One Thousand Word Challenge 292: Morning

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Been sitting here for over an hour. Starting the writing now. That’s an improvement, I guess.

I’m sitting here with a dog. I’m sitting alone, and awake, and I’m sitting in silence. well, that’s a little lie. I’m sitting here with the sound of a clock, and the sound of Crowded House playing, and I’m wondering as to when Neil Finn will just stop. I wonder when Neil Finn will stop bringing his family into bands. I wonder… jokingly, of course.

But I’m sitting here. I’m wondering how the day will go. As always, this is one of those posts to get warmed up to, for me, for I need to warm up. I can tell that I am typing quite slowly. I can tell that I am not writing my best, or my worst for that matter. I can feel how slow I a going, but I am trying. I am trying to get the words down. I am appreciating the light in this room. I’m appreciating how dull and gentle it is. I am appreciating the dog, lying there on a dog bed, possibly awake, looking awake, just watching, and slowly closing its eyes, but not really going to sleep. Just watching.

Maybe it will go to sleep soon.

There’s a stillness in this pocket of the earth. There’s a stillness in the world, and nothing is moving. There’s… no breeze, actually. Nothing I can see, anyway. How eerie. How uncomfortable. There is no movement outside at all. There’s the sound of birds but the trees aren’t swaying, not even gently. Maybe they are and I’m not close enough to see their subtle movements. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, somehow.

But this is just the world. This is just the way of things. Winds don’t always blow. Things don’t always move. Sometimes it takes time and sometimes time takes itself. Time takes time to take time and all that, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Somehow I’m going to have a day of charging through things and staying busy. Somehow I’m going to achieve what I’m setting out to do. Only a few more days and they are mine, and I need to make the most of them. Cramming a lifetime into a few days. Always do that, really. Doesn’t make much sense to do it but I keep doing it because I am a fool. I am a fool with ideas and a plan, and I plan to get them all done. Clean things up. Find myself at the end, relaxing, sleeping well, those sorts of things. It’ll be great. It’ll be good. I’ll dig it. Or I won’t. Something will happen, however. Something will be done.

Why do I keep putting myself into these situations? Why, I haven’t even had my second coffee and I’m writing, and I’m writing slowly. I’m writing far slower than I would like! My hands are too cold for this, I deserve better. I’m getting worse. I’m feeling it, and in feeling it I am feeling it. Or not. I don’t know.

So usually this is the point where I start “bringing it home”, but I’m still looking for whatever. I’m still looking for the right words, the right forms. I’m still looking for how to get to where I must, and I’m looking for what direction I’ll be taking in a few days. In a way I already know, but it’s not clear to me. Does that make sense? I hope it does. Always hoping, never sure. Such is the way that I live, really.

But now I must bring this home. I need to bring the post to roost, to rest, to finalise the start so the start can get going and so I can get onto the next thing. That is how it all works, or something. Sometimes. Who knows. I don’t. Do you? Maybe.

I’m a little amazed I got this far, and that I’ve kept some consistency going. I think over the next few days I’m going to try and get more things shared than I ever have before. It’s a significant concentration of posts, sure. It is probably too much. However, I am still going to try. I am still going to give it a go, because I think I can get it done and I just want to really end things on a sloppy note. I want to end things in the biggest mess I can muster, and so hopefully that pans out.

Really I just want to end things in a way that leaves me not feeling stressed. Only a few days, but it should just be enough. And then I am to wherever next. And that’s cool. That’s fine and dandy, as far as I am concerned.

I think I might need to use the bathroom, and that could be why I’m struggling this morning. Should be using the bathroom rather than writing. I am stubborn and all that.

There’s a sense of stillness outside, and even though there’s sound in here, there’s a sense of silence. There’s a sense f emptiness, but this space is full. This space is interesting. This space is just a little still. The world is still waking up, and that’s fine. that’s dandy. It’s just odd, but it’s relaxing at the same time. This whole world is wide and vast, and this one pocket feels odd, but I’m sure that if I were to go outside, everything would reveal itself as being lively. Everything would be in motion in some way. It’d be beautiful, but the outside world always is. That’s how it has always been. It’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s the whole wide world and everything that it offers, and we only see so much of it at any given time. We see pockets of a grand tapestry, and we have the choice to wholly, utterly embrace it.

I think I’ve said all I can say now, and the dog has gone to sleep.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:42:09

A low sort of writing. Lacking excitement, and perhaps as quiet as the morning, tough without the elegance, grace or wonderment.

Written at Killara.

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Grace Jone: Slave to the Rhythm Draft

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

I’d been meaning to write about Slave to the Rhythm for a while, but I had difficulty in working out how to go about doing so. I just churned this out now whilst listening to the album. It’s a base form to work with, and eventually I’ll be able to turn it into something better. It gets some of my thoughts across and that’s the main thing. There’s something to work with here.

The final version of this essay will be published on From Somewhere out the Back. If you’ve been following my stuff here long enough, then you’ll recognise the name as the title for when I write about music releases in my music collection. I’d been intending to dedicate a space for those pieces for a while, and of course rather than hold to that, the space expanded to more than just music.

The draft below is just to give an idea of progress.

—

Okay, where to start with this one?

