Life, Death, Caterpillar, Butterfly

A gloomy brain-dump this one. I write this stuff, like my novels, mainly for me. I usually keep my misery in check, but not always.

Another old friend has died. As yet I don't know of what, although knowing him, I have my suspicions. We lost touch after he got married and moved to Manchester, meeting only a couple of times after that. Three times perhaps, as there was a chance meeting at Piccadilly Station one morning back when I used to travel across to Sheffield regularly. He was heading to a meeting, bleary-eyed, thick with alcohol despite the hour.

Social Media is a strange place for the important things.

I also unfollowed another old friend on Twatter. Indeed, it's a quote of his I've used to head this depressing post. I'll follow him again once they kill off Jeremy Corbyn (figuratively or literally) and he ceases being just another baying hound, If I wanted that I'd subscribe to the Daily Mail, Express, Sun etc. etc. I don't think the Labour MPs, Murdoch press or the rest of the media mind how JC ends his career, just as long as he does soon, ideally before the Chilcott report is published.
Nobody wants an honest, decent man at the top of politics, especially when he so clearly struggles in the toxic, lie-ridden environment. It's like we threw a kitten into a septic tank and everyone's now watching and waiting for it to go under so we can return to business as usual. My friend likes to post multiple sarcastic witticisms per day, yet humour isn't a strong point of his. (Wistfully reflecting on loss, on people and times past, if you were wondering. He's a wonderful writer).

So I'm still in a post-referendum funk. A friend of mine was told to 'fuck off paki' and had a bottle thrown at him. I look to those who lied to put us here for hope and see none. The rift we've opened up won't close any time soon and the scars will last. That there isn't any kind of plan has been obvious from before we voted, but people voted to take the risk anyway. We gave the mob live ammo and just sorta hoped it would all turn out alright.

Now I throw myself into work as best I can. Fortunately there are a few interesting things to write about as I try and forget the world outside. My novel continues being improved, although I have another issue to resolve now. It doesn't matter too much if I never finish but I'd like to. Writing is the refuge music used to be.