Writer, heal thyself

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“A writer’s life is never an easy one, the lonely and solemn state, lost in one’s own head every single day… but what if I like it there, inside of the made sphere?“ Gun Roswell

Writer, heal thyself

The made up words with the made up characters inside of the made up world inside of the mind of the writer

Going in deeper, never leaving the comfortable familiar place, the outside is there and outside it will remain

Living in one’s own head, night and day, never easy alas it is what this choice came with and what to except

The life of a writer, being everyone and everywhere all at once even if never really leaving the made up place up in the head 

As there it is where they belong, the stories being told even if none of them are the writer’s own.

You can call me Alias, Alias Fakename

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“Being a writer, is never easy, as having to play the part of each and every character inside the arc, drives one crazy, most days, sitting there, talking silently to oneself” Gun Roswell

You can call me Alias, Alias Fakename

All those stories, all those characters strong, bold, uninteresting and lame, each of them, playing their own little games

Living their lives inside this writers mind, never letting them sleep, taking the writer in too deep

All the worlds, being built and destroyed, restored and revisited, circle never ending

A lot of time, inside there, all day long, even some nights to be spending

Well, it is really easy, being a little crazy, some might say, even a lot

But, being right there, on the spot, with those written and some still waiting to become, characters

Would you think any less, of the author, the bard, stating they were none to smart

To be doing all that?

But then again, these worlds, these people, animals what have yous, will surely last

Long since the scribe is gone, unless somehow, they will manage to incorporate themselves

Inside the world of insanity, the world of total fantasy, and remain their all eternity

Without coffee….

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“There is no substitute for coffee in the whole wide world, it is the most refreshing and nourishing sustenance ever devised and nothing and no one, comes even close to it” Gun Roswell

Without coffee….

I am not a very nice person, especially in the early morning hours, even after the showers

But, pour me a cup of coffee, a large one a that, it can be plain and black, preferred that way anyway, then pour me another one, and perhaps one more for good luck…

Then watch me turn from the evil horned devilish being I’ve just been before all that caffeine, and turning into a… well, perhaps not as totally changed and all around nice person…

But, a tolerable one, who can accomplish any task you might just be sending my way and do say this with utter and complete conviction…

As coffee is, the most, the best, the only thing I really do need, just to survive a day until the end and if a need would arise, beyond and way into the night…

As with coffee, I can slay, I can fight, I can try to reach the very top of the world, well, at least, on some heap where I am hurled into…

As long as the darling coffee, never desist to exist, my life, well, it will be pretty fine, unless, you take, my precious and only coffee, away!

Winter vs. Summer

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“There totally is something to be said about both winter and summer. Which is that people are able to bitch about them both as nothing is never good enough ;P” Gun Roswell

Winter vs. Summer

The weather changes yes, it is a natural occurrence.

Some of the places on this blue globe of ours have varied seasons.

Spring, summer, winter, fall, they all are part of the cycle.

Controlling them could be an option, then again something it is stopping.

The natural order of things disturbed as the humans continue their stirs.

And so, whining about it being too hot or too cold?

Guess whomever the ticket to this place we are on sold,

Did not let the buyers read the fine print after all?

The Northern Barbarian I am

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“it’s shocking to learn of one’s heritage, especially, through some tv-documentary!” Gun Roswell

The Northern Barbarian I am

So it started as a joke, that little jibe, that one poke, from some supposed expert, reading for the playback, on some documentary from the past. That one line, which totally stuck, when the Romans made their way, up North and those bastard dwellers there, dared to revoke, whatever rules or laws they might just have tried to push onto them, and then simply calling them barbarian for standing against.

And now, the history long since placed into the past where it belongs, and no matter how civilised and woke the society has become, over the millennia or more, the core of the people still remain. The tiny barbarian, once a slur by some conquerer, raising its head. Wanting to revolt against the establishments, the very law, even if there just might not be a really good cause. 

But, there is always some unruly brewing, deep inside the ranks, of a few. And if the sparkle inside is fed, and willingly out let, then a revolution will soon be at hand. The so called barbarian, taking their stance. Well, at lest in a modern way, meaning, taking their say, into the wideness of the web, hoping some similar minded person, will hear the pleads, and indeed, they did!

Long live the revolution! Long live the Northern Barbarians!

Twitter? What’s going on?

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“To tweet, to twat, to what the frack! Too many messages to send, too much time on the internets of things to spend, oh Twitter, thou art a heartless bitch!“ Gun Roswell

Twitter? What’s going on?

Hello!

Hello?

Hello!!!

Twitter world?

Is this thing on?

Can you hear me?

Is there an echo in here?


Testing, testing, testing…

I can see you…

What’s wrong?

Don’t you like me anymore?

Why are you doing this to me?

Did I do something wrong?