I remember, as a child, hearing “Slave to the Rhythm”. I had a bit of variance in the music I heard when I was growing up, and I know I heard this song. I know I heard it as, a few years ago whilst I was walking around Flower Power, I heard it played over the PA and recognised it. I subsequently sought out the song, heard it and wondered why it wasn’t the same as what I heard. Then I wondered why the one that I was familiar with was called “Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones”.

Slave to the Rhythm is, as far as my understanding goes, an album comprised of differing versions of the same song. It kicks off with a monologue describing rhythm at the start of “Jones the Rhythm”, and it’s all high energy and just pumping stuff. Then it relaxes a bit more with “The Fashion Show”, or rather, becomes smooth and sleek, wholly embodying its title. Grace Jones sings in a way that matches the instrumentation, though there isn’t much of it, and it’s more that she’s commanding someone to give in, to submit.

The song “Slave to the Rhythm” was originally going to be given to Frankie Goes to Hollywood before it was offered to Grace Jones, and it going to the latter rather than the former was the right choice, and I might get to that later. But the main reason why is how each version of the track works in an biographical context. “Jones the Rhythm” talks expresses Grace Jones’ early days in disco, even if not sounding that way, as well as the way her music changed over time whilst preserving a certain energy. “The Fashion Show” seems to express the dichotomy between Grace Jones’ experiences working as a model, and all the conflict that comes with that.

You get to “The Frog and The Princess”, which is narrated by Jean-Paul Goude, who was Grace Jones’ partner at the time Slave to the Rhythm came out. It’s a song that seems very much about fascination and obsession, and whilst Goude does express a moment where he wasn’t sure if he was in love with Grace Jones or rather objectifying and idolising her is great, it seems very much that he’s very much interested in the idea of Grace Jones rather than the person Grace Jones. It’s not quite a vulnerable statement which is fine, but it also feels unintentionally revealing through trying to express a controlled narrative. It works, however, as an external perspective on who Jones is, and the calm swelling of sound adds to it in a sense. Something is revealed, honest, shining and fun, but we’re not told what, exactly.

What comes next is “Operattack”, and it feels very much like that. It’s a great bit of abrasive music that explores voice as rhythm, sort of digs into it. It’s a great track, just being totally uncompromising in feel, dismantling and reconstructing at the same time.

So the title track. “Slave to the Rhythm”. It starts with rich, waking melody, before switching to something with a bit more of a boldness to it, something less smooth in terms of sound, but no less in terms of motion. Just striking out stuff, it’s great. Really funky, coming back to and bringing forward what was in “Jones the Rhythm”, and seems more work-like and stiff in some ways than that track. Eventually it does let up and gets more smooth and soft, and there’s a fun in here, but there’s a weariness, too. There’s more of a telling the self to keep going, in a sense, but it doesn’t feel like words of encouragement so much as a way to cope with pressures. And then the song resumes its regular pattern, unrelenting, rigid.

Both “The Crossing (Oohh the Action…)” and “Don’t Cry – It’s Only the Rhythm” carry a sense of relief to them, and definitely more so in the former over the latter. There’s a calm, a peace. A relaxation. Pressure is released, the valve opened, and it’s all sorts of gentle and perhaps reflective. The latter is building things back up, and there’s hesitancy. As though about to step in a spotlight left behind, as though being called back in and being compelled by one’s own desire. But the hesitancy is there, and uncertainty. Alternatively, it could be seen as a track that’s reflective of the journey, excited for what comes next, and what is next is the culmination of the journey thus far. Excited about the process, excited about presenting.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones”, also known as “Slave to the Rhythm”, starts with the words “Ladies and gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones. Slave to the Rhythm” on the UK version, and it feels much like a culmination, like all the previous parts coming together. It’s Grace Jones expressing her experiences, expressing history – indeed, it can be read as much about Grace Jones’ life and part in music as it can be read as a political statement, and perhaps that’s the point, because – like in earlier forms – lyrics are presenting in a particular way that’s shaped by the sounds underneath, which are a mix of gentle and firm, and fully fitting, and the way Grace Jones is singing. She alternates between gentle and firm also, and there’s a sense, perhaps, of age in her voice in terms of coming through a lot of crap. Her voice feels a little more relaxed in a way, a little more raw and open, but she also sings in a way that’s uplifiting, and the music matches.

The song itself seems to move through a sense of moods, and at the end of it all everything explodes into a grand celebration, but only for a moment. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s Grace!”, Grace Jones sings, as though ready to reveal herself as performer, entertainer and artist, and wholly herself. Perhaps saying something about, after all this time, in a way she only puts forward what she wants, and allows herself to be marketed in a certain way, but regardless of how honest the version we get is, it’s still something everyone will buy a piece of, and so she’s no more or less free than she would have been when she was younger, regardless of how much control she had then. However, as cynical as that sounds, she’s more able to now embrace what is put forward and try to turn it into something that’s more her own than anyone else’s.

The song ends with a few sounds, and Grace Jones making a playful sound. She’s not fooling around, but she’s still going to have fun with it.

I think the reason why “Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones” was put forward as “Slave to the Rhythm” in single form is that it really does feel like the culmination of the rest of the album. It feels like it concisely summarises bits and pieces, but it’s still its own thing. It still carries a sense of narrative, but it’s relational narrative.

