#turning39

Happy birthday to me,

I turn thirty nine.

It aren’t so bad, you get over a hundred well wishes on facebook

and strangely three dozen on linkedin.

Who uses linkedin anyway?

Things are different now. 

I quit journalism, freelancer life finally killed me.

All those editors and production company don’t need you anymore.

They were scum anyway, with late pay and denying you your rights.

I end up being diagnosed with Moral Injury,

because I care but the world stopping me from doing my job.

I go back to the one thing I know,

making movies and music videos.

Life aren’t so bad, the food is good in Melbourne.

There is a little bit of law and order in town.

I turn 39 and get myself a typewriter.

A beautiful green IBM Selectra 3.

I pounds words onto paper.

Six Hundred and sixty four pages later.

I feel like I might have something.

Make use of this Moral Injury thing into something creative,

If I can’t return out there, at least my brain is filled with stories.

So here I am writing. 

Finding a little piece of heaven in a world that still rife with chaos.

Maybe when I am fourty I might actually be a writer.

Talking about writers, Anthony Bourdain.

WTF.

I am sure there people out there blaming the Clintons.

I just feel sad.

Someone who probably had similar traits and adventures,

who loved the world for its hidden gems and spoke out

about things that seemed wrong in this unfortunate world.

He had surrendered himself,

 for only the dead do not suffer anymore.

RIP.

I can only vow to write more this year.

Now all I want to do in this quietness is to find a bike and ride.