From The Centrifuge

Ed's dead, baby. Borrowed, with thanks, from the Independent I was unsure whether or not to write a post, post-election, on my post-election blues. For the most part, this was because I'm sure that political commentators, bloggers, activists, and people with far more understanding of the political landscape and the effect that the latest result would have on the lives of those for whom the spectre of a Tory government was only a bad dream, a shade that haunted at night when the lights burned low and the wolves howled at the door, had already used all of the adjectives and metaphors of despair in ways far more eloquent than anything I might come up with. I find however that I must say something, even if it doesn't help matters, to explain to myself more than anyone else why it is I feel so miserable. I will probably have no right to bemoan a Conservative government - my country still has a socialist leader, in theory if not in practice - particularly as I did very littl

I've completed a poem a day for thirty-two days. I should feel proud, happy that I am able to call on that which I've always doubted I had, imagination, to write something concrete, real, new, every day for a month, but I am not, at least not entirely. Worryingly, I feel more negativity than positivity at the result, although there are positives to take. - I never struggled for long for an idea - I could work with limited time to produce something interesting - Humour was evident, even if it was bleak... The negatives mount up though. - It's all too prosaic - I can't recall any real insight or observations of depth - I was very lazy - first drafts were often the only drafts, and I rarely read the poems out loud, instead trying to put down what was in my head regardless of quality or scansion - When I did struggle for ideas, I was too quick to write about the challenges and shortcomings of my writing instead of investing time in thinking a little longer and in more depth

Toothpaste For Dinner, thank you, Drew.

Sorry...

Not meaning to put myself in the same bracket as any of the 1000-faced heroes of legend, but in an attempt to cultivate positive, creative habits rather than reinforce old, less salubrious ones, I made a rash public promise that I would write a poem every day for a month, starting on the 14th January to the 14th February inclusive, meaning 32 poems over the next 32 days.  I hereby pledge to write one poem a day for the next month, up to and including 14th February. — Innominate Primate (@TheMightyBuch) January 13, 2015 This is something I think I need to do, to make sure I follow through. I've tried things like #100HappyDays , have told myself I would attempt 50 sit-ups and press-ups on waking up each day, or would get up at five am and do an hour's writing before showering and getting ready for work, but up to this point I have been incredibly consistent in the breaking of my word to myself. Guilt lends fuel to the shame spiral engine, and down I would go, into brown b