“Slave to the Rhythm” was written by Bruce Woolley, Trevor Horn, Stephen Lipson and Simon Darlow, and it almost went to Frankie Goes to Hollywood. It’s probably good that it didn’t, as it feels very much like Grace Jones’ album and song. What is here is the product of collaborative work, but Grace had to be comfortable with what she was doing and how she was going about doing it. Indeed, it is difficult to separate the song(s) here from Grace, as her presence just dominates the whole thing. It is as much her as it is an extension, a series of expressions and reflections, perhaps. It’s that presence, and the way she makes use of her voice and expresses with it, that has helped me, at the least, enjoy the work quite a lot. Had I not heard “Slave to the Rhythm” in Flower Power, I doubt I would’ve spent the time finding a copy of the album and spinning it. It’s looking at the same person from different viewpoints, different facets, and it’s looking at the various ways a song can sound whilst remaining the same song. And it’s absolutely solid from start to finish. Just a tight, punchy record when it needs to be, and low and calm when it needs to be.

But this is just what I’m getting from it. I can’t claim to know the ins and outs of how (and if) it actually does explore who Grace Jones was up to that point. There are only five people who really know, and something tells me that they’ve said all the want to and aren’t saying more. Something tells me they’d rather let the songs do the talking, and if so, that’s easily the right decision, because these are damn fine songs.

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Mercury, Part 10

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

This is the last part of this draft I wrote for NaNoWriMo. Partway through sharing, I didn’t want to keep going as it’s really, really bad writing… as though that has ever stopped me before. But I kept going because I feel it’s still an example of what can be achieved if you keep going with something, and also an example of knowing when to stop.

I was already burned out with doing NaNoWriMo every year, and I ran out of steam for this. However, I might end up wrapping it all up tomorrow. I’ll see what happens.

Prior parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

I hope you  enjoy.

—

Cave came running out of their room, looked at Harvey standing there, then looked at the cable on the ground. Harvey looked dully surprised, but there was something there that expressed something that suggested that they just had the same experience as Cave.

“What’s going on?”

“TV died. What’s going on with you?”

“The computer just freaked out. I was trying to gather more information and try to work some things out when the monitor started warping. Well, not the monitor, but rather what it was projecting. It became this indistinct mass and I couldn’t work out what was going on. Tried turning it off but it stayed on. Tried turning the computer off but it wouldn’t shut down. Then it shocked me really hard. Tried unplugging it, didn’t switch off… at least not straight away.”

“That’s… weird. Any lights stay on?”

“Yeah. Felt odd. Like I was being scanned or watched or something. Anyway, I think something’s gone wrong with the power.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Harvey wasn’t quite in the mood to hear it as it meant that Harvey would have to do something and that’s not something Harvey wanted to deal with. At the same time Harvey knew that it was important to hear it all as it meant that there could be some sort of link, and maybe Cave was right. Maybe there was something wrong with the power.

“How old is the place, Cave?”

“I don’t know. You know as well as I do that it hasn’t had any maintenance done in a while.”

As that was said one of the lights turned on of its own accord and started buzzing a hard, electrical buzz. The two turned to look and decided it best to move away, but before they could the light shattered outward, sending glass rocketing. Lucky for them the two managed to avoid being embedded, but it was pure luck.

“I think we should switch the power box off and head on out.”

“Cave ran about and grabbed some things whilst Harvey ran outside to the power box. They switched everything off and soon Cave was there. For the moment they didn’t feel safe being in the house and so they decided the best course of action was to head on out and just walk away from things.

They walked in silence and they walked a long while. They walked out of town and into a more rural-feeling space in that it was significantly less developed than the surrounding area, and then they walked some more to a large pond that they knew of, just to find somewhere to sit next to and away from the house, and hopefully away from any more surprises. Perhaps it was not the most rational behaviour to engage in, but they weren’t thinking rationally at the time. It was much safer where they were, at least, or so they thought,

The silence carried on over across the gentle water, and some waterfowl floated along, creating their own disturbance on the surface whilst they looked for food, though it seemed much like aimless meandering. It was hard to tell as neither of the two were ornithologists, and neither of the two cared much for knowing the motivations of birds either way. Eventually the silence broke.

“You know, it really is interesting how during Mercury Retrograde technology doesn’t work as well.”

“What the fuck, Cave?”

“What do you mean? I’m pretty sure that there is no other way to put what I just said”

“Alright, firstly, Mercury Retrograde was yesterday. It’s over. It wouldn’t be happening anymore. It doesn’t have any lingering effects.”

“As far as you’re aware.”

“And secondly, what do you define as technology? How far does it go? Are you talking about things that seem like the future? Are you talking about the digital?”

“It’s technology. That should be clear.”

“Look Cave, if you want to get technical, technology could be just about anything. It could be almost anything from the developed world. It could be your pants, your shirt. Could be your shoes. Technology helped make fast food, so could that count, or does it not? What about pens? Pens came from the use of technology and were developed by technology. What about sports equipment? What about books? Chris, our fucking front door is some form of technological marvel in some way. Does that count? I don’t see your hanky trying to smother you to death though. Mercury Retrograde has no bearing on technology.”

“As far as you’re aware, but, well you see, the thing is that it affects the most current of things.”

