Dual Purpose, Dual Personalities Sporting Duality With Motorcycle Therapy & Entertainment


When We Mother

Well Deserved Mother’s Day!

The Waiting

Motherhood happens at 2 a.m. It’s not necessarily known for its convenience.

{Let me just say that, yeah, it happens at 2 p.m. too, during moments that were planned for, but right now we’re going to talk about the 2 a.m. motherhood because that’s the motherhood where the rubber meets the road.}

It’ll happen when your child is tenths of a second away from crying out into the night. You’ll wake up right before the peel of her thunder because you detect the storm the same way dogs and horses do before tornadoes. In those few ticks before she cries, your body becomes alert and ready to field what’s coming. You’re tired and spent and honestly haven’t felt like your batteries have been adequately charged in about 10 years, but right now none of that matters because this is what you are here for. You are here to be a mom.

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The Terrible Terrible Violet.


So I did something that’s either going to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made or one of the dumbest, not that it really matters because we’re just some talking monkeys on a big rock that will one day explode and everyone will die and no one will know we ever existed. So why does life matter so much when we know how it ends? Why do we read stories about things that have never happened and never will, no matter how many alternate universes we wish there may be? Why do we pretend these rules and inventions really make a difference on the grand scale of things, when will we ever learn how to stop hurting each other?

On a grand scale we massacre our own kind and hunt other species to extinction. Even in what is considered the more civilised parts of the world we still…

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How to be ridiculous

Duncan is a BLOGGER in a way I would like to be a Blogger if I was better oriented to Blogging. This gentleman is at it almost every day and has a rhythm and a presence a lot of us could benefit from observing.


This is in some ways a follow up to my post ‘How to go, ‘And they’ll police that HOW exactly?’’ It does contain swearing, so you have been warned.

In the UK there’s an insidious system of sanctioning called Public Spaces Protection Orders. These have the ostensibly laudable aim of stopping people being a bleeding nuisance to the rest of the world, but in reality are little more than extensions of the ‘No Ball Games’ signs prevalent in the 60s in council estates. Some jumped up popinjays in town halls the length and breadth of the nation are using them as revenue earners.

Take this as an example. Salford Council has banned swearing in parts of Salford Quays. Say ‘fuck’ in public and you face a fine. The reason is that this constitutes ‘using foul and abusive language.’

Well, that rather depends on your point of view, doesn’t it? I…

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Hidden Gods

William is at a glance, one hell of a writer. I just got Hidden Gods on Kindle. His trudge through everyday life while he was putting this work together could be any of our stories. His attention to detail in his travels is captivating…such varied terrain. 🙂

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a day in the life

Matt can be a little annoying in the way he makes you think at times, but the thoughts are usually rich.

The Matticus Kingdom

Image Credit: OnConference.com

The restroom smelled of acrid decay, mostly emanating from the pools in the corner, and I instinctively stopped at the sink to wash my hands.  I could feel the stink of the place on my flesh.  When I looked up, the wizard in the mirror said, “The trick is to believe you are where you want to be.”  I blinked and he was gone.

I long blinked again and then held my tired lids closed and imagined the smell of sea spray filling my nose while the crash and roar of the tides echoed in the distance.  I wasn’t surprised to find myself in the same dingy bathroom when I opened my eyes.  I could see where I wanted to be.  I could hear it and smell it.  However, I never truly believed I was there.

The level of faith and trust required to truly believe in…

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This is the first time I’ve reblogged poetry. Considering it’s Rarasaur, this may also be the only poem I ever feature….


My books are laced with cocaine, I’ve been told–
the natural eventuality
of any paper product
that exchanges hands so often.

They don’t mind.

They tell the stories of
mind-bending drugs,
and mind-blowing sex,
and mind-altering
punk rock villains.

Books, like boys:
I’ve loved all types, at different times,
and sometimes at the same time.

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