I’ve abandoned the idea of the perfect voice, this perfect stream of words to paint jaw dropping and heart stealing prose. Writing 101 you have fed me the perfect excuse to just write, write, write. I know this is the second time this chance has been shared, but last time i was … forgetful, i was resentful of the products that might come from just tapping away at the keys and maybe on an off chance unraveling some goldish hue in the plain letters on the screen. Task one seemed like a no brainer, so this time there were no real barriers to tap tap tapping away into this course. A free write! I like free, Free is good so feet first into the deep and tread water till i do something that resembles swimming.

The concept of a free write is supposedly a constant undisrupted stream of thought, well here it is, just falling onto letter, the meandering if buts and random otherness that roams freely in my personal Serengeti, every now and then the most odd creature will just zipp violently past my periphery and I’m off, easily distracted by this new something that, on second thoughts, might just be the light catching on my fantasies that I tuck in the corner and teasing me with some form of unspoken difference. But pish posh, it had my attention and in my mind that is something that I wont take lightly, out in the real world my attention is a cause for serious assessment, never waste it, use it sparingly and justly, at least that’s what i would hope to tell myself.

The topography of my personal precipice is very much like a rolling sky of clouds, beginning to sound dangerously like a bugois cliche, the trap of many a student scribe, but i plea for your patience as i share a little something here, If you’re reading this and you understand this writing 101 situation, that means you have resigned to the fact that you are entering a land of uncertain occurrences, raw … me, we might take a turn in some mysterious direction at any minute so i urge you to keep your seat belts fastened and hands and all limbs inside the carriage at all times.

Back to the clouds, I often sit, whenever the time stills around me, and give credit to the unspoken ballerinas that prance across the levitated blue, sometimes its black with the hushed tone of the nights sky, some times its red with a solemn anger sometimes it’ll scare you with a new emotion that you didnt think it had. But this setting offers a canvas of great scenes, These soft things fandango and flamenco, samba around each other, throwing shapes at me in such unexpected ways, sometimes they are just moving and i observe the wonder, sometimes we play a game of charades and I internally, enthusiastically, guess right each time, but when i was younger we played the novice version, now im older, every round is a power round, each second breathes a new shape, the sun hurtles across its burning arc as the day zips past, casting a cacophony of light at the dancers, a dog, a bone, a stick and the very occasional, mother holding her baby while dancing with a crocodile.

This all catches my eye, because its there, because its now, because its beautiful, but most importantly because its like family. In this opera of every changing ‘right nows’ i see a physical amalgamation of what lives in my thoughts. The chills in my hearts as i think about it, just echo the effect of the skys map of my mind, Although i have some sorry days, some, not so full of glory days and this internal ballets has a murky ashed aqua attire, but these clouds in the sky never seem down, even under pitter pattering nimbus they maintain a certain beauty. Me and them are family. They are my favourite cousin.