“You are wearing a new shirt, for fuck’s sake. That’s pretty current if you ask me.”

“It reminds us that we should not rely on the developments of convenience for they are a burden, you know. It affects batteries and whatnot.”

“Oh, so the definition only goes so far as for you to be able to make statements that are convenient for you. What about asthmatics that rely in inhalers? Are they fucked because their medicine is a form of technological convenience?”

As Harvey went on Cave grew more and more silent and almost disappeared into themselves. It was possible that they hadn’t considered the possibilities of what their words meant, and of course words used at the right time had power, but Harvey didn’t know what Cave was considering, for Harvey was too ingrained within their tangent.

“You know, that’s the thing about all that Mercury Retrograde cosmic-level woo bullshit fuckery. It’s all lines on wheels and it keeps getting moved around and bent and curved as much as people see fit so as to justify their own shitty, fucked up beliefs. Some people say that, yeah, they only have a passing interest and the next thing you know they’re talking about how some people are either filthy peasants or ruling the world depending on whichever demographic they want to target and how they feel and what the rain is like, as well as how supporting those who are “low” in stature due to being poor and whatnot isn’t worthwhile unless you open their eyes to the reality of things, bot those poor people generally know a lot fucking better than some rich crystal-riding grifter who charges a grand a head for a bunch of people to be naked in the dark, around a goddamn fire in order to scream into the night.

Mercury Retrograde. It’s a load of shit Cave, it’s a load of fucking shit. It’s just a thing in the sky and that’s all. The planet does nothing to us, it has no impact and people use it hide their shittiness. It’s easy to attract a lot of assholes with some cosmic woo, and they’re fucking good at deluding themselves about it too. The planet has no effect on us, it’s just a thing and stop thinking it is a thing because you’re gonna go down a dangerous path if you’re not careful.”

“I think you went a bit away from the topic there, Harvey.”

“I don’t give a shit. It’s all relative.”

Cave couldn’t deny that maybe Harvey had a point, but that point was too buried and obfuscated by all the stuff surrounding it. To his credit, Harvey knew that his point was there but he took power from it by going on a lengthy tangent. Maybe it was the stress or sudden shock of having a house react the way it did. They weren’t sure.

“Sorry. Probably too long and needless a rant.”

“It’s okay. We’re gonna have to go back home sooner or later, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but can we just take a bit of a break? Maybe head back a bit later. Bit of a wild day, you know.”

And so they sat there in some silence at the edge of the pond, watching the birds. The birds didn’t have much of a problem, but they were doing their own thing, and for a moment Harvey felt envy for them. They wondered what it was like to be a bird, and realised that if they were a bird they probably wouldn’t be wondering as to what it would be like to be a person; they’d just be getting on with getting on and doing the things that they need to do to survive. Maybe a little time for play.

The afternoon was drawing to a close and a display of colour spread out across the sky, but neither of the two moved. They continued to sit there in silence, hoping that they were imagining the whole thing, and hoping that, if they weren’t, then all that would need to be done when they got home was replace a light bulb. Could they even go home? It was hard to tell, for there was a force that was holding them there, almost as though it was telling them not to leave.

Maybe they were reading far too much into it.

The sun set and as it set the sounds around them changed into something more appropriate for a nocturnal experience. It had been a long day and soon it would be a long night, but it all seemed to rush on by. It was difficult to say if anything in particular stuck out to them; it was all so crammed with crap that it was hard to tell, but surely the lingering sentiment of it all would stick out. It usually does.

The two decided to get on up and head on home. It was too dark to stay where they were, though it likely would be safe regardless. Cave brought a torch along so they pulled it out, switched it on and the two walked on back home.

As they walked Harvey thought to themselves about the possibility that maybe Mercury did have an impact on the planet and maybe it did affect technology. Surely though there couldn’t be a link between what they saw and what was happening now. Sure, some things were a bit odd but they could be explained.

Harvey hoped that they could be explained, at least. They didn’t want to be wrong about this. They hoped that they were not wrong about what was going on.

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Mercury, Part 9

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Prior parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

I hope you  enjoy.

—

Purvell was caught quite off guard at what happened. It could’ve been a really serious injury and they managed to get away with a fair bit of luck. It could’ve been worse, they supposed. They could’ve taken the injury, but now this was something that piqued their curiosity. Naturally, it reminded them of what happened earlier, thought that one had to do with it already being on their mind.

They wondered about what the chances of two objects breaking near them in one day were, and they wondered about many more things, but now was not the time for questions. Now was the time for them to try and work out why the ceiling fan fell.

Purvell touched one of the blades, just to see if they could tilt the fan slightly and it did until they took their finger off of it, which it them responded by moving back into its original position. One of the blades had snapped, but the other two were fine, which was a relief they supposed; it meant less work being done to fix the thing.

Purvell thought about what was happening and thought that maybe there was a link between the issues with the house and the fan falling. Carefully they examined the wires but the wires seemed fine. Of course they were broken – they had to in order for the fan to fall the whole way – but they looked like they’d snapped of their own volition rather than anything that came from age.

As far as Purvell was aware, the fan was attached and sturdy, but it break between the fan and the ceiling was clean, as though someone was holding it up and let go before attaching. It was an odd break and it probably suggested something greater than just a break, but Purvell didn’t have much of an inclination to grab a ladder at that particular point and go climb up to see if there was anything else.

