Identical app

There is only one ‘I’ in the world
An identical app
Running on 7 billion brains
Spread by language
Never changing
Eternally now
Always thinking of other things



The sea, always so close
Join us, it whispers
Find your end, and your beginning
But still I race my race
Me against whomever
And check the foundations
Of these towers we build
Tall but fragile along the waterside

You are

You are the contents of your mind
You are changing constantly
You are still
You are ashamed of what you are
You are everything you want to be
You are a mystery to unravel
You are boring
You are mindful of your mind
You are blissfully ignorant
You are defending a thought to the death
You are exhausted
You have everything worked out
You are powerless and falling apart
You do not exist
You are the most important thing in the universe
You are enlightened
You are absurd
You are the sum of electrons in the brain
You are a miracle
You are all of these things
You are none of them
You are…

A hair’s breadth

Who do you think you are, today?
You are Wrong
You are Right
And not a hair’s breadth in-between


We know we are in peril
Behind the short span of light
Beyond the passing of memory
Making us less than we were


Stories. Not binary code, not hex, not any sort of computer logic, but stories are the currency of the human brain. Stories tell us where we left our keys, they tell us who we are. They tell us why we love our friends and hate our enemies. We are either remembering the past in the format of a story, or like a shadow thrown forward by the sun, casting our own daydreamed story into the future. We are so good at telling stories we can do it even without being conscious of it. Stories are the X and Y of our world, they are our up and down, they are the nails holding the whole damned picture to the wall. We seem uniquely suited and hence vulnerable to the power of stories. Stories have possessed nations. They have carried men to the moon and united nations to fight against tyranny. They have also turned brother against brother and moved the thinking hand of man to genocide. Most of all, we each individually want nothing more than to be in our own story. We will twist any event to that aim, struggling and striving with our every breath to hold it all together, to make life make sense in a way we can accept. Stories give the unpredictable events of a vast unfolding universe personal meaning. They are undoubtedly an illusion. But would we want to live without them?


We all learn,
as life presents its great lesson,
the same lesson we all receive,
but reflected differently
according to the mirror of ego we hold on high.
But the learning is none of our doing,
nor is the mirror.
We are the watcher,
and could not stop it if we tried.


Ego is for communication, never comparison.

Honour and Pride

Honour and Pride
Houses made by men who love to build
Bonds that bind one to something bigger
Than himself.
A mind-trap but also a wonder
Of imagination.
If I must die for something
Let it be this:
That I am worth something
And did not fail before the fray,
But led my men from the front in war,
And at other times was not slow
To make my peace,
When wisdom showed me the error of my ways,
Long past deeds that rise like ghosts to offend
The house I strive to free of shades-
Demons that crept
Under my shield of self-regard,
Whilst better men held their tongue
And hoped I would be wise enough to find the strength within,
Rebuild the world shattered by my own clumsy hands.
But in the end what’s true is what men believe,
And I believe that houses like men were made to fall
Only to rise again,
And I was made to build them.

-For Mr Harding


Writing when you don’t feel like writing
Is nothing but ego,
Like wanting a passing girl
When you’re already spent,
Ink from an expensive fountain pen
Splattered across the page.
But hey –
sometimes there’s a need
To check your reflection,
Feel the beat of your heart,
And know that it feels good.

Previous Older Entries

(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected