Impaired Judgement

Impaired Judgement

I shouldn’t write anything for a while. My judgement is impaired. Not from drinks or alcohol. I did take a break once a long time ago. Then a short one recently. But it seems it wasn’t long enough.

I have somehow managed to become the harbinger of psychological and emotional pain. The trouble that sticks like mud. But I am not wicked or spiteful (not anymore anyway).
I am trying to be a good man.

Apologies for anything on this site that is offensive. Let me know and I will take it down. My motives are not always right nor my position unselfish. But I write not only to sooth my ego (which I am trying to cut down to size), but as a form of therapy.

I will take responsibility for my actions (and inaction). I will not blame anyone else for the past nor for the present. Because ultimately I made the decisions one way or another that resulted in the outcomes I experienced.

I am (now) a better man.



“Wicked” – “You are wicked.”
Three little words, the longest no more than 6 characters. Combined, the sum of all hope – dashed.

“Time” – I have asked Chronos to raise his hand,
and still the tempest that is time matching on,
sweeping all and sundry before its unseen fury,
and leaving broken limbs and sorrowful hearts in its churning wake.

“Wish” – I have begged Chronos to roll back time
till just before anger wrapped its unreasoning fingers round my delicate brain,
costing me what I had not lost because I did not own,
but sought by words, deeds,
and a certain look in my eyes that I didn’t see
but neither did you till I had wasted 2 months and lost it all.

“Chronos” – But Chronos is the figment of fearful men’s imagination,
who knowing not hat to do with the vagaries of nature,
ascribed power to chimeric figureheads in order to still beating hearts near bursting point.

“Pray” – So I turned to God and prayed,
asking for a miracle of gargantuan girt.
“Selfish request! Pharaoh’s bones long since dissolved to nutrients beneath Jordan’s waves! Does God still harden mortal men’s hearts or soften them because of prayers raised by earthly beings?” screamed the “devil”,
whose name should be spelled in subscript letters to dishonour his base nature, vile and to be reviled till hell freezes over.

“Alas!” – he was right.
Would a mere mortal command God to put love in another’s heart?
Would God deign it fit to answer such a prayer were it said upon bended knees
rubbed raw by rough-edged stones
coated in amber fluidly flowing carrying plasma to replenish the patched earth beneath the scorching Sun?

“Monday” – just like any other day …
But wait! A chance to think less those thoughts
that weigh like leaden weights on burdened brain
and rob the eyes of peaceful sleep.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Who cares.
Not the man who just lost the family’s food to the one-armed bandit down the road while seeking 3 cherries that unleashes the flood of unlimited income.
Not the fellow dying slowly on the bridge over the River Kwai.
Not the man you smile at.

“Monday” – Just another dreary day in an endless sequence of days in weeks in months in years in wandering the featureless desert of hopelessness by lost souls seeking forgiveness and deliverance where none may be found. Monday.