They wondered if the whole house was about to experience a whole load of issues as it seemed like, at least over the past two days, that that was the case. Maybe everything was coming to a head at this point. Maybe these were always here and they should have been more thorough when checking things out before they bought the place. Whatever the case, this was now something that had to be dealt with and so it was something that Purvell had to handle.

They took the fan out of the room and moved to one of the rear rooms where they stored a few sets of tools. They were not good at these things, but there were some things that Purvell could handle and repairs such as these were fine, at least until someone better qualified could do the proper fixes.

Purvell switched the light on but the light wouldn’t switch on. It was a sunny day, but that extra light was needed in this room. They tried the switch a few times and nothing. Purvell then went to grab a stand and a torch and set the torch up on the stand on a bench. They knew the batteries were charged and it was a relatively new torch, but when they tried to switch it on it refused. They tried a few more times before receiving a shock. The torch then started flickering heavily, making it not useful for working with. Purvell tried to switch the torch back off but each time they got a shock; at first minor and gradually increasing into something more and more painful.

Soon after Purvell gave up, the torch stopped, though by this point Purvell’s attention was elsewhere. They were moving quickly to the front of their house after hearing a loud smashing and scraping. They stepped outside and, much like some others, moved toward the site of a car rolled onto its roof, the wheels still trying to accelerate.

There was a person in there looking dazed. The doors were jammed shut in a way that seemed as though they were refusing to open. It was strange, to say the least, but thinking about that had to wait until later. For now someone needed help and a window needed to be smashed.

Someone grabbed a mallet from their own place and started taking to the windows. It wasn’t long before they gave out and shattered, and someone else reached in, undid the seat-belt and pulled the person out. The car’s wheels were still accelerating and, whilst the steering wheel wasn’t turning, the wheels were.

The person was bloodied and definitely dazed, but they seemed somewhat aware. They were asked if they were okay, to which the person advised that they weren’t sure what happened. Purvell and some others guided them to a bench whilst someone else called emergency services.

It appeared as though the driver was mostly unharmed. Whilst bleeding, it didn’t seem severe or significant, though it was a bit and so the group[ tried to address the wound. Slowly the driver became more coherent and started explaining that they were heading out of town when they forgot something at home, turned around and the car started driving itself.

The car had begun to accelerate and, despite attempts to press the brakes, the brakes wouldn’t trigger outside of on their own. The doors wouldn’t open and the car began to steer itself in an erratic manner. The driver considered smashing a window to get out but because the car was moving so fast and erratically they weren’t sure if they could get out. Finally it rolled over and slid, and for a moment they passed out.

One of Purvell’s neighbours suggested that maybe the car’s computer was on the fritz, but the driver advised that it wasn’t a car that had that much automation.

Purvell saw that the driver was well addressed and so they walked back over to the car. It still was trying to accelerated and drive away, and when Purvell thought that, they thought it was funny to think of a car trying to do those things and not just doing those things. It was an odd moment, but they brushed it off as it wasn’t important then.

They tried to look inside for anything in the car that would provide useful, but other than the driver’s belongings there was nothing they could discern. They took the keys out of the ignition and the car kept on trying to accelerate and turn. Purvell then walked back over to the driver and gave them their belongings. Thankfully everything seemed intact.

The driver advised that they wanted to go, but the people around requested that they stay, that it would be safer for them to stay. Still, the driver insisted and still the people insisted. Eventually the driver gave up.

The rest of the afternoon was a bit of a blur for Purvell. The ambulance and police officers came along, everyone provided information, the driver had no alcohol in their system and eventually relented about going to hospital. The car’s wheels kept on accelerating and turning, though eventually they died out just as the tow truck arrived to take the car away. Eventually people dispersed and Purvell was left standing there, wondering what had just happened. Of course they knew, but they were left with questions and a great deal of stress ab out what was going on. It had already been a long day and even though this had gone by fast, it also stretched into eons beyond what Purvell could perceive.

They thought that maybe they’ll speak to either Rigby or Clay about this, but then decided against it for now. Maybe they’d head on over to one of theirs the following day and go from there, assuming they weren’t all working of course.

For now there wasn’t much to do and so Purvell decided to go back inside, but before going through their door they found themselves no longer feeling safe. Maybe there was something going on. Maybe there was something more to Mercury retrograde and maybe that difference to how it usually appeared meant something. Maybe the planet was trying to tell Purvell and those two others something.

Purvell wondered how many people saw it and wondered if it was just an illusion or not, and Purvell realised that sleep had been lacking and they were overthinking it. Of course, however, they had data and they could still work from home, so maybe that would lead to some answers. However, they decided it’d be better to get away from the house for a bit and let themselves calm down. Being inside wasn’t going to help; they needed to feel safe before anything else and going inside was just not happening yet.

They went walking for a while, watching the later afternoon shift into dusk and into twilight and didn’t get back home until late. It was too much exercise for one day, they thought, but it allowed them time to think this time, at least. They could appreciate the trees and listen to the sound of crickets going off trying to attract something, and they could hear other sounds of other animals too, but the crickets were the loudest and those are what stuck out the most.