Oh Twitter!

I just wanted to say… hello?

So why are you avoiding me?

Sure, my last twat might have been… strong…

I may have said… some things… something wrong…

But hey! 

I wasn’t the only one!

The others did too!

Yeah, I know, I know…

Excuses.

I am  full of them.

But, please, just, pretty please?

Can we still be friends?

Because I don’t really want this to end.

We’ve been good for so long?

And I felt this, well, relationship…

Well guess I thought it was growing strong?

So, I hope you can forgive me?

*only silence in response*

Fine! Fine!

I have a confession to make!

It’s a doozy, a big one for sure to take!

…

I cannot live without you!!!!

Too much stuff to do, too little energy to do it!

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“There are always things on the to-do list pending, always!” Gun Roswell

Too much stuff to do, too little energy to do it!

Chores, tasks, gigs, jobs, whatever you might them wanna call, they seem to be of an endless supply, but, never one to shy away from a challenge, still, where is the time for it all, and should I care any less?

The planner always full, with something or another to do, never the time for rest, even for the best, not that I am claiming to be one, but it would be nice, at least for once, to have a completely empty desk with a cleared up calendar!

So, guess I will do nothing to day, as there is just too much there, I would not even know where to begin, and hey, if it is a sin, to just slack for a day, then fine, I am a mega big sinner, so go ahead, on me, lay all the blame! 

Not feeling very Human without my Coffee

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“The feeling of being, the sense of self, all of it gone, without my coffee!“ Gun Roswell

Not feeling very Human without my Coffee

They say to feel, to think, is human?

They say, a lot of things don’t they?

The single truth never spoken?

The very fact which makes some of us at least human?

The underlying truth of being?

Something even the scientist are trying to deny?

The government types keeping under wraps?

The ancient knowledge, the ancient secret?

The one thing only a few of us has stumbled upon?

The very fact of the human existence?

Coffee.

My life in seasons of a show

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“This shit show of a life we are living in, doesn’t it make you think someone is totally calling the shots from somewhere else? Like some last season alien video game with enough outrageous drama in it to think it was written by monkeys?“ GunRoswell

My life in seasons of a show

Ages zero through ten were the prequel, simply to setup the show, the preface, the prologue if you will, just a trial run to see if anyone was interested in watching it at all.

Hitting the teens and turning twenty something, the rebel area and the adulthood, when running amok totally confused. So real for sure no writer could me that shit up?

Thirty, forty yeah, not feeling sporty but perhaps trying something on for a size, a life? The thing everyone is talking about. The thing you’re supposed to be living. The good years? Well, I fear the writer making my stuff up, fell asleep at the keyboard, snoozing through that time as did I.

Fifty, sixty, well, what can I say? Life is what it is the changes happening, something crappening, and so moving along in a pace, nothing really feeling the same even if deep down inside the kid from ten still exists.

Seventy, eighty, yeah old lady, or something else, whatever it feels like, hitting the big times? Golf anyone? Hey writer! Where the hell did you come up with these scenarios anyway? It’s all just a big cliche!

Ninety, perhaps a hundred? Well, congrats! This is the end goal for some poor souls, and hey, if you have reached this level in the game you can only yourself for it blame!

And so, the aliens playing this boring and stupid game finally realise they should go outside and perhaps develop something a little less of a boring screenplay.

Hell just might be empty, with all them devils running amok in here!

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“Things, affairs, all of it, might be wrong, a lot of them are, but, giving up hope, was never an option, never part of the grand plan either. Was it?“ Gun Roswell

Hell just might be empty, with all them devils running amok in here!

“It’s hell out there! Surely we had some time to spare before it was about to happen I swear!” Someone exclaimed having taken a spun around the neighbourhood, having found it no fun at all.

“Have you seen the latest news?” Another one asked confused of the times. “It’s murder and mayhem for sure and that is the awful truth!”

“I don’t leave my house anymore. Just because it’s such a chore.” The third one chimed, certainly they were not feeling so fine. “Putting all them gear on, the armour or whatnot, just to feel safe and even then you cannot be sure.”

“The kids are all home schooled now, not that its of any use. Them all hanging on their game girls and fun stations, twatting about it all on the internets of things. Such misuse of the time. All of it wasted for sure. But the lure of it all is too much to ignore.” The mum from across the street shouted from the open window, never ever daring to leave her home.

“Truly is sad all of it. In the olden days, well, everything was so much sunnier, funnier, lighter and brighter. And now, it’s all such shades of greys.” A not so old person retorted to the others, from a safe distance but of course.

“Yeah, hell has certainly arrived to our small corner of the world. Then again, what did we expect with all them devils running around in our streets. But we did invite them here didn’t we?” And with that there was no rhyme to be seen, simply a comment of how things had turned out to be.