you’re not prepared properly. Letting that deadline creep up each week and not have content ready to go has turned writing into a chore at times, something I’ve never wanted it to be.
The other main lesson I’ve learned is that writing like this isn’t necessarily what I see myself doing for the long term. I’ve loved sharing my thoughts, experiences and poetry with you all, but it’s time to try something new.
Guise will still be here in 2018, but maybe in less regular fashion. I’m hoping to open new creative avenues and exploring how I can next express my creative side.
So to you all, may 2018 guide you to new heights. See you in the new year.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. A stressful time, a renewing time, Christmas brings with it so many different emotions and experiences for all people.
For me, it’s time with family I don’t see often, and celebrations with those that mean the most to me.
I am thankful for this time of year. For the chance to celebrate, be free and be surrounded by the love of those dear to me.
Merry Christmas to all.
I’m so sick of being yelled at. The worst part about it is that there’s no respite or relief from it. Advertising is in every single direction we turn our eyes and ears, and it’s only getting louder. With more competition for our increasingly limited attention spans, advertising companies seem to have done away with the clever and would prefer to place themselves in front of us and scream noise at us.
I had a realisation recently about just how much this advertising was affecting my psyche. I had gotten so used to radio and TV ads just being a regular part of life, that I had forgotten they can quite simply be turned off. Turning it off consciously offers an almost immediate cognitive pressure release to our minds. I have physically felt that release from my cranium after deciding that the latest “warehouse closing down sale” was not critical information.
In a world where we rely on advertising revenue to stimulate many parts of our economy (I mean it basically keeps our radio stations in work, and our professional sports accessible to us) we have to remember our sanity. We have to remember that it’s okay to turn off some of these overwhelming senses, and be comfortable with the silence again.
When the loud noises get too much, take away their power. For you own sake.
Since the earliest of ages I’ve called myself a name. Something unique, and akin to a dying art in this modern Artificially Intelligent world. I’ve brandished myself with this word to separate from the crowd, to feel unique, to feel talented and to surprise others. That word is writer.
It’s a strange sort of behaviour. As writers, we self-indulgently talk about ourselves as if we are some special breed that experience life differently and more vividly and more intensely than anyone else, but the reality is that we are just another product of existence. We have been given words which allow us to speak these experiences, in the same way a musician or an artist has been bestowed in their own medium.
Looking at it through a wider scope, I guess this isn’t a trait of creative-types only. In all walks of life, people are writing their own paragraphs, in their words and actions, as to how they fit in this existence.
In a world where purpose and longevity are two innately difficult concepts to keep aligned, each day we change, or are perceived to change, in minuscule or major manners. But what we often forget to appreciate, is the bearing that we ourselves can have on the experience.
Look upon the power,
Feel the motion,
Captured by the emotion.
The picturesque sky,
Shades of grey, dominate.
No opportunity to grow,
For the specks of blue.
Peer out upon the vista,
Of disinterested lights.
For a change,
It might just respond.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. No, not the fat guy that supposedly breaks into our homes, watches when we’re sleeping, has done so for years and still has faced less charges than a Hollywood producer. No, I mean it’s the end of Spring in Australia, which means the start of the test cricket season in Australia.
A time of year which unites a population who hate each other for their winter footy allegiances, and a certain free to air TV channel earns three quarters of its ratings for the year. Radios dial in from the moment in the morning that we hit the office or the job site, and we celebrate inappropriately every time a visiting wicket falls.
Cricket brings something out in us down under. We’ve grown up with it from an early age so now we look forward to November when sport becomes a massive part of our culture.
Ignoring the fact that we live in security and our standard of life is significantly better off than half the global population, the cricket season is superficially exemplary of why we’re lucky as country. That we willing choose to put aside or forget about our immediate issues, and we escape. We escape to a cultural alternate reality and we enjoy the luxury that we have as a population.
We sit in nerves as our captain creeps to a score of 97, and lose ourselves in pride and euphoria as we watch him streak towards a match saving century. The sound of “come on!” becomes synonymous with an Australian bowler taking the first wicket of a test. And we sigh profanities when a batsman throws his wicket away cheaply.
This is us. This is Summer Cricket in Australia.
This involuntary timeline, filled with answers to questions we did not ask. A path which we may only view in hindsight, despite our attempts to illuminate the road ahead.
The journey is a long one, a trek we are not ready for. Nonetheless, we move. Step by step we propel forward, briefly glancing sideways as others pass us in all directions.
To proceed along this road, is to experience opportunity. To bask in the light of the stars and to feast upon the nourishment of our ancestors achievements, for to know this life, is to know the lives of those you’ve come before us. It coarses through our veins, and drives our inherent instincts.
Along this journey, we continue this process, writing history and learning lessons for the generations to come. Responsibility too great for our modern minds to fully appreciate. A responsibility, and a process, made all the more fulfilling to experience with another. Those we spend our days with, and those we spend our nights. Those around the corner, and those across the seas. That journey all the greater, when lived alongside others.