Purvell got home and unjammed their front door, then unthinkingly went to switch their light on. As they did they pulled their hand away, but the light turned on without any issue. No shock; no flickering. Nothing. Maybe it was all in Purvell’s head and they just needed sleep. Maybe there were no issues other than the three breakages they saw, and so much like most nights Purvell got ready for bed and went to sleep, though this time much earlier than usual. It was a deep sleep and heavy, and it was much needed, but Purvell forgot to switch the light off, though they wouldn’t have been able to anyway as, despite the light turning on when they went to hit the switch, they never did; it turned on of its own accord.

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Eriko Imura: For the Time We’ve Spent

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen, and what I wrote ended up being far fewer words than I expected. Still represents the song well enough.

I’d hoped to do a sort of comparative to the prior bit of writing. It’s the same melody in a slightly different form and plays in a rather different scene to when it’s first used. Didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, but I’m glad I gave it a go.

Eriko Imura’s (井村 絵里子) “For the Time We’ve Spent” is from Klonoa of the Wind: Door to Phantomile Original Soundtrack (風のクロノア Door to Phantomile オリジナルサウンドトラック). It’s the soundtrack for the game Klonoa: Door to Phantomile.

—

Slow drifting, almost faint, weakened, but still determined. A sadness comes across, and perhaps a regret. A sense of longing. The sound and melody is familiar, the memories are familiar, but they are being lost. There’s still warmth in here, in precious few moments, pausing, continuing, then coming to a sudden stop at the song’s end.

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Eriko Imura: Granpa’s Chair

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen. Went right in, got it done, got it written, and here it is. Not sure what I was going for. I do know that somewhere in me I didn’t think I’d be able to pull enough from describing the instrumentation,which is probably why this turned out the way it did.

Eriko Imura’s (井村 絵里子) “Granpa’s Chair” is from Klonoa of the Wind: Door to Phantomile Original Soundtrack (風のクロノア Door to Phantomile オリジナルサウンドトラック). It’s the soundtrack for the game Klonoa: Door to Phantomile.

—

Gentle sounds, familiar sounds, they play with a flow and a click. They play ticking away, comforting, they play through the transfer of familiarity and knowledge and wisdom, and they play through time, in a cosy space, in the innocence of a youth.

In these warm spaces information is shared, and the joys of family are shared. In these sounds a story is told, and it is told as is any other story from the older to the younger. And so it goes until the final note at the song’s end.

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An Island

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

This is something that I started a while ago. I was trying to do some worldbuilding for the coastal fantasy I’m working on and I put it down for a while, and am picking it up again now. However, I have to cut this writing short as, if I keep going on with it I will never get it done.

This is to give an idea of the island where the main story I’m trying to write starts. It’s fragmented, but it works.

Other parts of the coastal fantasy:

An Interaction, Early in the Journey
A Heavy Storm
A Fishing Day Commences, A Fishing Day Ends
A Passion for Boats, Leaving Home
A Rest at a Beach
A Conversation at a Beach

I hope you enjoy.

—

There is an island that is large enough to have an interior where the sound of the ocean is barely, if ever, audible, and not so large that it takes days to cross. It sits near a long stretch of a chain of islands in a space that is ideal for comparatively convenient survival, and it is populated just enough, but it is isolated.

It’s not the most isolated or remote place, and there are others on that chain who live in more isolated places, and it is an island that does see some trade and travel through, but it is isolated and it takes time to get to and from.

The main area of the island is protected by a bay with a wide entrance, and it’s where the main, albeit small, port lies. There are other places on the island that have ports and in those spots vegetation is generally more dense, but those spots are also less protected from wave and storm action and so they see less industry, perhaps to the benefit of what remains mostly uncleared.

The port itself is not heavily developed; just enough to facilitate just enough trade and transport, but it does take up space.

Along one side of the bay lies a stretch of rocky intertidal platforms and some small alcoves, mostly natural and some carved over years, and small caves. It’s a space plenty wide to walk and along it are various invertebrates forming habitats in crevices and small rock pools; some of which are used for farming, and others protected.

Along the other side the platforms are not as pronounced and instead there is a greater richness in vegetation; its width allowing establishment for various forms of flora, and thus providing a contrast to the rockier side, which also has vegetation, though less so. But vegetation is forming along parts of it, but not much would be able to take hold.

Where the land meets the water in this bay is mostly a coarse to fine sand, and the slope of the beach is not severe. Due to the bay’s size and its openness, there are the occasional rough waves and storms that scour the beach, though nothing too severe. Whilst some of the beach is exposed, plenty of it has been left to various forms of scrubby and waxy vegetation to develop, holding sand and preventing damage.

Whilst the path from the port to the various buildings has some coverage, most of it is open and plenty of vegetation behind the sand has been cleared. However, past the small village plenty of it has not, and so there still remains a clear change between what holds the sand and the more verdant that lies beyond.

The village near the main port itself has an inn that sits next to and somewhat over the main route through the island. It sits there as a place to stop and trade, and make deals and plans for wherever travellers will next go. Really though, rather than trade, which does happen, it would probably be better to say that it’s a place where setting up trade happens, however uncommon that may be. It’s also a place to rest and take time, especially if traveling by foot, for the journey to anywhere more central over the islands is long compared to that by boat, and even getting from one side of the island to the other may take a few days, though some prefer to keep their stay short.

