Education and Specialisation

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Question Existence

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Homeless man, have you been to a tap lately? Your face looks hard and caked with dirt. Do you know the coolness of water on your face? Do you look forward to its lingering caress down your cheek like I do? or do you go on, without a care and your heart content. Is your belly filled like mine? With tasty treats and spicy meats. Do you scrounge and scavenge for emptiness to fill your stomach? Do you sleep at night like I do?  Warm, safe. Or do you dread the cold fingers of the night as they caress and stroke and engulf.  Do you worship the African sun like I do? Or do you dread its heat? For you cannot take anything off. Like a snail you carry all your belongings with you. Saddened and burdened. Tired and hungry. Why do you dress like I do not? In old clothes tattered and torn. In rags and dirt and plastic bits. Do you not worry about the seasons? The colours I wouldn't be seen in? Do you preen and admire your reflection as I do? Or do you ...
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The Shadows

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I do not know when I realised my brain was wired this way. Long silences stretched into moments that buzzed with sound. The incessant dripping of the tap. The electric hum of the fridge. Forever growing louder until there was no space left in my brain. Voices whispered in my head. Shadows whizzing in and out of my peripheral vision.  There was someone in here. Someone watching. They didn’t speak. They waited. Waited for me to be alone. For those quiet moments at night when the world slept and my thoughts crept in. my heart rate spiking as I imagined the things within and without. Mama had warned me about the silence and the shadows. Had warned me that they moved when I slept. That they rose and crept closer as I dreamt. I could never see them. Except when I let them. When I let the shadows slip into the consciousness of my dreams. They would cajole. They would coerce, but most of all they would wait . Wait for me to sink deeper into my subconscious wait for me to ...
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Conversations In A Bar And Little Princesses

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Neola (6) got her first book today. Typical subject, a princess. Not so typical plot, our little princess goes around the castle, asking people what she should be. So in my mind she is a bit dependANT, not so the things I want Neola to learn. I don’t want her to ask me, I want her to TELL me. Oh well, so much for the emancipation of women. Mother should not have bought a book written by a man, (Tony Ross),  man  for women. There’s only so much these men want us to do for ourselves. Now take Ms X, who I met in a pub the other day. she was all for freedom. happily married with two kids, she had two college degrees and sneered at me when i told her that i only had one under my belt, "At your age? what a shame." I had not realised that at 23 more were expected of me but i smiled and reminded her that she was 36. "Still darling, you need to have a good degree if you want to get more cheddar, where is your degree from by the way?" I t...
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