Wednesday, 24 February 2010


Although I don't keep a diary, when I want to write and I can't, writing about myself is the easiest way to get the pen moving (being self-centred being the only universal human quality). Other times, tense and emotional feelings which keep you up all night as they swirl in your head seem to be released when poured onto paper.

That's not what I put on this blog. That sort of writing is handwritten in a scrawl I sincerely hope is totally indecipherable, in a notebook amongst hundreds of other completely impersonal writings. While I rarely go back to anything I wrote, sometimes a line or maybe two stick in my head. Maybe they seem applicable to more than just the situation occupying my mind at the time. Maybe they sound more sincere than the melodramatic emotionally overwrought outpourings surrounding them. Or maybe I just like the way they sound.

Today, this line stuck with me:

I hope it is not immortal because I cannot kill it.

Immediately followed by the recollection of this photo I took outside a mosque last week. I wasn't writing about Satan at all. But I think they work together anyway.

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