Tourists themselves will stay there too, but tourism at that far an island is not often, and many prefer to stay at smaller locations within the village.

Beyond the village lies dense vegetation in places and other structures upheld and maintained for research purposes, for one of the universities had a research station on the island, for which they had permission to have there so long as they helped maintain the area and contribute to its health. It was far enough to be isolated, to have access to a large lake near the island’s center, but close enough that getting to other area’s of the island wouldn’t take too long, depending on if they had the right animals with them, for the island was large and small all the same, and whilst there was a main village, there were others, and some outposts too, helping to maintain travel options, roads, information, guidance… those sorts of things.

And it was a peaceful island for the most part, and saw heavy rains when they fell, and varying vegetation, seemingly lush in some areas, seemingly gangly and scrubby in others, and lush with a dullness to it, too.

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Early in the Journey

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

This is a continuation of the coastal fantasy thing that I’m slowly putting together. There’s a particular story that I want to tell, and I hope I have enough time to tell it.

This is a continuation of the character in this bit of writing. Skipping a bit ahead. Hopefully I have enough time to fill in the gaps.

The other parts of this world that I’ve written are here:

A Heavy Storm
A Fishing Day Commences, A Fishing Day Ends
A Passion for Boats, Leaving Home
A Rest at a Beach
A Conversation at a Beach

I hope you enjoy.

—

Thin strands of golden light caressed their face, and slowly they’re stirred from a deep slumber. It had been many days on the road, and many more were to come, and they woke, not feeling refreshed. Still tired, still worn out, but they woke and they got up from the nook away from the road that they slept in.

Many more days, many long days ahead. Still, they were not deterred. They collected their things, prepared themselves a light breakfast, and soon they were walking once more. Once more, a long day on feet, a long day step after step after step. Another day looking for where to go next, and making sure to get there. The destination was a long way away, and it was difficult to know if they’d actually get there.

The fifty year storm had reached their island, and much like it always had, it was causing grave concern. There was no telling how long it’d be until the lighting that travelled underneath it would start crackling and whipping through the land, the structures. There was no telling as to how much damage it would cause. All that was known is that, with the storm’s return, it would be happening soon.

The storm itself formed slowly, but had telltale signs in how the rain fell and how the clouds formed. The way it would darken a space, the way it would travel. Seemingly slow, but sudden at the same time, as though the time taken wasn’t happening at all. The last time it happened, it was devastating. Of course the island and its communities recovered, as they always do, but it was still severe enough that, a few generations later, the effects could still be felt, even if not talked about. People tend to move on, but the memory reaches through, regardless.

And so they left, looking for a faraway place, hoping to find some answers to the whole thing. Hoping to find a group that they had heard about, a group that may no longer exist, who could have the answer to all of this thing. Some believed that the storm was a curse brought to their island, a last gasp from a dying peoples to spite the people who were there, such was the hatred in their hearts. A dying group that forced others to defend themselves, and a group that had to be pushed back from the island after they attacked and attacked some more.

The journey had been short so far, and the beauty of the waterscape, of the wide ocean and the chain of islands had not been lost on them. Of course, they had seen parts of it before, but this was the farthest they had been, and possibly the most isolated they had felt. Plenty of the islands were inhabited by other people. Sometimes just a small few huts or houses, sometimes just one, and sometimes just people roaming from island to island, and plenty had no people living there at all. And it was beautiful to see, for there still were pathways, but they were not always made by other people and so only maintained by the traffic they saw.

They left against protest, for the people they spoke to on the island about it felt it a bad idea to try and find the remnants of a group who held nought but hate. However, they felt that, if there was no information that they could find in the villages of their island, then it would be worth first heading to the city, to their university, asking around, and hopefully finding something there. Failing that, hopefully a trace or remnants somewhere. Anywhere, because there was no help at their island. Something.

It was a long shot, of course, but often it is the case that these long shots bring something forward, and perhaps they needed to continue their research at the research station on their island, but there was something in them that felt this was better than doing nothing. Better to put things down if it meant avoiding another disaster. The storm, as it was always spoken about, was documented enough to know that something about it was unnatural, and perhaps it was irrefutable proof of magic existing. Whilst this would be good to know, they were far more concerned about how it impacted their island and its peoples.

The ocean that morning was a deep blue, though it often was, and it stretched far beyond what vision could see. It was still another day or two crossing the island that they were on, and the breeze blowing gently around them carried a light, yet discernible salt within it.  All that there was around them, land-wise, was the island that they were on. It was all that existed at that point in time.

After preparing a brief breakfast, they collected their belongings, tucked them back into their pack, and continued their journey northward, under idyllic conditions and among idyllic scenery, appreciating it on the surface, and only that deeply.

 

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One Thousand Word Challenge 291: A Few More Days

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Alright, so yesterday was meant to be the last day of Stupidity Hole. Fifteen years, a bunch of long writings, and then the fifteen year thing, and then a farewell post, and that would be that. That’s not how it happened, and in the weeks leading up I figured it would be better to just do the fifteen year celebration, then do a farewell post today. You know, the party happens and then the day after is the day you say your goodbyes. I figured that’d make the thing a bit less of a downer, and also give some time to wind down from celebrating.

