booktowrite

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZgsPrGoqAQ

The sad man stares at a blank page and is afraid to mark it with more words that sound the same as everything that came before. Rhetorical nonsense borne of a broken heart. Borne of longing. Borne of loneliness. Last night in an open field, beneath the moon, the sad man watched Rancid, a band he has loved for more than twenty years, and came...
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Looking for a September holiday destination? Come and celebrate with us on the 2nd of September in Vigo, Spain, at La Fabrica de Chocolate for concerts, raffles, food, drink and a generally huge party. #thehandicaps #celtavigo #lapreviaceltista #vigo #vigocity

I was born into a struggling family in the north west of England. We lived in a small industrial town on the outskirts of Manchester. Glamour was forbidden us, as, it seemed, was the sun. Sunglasses were for Hollywood celebrities and even Coca Cola a mere fantastical fad from a far-off land where the sun always shone. We had rain and wind and cold grey...
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The pain that we feel inside, the things that we hide. A lady pushes a pram and rolls her eyes as her husband walks by her side and says something softly into her right ear. Across the road a man in a car that is falling apart attempts to park and looks as if he is hungry and close to tears. Business men are scurrying...
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It’s something of a mess. The alcohol. The flirtation. The lack of sleep. A life of good fortune being pushed too far, perhaps. Writing and reading and music are the things for which I live and, thrown in with this, I want to have fun before I am too old to do the things I can do today. Therefore, there is a fine balance between...
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I've been traveling so much of late that I've not had a chance to write. So, here, upon this flight from Madrid to London, I'll pen a few words. So much comes to mind that I’m almost at a loss. It feels great… familiar and strange to be back in Madrid. The city that was home for three years and still feels like a home...
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The story of the spare wheel remains consistent and it remains true. As Morrissey once wrote, ‘in my own strange way I have always been true to you.’ In my own strange way I have always been true to Morrissey. Tonight I went for a drink with a very lovely French lady of Vietnamese descent in the inviting area of Davis Square and had a...
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A whisper pierces the night from beyond the corner of the room. It’s the rusty whisper, or sigh, of sadness… like a fleeting memory of a happy and beneficial friendship now buried in the sand of past time and marked as nothing more than a communal grave… a mass burial ground for all of the friends and lovers that I lost by being too friendly...
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The linguist reappeared and brought a smile to my very soul. I had suspected that she had fled instead and had recoiled in horror at the thought of my existence. Apart from the fact that I am older than her, we have many things in common… a love of words and their usage, the meanings that are derived from their different usages, the way that...
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