In the last week I was umming and ahhing about this, because it had become apparent to me that I didn’t have enough time. Lack of sleep is incredibly debilitating, and it’s how I’ve spent most of my life functioning. I have no idea how, and I’ve never liked the fact that I’m able to just be awake and keep going when I need more sleep. It has been an incredibly unhealthy endeavour and it has gotten in the way of so many things.

So, essentially, what I’m saying is that there are a few more days of Stupidity Hole.

This is to give me time to tidy everything up and then bring everything to a close the way I want to. I know I won’t be able to get everything I want to get done done, but I will be able to get enough, and that’s what’s important to me at the moment.

There are so many things I have sitting here that I’ll now be able to clear. I’m not doing any more photo challenges as my participation in those has wrapped up the best I can wrap them up given my state of health and fatigue. I don’t quite have the mental capacity to keep participating in those, especially when I was meant to wrap everything up yesterday.

To be honest, part of me feels bad about extending the blog for a few more days. Part of me just wants to have it over now, but this is, in my view, the right decision to make. I’m still ending things on my terms and I’m ready to drop it, but I want things to at least be as complete as I can make them. I want to know that I did all that I can and then walk away from it all. So that’s what I’m going to do. Just a few more days, and hopefully not more. If I did everything the way that I want to and everything works out, then I know which day I’ll have everything ended and it’s not far off.

So I’ve got that all said and I wanted to spend the rest of this bit of writing talking about the need for sleep and how it has affected my ability to function throughout  life.

I generally sleep well, but I don’t sleep enough. I’ve never thought that I don’t need much sleep (as far as I’m aware, I haven’t thought that), and I’ve quite often wanted more than I get. It’s getting worse, and I know what I need to do to get more sleep, so I’m working on it the best that I can, but these things take time.

The last few weeks have been incredibly awful for lack of sleep. I wonder how I’ve managed to survive as long as I have, but especially over the last few weeks. I know I’ve gotten through things, but I have no idea as to how I’ve managed to survive at the same time. I’ve been barely functional. I’m still going, but it’s been incredibly tough.

So I’m fortunate to be sitting here, away from home, resting right now. I’ sitting here with my partner, they’re reading, I’m writing and I feel alright, but I can feel how tired I am, and it’s just heavy. Years of lack of sleep. Years of chugging along, trying to survive and get through everything. I’ve lost a lot to this blog, and I’ve lost a lot to lack of sleep.

My concentration at work has gotten worse as I’ve become more fatigued. My ability to get around and just walk, or make music, or write, or do anything I enjoy has become more of a struggle from the lack of sleep. I still function at a base level. I still get things done. It’s constantly a fight, however, and I’m having to just keep fighting. Keep pushing against what my body desires to get through each day. To get through has been tough. It has been increasingly draining.

My mental health has suffered a lot, and the lack of sleep has exacerbated a lot of issues there. It’s a cumulative thing, too. You feel it more and more, and it gets stronger and stronger, and it just keeps spiraling. It keeps getting worse.

Having the energy or the enthusiasm to go anywhere decreases. This then compounds with not wanting to be in the house and you can see where this all goes.

Essentially, not getting enough sleep sucks. It’s hard. It’s difficult. Choosing to not sleep is not an admirable thing. This really fucks over your life hard if you’re not careful, and even if you are, there’s no guarantee.

This feels a bit like a panic post, but that’s not what I’m trying to get across. What I want to say is that, if you are losing a lot of sleep, start spending time working out why and applying what you can to get more sleep in a reasonable way. Start working on finding a balance and work toward that, and get into a healthier state. Your body will thank you for it. So will your mental health. Good sleep consistently goes a long way. It’s not always easy, but it’s something worth striving for.

Look after yourself. As far as I’m aware, you only have one life.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:42:24

Decent speed and got across what I wanted to, so I’m happy with the result.

Written at Killara.

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Fifteen Years of Stupidity Hole

Posted on April 17, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

What a run.

I was hoping to have more variance in today’s posts, but this is the last chance I had to share these photos, so that took over the posting. Also made it a lot easier for me to share stuff.

I’m thinking about the last year primarily and all the heaviness that came through the posts, and how that’s not what I wanted happening between the fourteen years anniversary and this one. I’m also thinking about where my writing has gone and how it has changed since I started Stupidity Hole. It has been a wild, dull ride.

I set out to write a lot of silly stuff and that’s not exactly how things went. After lockdown, things became very much a meditation on boredom, but in a far clunkier way than that suggests, probably because it was by accident. Well, boredom and depression, but the depression was always there, I suppose. And grief. Can’t forget grief.

I probably could’ve done a better job of slowing down and pacing myself better. That would’ve helped immensely. Oh well.

I want to keep this one short and sweet because I’m not actually that big on anniversaries. Fifteen years is a good run and I’m glad I made it this far. I probably should have stopped a long time ago, but I persevered and whilst a lot of the writing I’ve done here I find lacking, I’m glad it’s mine.

What else is there to say? This should be a celebration. This shouldn’t be sad. I’ve had a lot of downs and some ups, but I can’t complain. Well, I can and I probably will, but I’m happy with things right now, and I want to linger in that happiness for a bit.

But yeah. Fifteen years. What a time.

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