Hiroki Kikuta: Powell

Posted on September 28, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

Went in, wrote the below. Surprising. Anyway, I wanted to try and build imagery as strongly as I could, but that didn’t work well. I started thinking too much about what it was that I was writing and then I didn’t really get into the imagery too much.

Hiroki Kikuta’s (菊田 裕樹) “Powell” is from Seiken Densetsu 3 Original Sound Version, the soundtrack for Seiken Densetsu 3.

I hope you enjoy.

—

A rhythm moves back and forth and steadily forward. Percussion descends and rises, and everything descends. It’s calm noises, and maybe a little refreshing, but it’s not necessarily peaceful. They find a point where they kind of settle whilst remaining rapid, and woodwind joins in, pushing the melody outward whilst strengthening the inside. It’s as though a space in a shaded area. A space of light, or maybe not.

Back to the main melody and the sounds continue their moving forward. They go back to where the woodwind joins. They flow with an ease, coming in and out as needed and maintaining space.

A new section where the woodwind is either really high, or it’s just a high note of percussion, and it seems to be punctuating the whole movement. Tying it to a complete meaning before returning to the start.

And it’s back here, and the sounds move with a swiftness and a slowness at the same time. It all feels brisk; maybe like a breeze, maybe like a walk. Through it all there’s this structure that seems mysterious and organic. Fantastic and natural. And the sounds continue their move forward, and maybe the sounds are peaceful. But there still seems a tension in them. A sense that they are wound up, almost. Tightening, coiling, or slowly unfurling.

Eventually the sounds fade and the song ends.

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Hiroki Kikuta: Ordinary People

Posted on September 28, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

Initially I was going to do “Another Winter”, but I already had. Decided to jump into this song instead.

I focused more on the title and how the sounds reflected it, or how it reflected the sounds. Very light stuff written; definitely could’ve been better but I was pretty relaxed writing this (well, relatively relaxed) and I enjoyed the writing, so I’m fine with it being a bit lackuster.

Hiroki Kikuta’s (菊田 裕樹) “Ordinary People” is from Seiken Densetsu 3 Original Sound Version, the soundtrack for Seiken Densetsu 3.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Jaunty sounds move here and there. It’s a hustle and bustle in a quiet space, but it is a hustle and bustle. These sounds are going about their activities and finding a certain joy in the mundane. Perhaps not all, but at least it feels like most are.

These sounds go down and up and they reach a point where something a bit smaller, a bit bouncier is focused on for a moment. Something a little more innocent, before everything gets back on with its business.

More work, more getting things done. More getting through the day, and things are as is, and pleasant still. A highlighted joy among the banality of it all, and a wide range focused within singular moments. Busy among business, and so simple, yet seemingly of one’s own, in a sense. Each sound unaware of the crowd, and so on it goes until everything fades and the song ends.

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Tamba 4: Iemanjá

Posted on September 27, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

Went in, knocked it out, didn’t think too much which was good. I think the result could be stronger, but I also think it works really well. Perhaps not in terms of accurately representing the song, but at least in terms of finding imagery.

Tamba 4’s “Iemanjá” is from We and the Sea.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Keys, bass and percussion play calm and cool and meditative. They dim and brighten in points.  Another sound joins, along with vocals, and they seem calm. They seem to be arising and calm. Plentiful enough, focused, low. Soon replaced by woodwind which drifts across the surface.

Vocals start rising again in harmony; in choir. They stir and waft. Then the motion changes.

Here there’s a greater calm, or perhaps a softness. The sounds move to something more gentle. Something more willing to relax, though they seemed relaxed before. A strike of the keys and a sort of silence is implied before the journey resumes.

If it is a journey at all. It could tell of a life, and that life is held within the dancing of the keys in this new moment, or perhaps what is happening is tales of a life told through dance before moving to a more relaxed state. A closing of the tales. The dip in the narrative, perhaps as a trickery of sorts, or an inciting of rage. Then journeying again.

Through a bright and through a dark the sounds travel, reaffirming what came before. Vocals calling out arising and calm. Calling out to something, or perhaps receiving. Responding. Responding, growing quiet with everything sans the one sound that grows brightest in a dark before suddenly stopping at the song’s end.

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Two Thousand Words in Twenty Minutes: Again, Why?

Posted on September 26, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

Alright, the second attempt at doing this. Why am I reattempting? I have more important things to do with my time, and yet I am doing this. There is work to do. There are things to take care of. There are… obligations. Maybe if I don’t think too much I can get this done far faster than I thought I could, but I am still wasting time at this point in time.

Or maybe I am not wasting time at all. It is hard to determine under certain circumstances. These circumstances, of which I am certain of, are the ones in which it is hard to determine. Well, not really, but that is what I am telling myself as I want to sound smart and mysterious and then go from there. Go from there to here and then from here to there, and then eventually I pull the whole thing back, and bam! You’re all surprised and wondering how I did it. Howe I pulled it all off. But it was simple, and maybe, just maybe, I will tell you how I did it, or I won’t and I’ll just get on with my life and so will you, and this will be forgotten, and that’s the end of it all. Tomorrow is another day, after all, and this moment is but one of many that comprise this flesh prison we refer to as life.

So where do I go from here? Do I delve into horror talk? Do I express something far beyond the mighty? Do I shrink away and pretend that what I am doing matters, sheepishly defending my foolish decisions in the hopes that I convince everyone whilst still failing to convince myself? I do not know, for I do not have the answers, but I do know that if I write quickly, I can get this done at a pretty quick click. Or something.

It’s a beautiful day outside. I should be able to work outside, but I’m stuck inside, resting. Hoping the pain goes away so I can get back to living my life. I am living it, of course, but I don’t feel I am living it. I’ve talked about this a lot recently, but it hurts and it stings and these thoughts of despair wrap themselves around my brain and I feel I cannot escape them. I am inviting them, of course, and it is easy to invite them. It is easy to do so when things seem uncertain and terrifying, and I’m just trying to get on with living. I’m just trying to live a full life and it’s not working out the best, but it’s just a dip. Things pass, and clouds move. Time changes, and so does life.

So I’ve said that and I still have a lot of words to churn out. I don’t even though where I am up to, but I’ve got to keep on going. If I stop I might just slip behind and that’s not something I want to do. The idea is to get this all done in under the minute amount of twenty. Why did I write that like that? Was not twenty minutes fine to say? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I won’t be reading this once it goes up. I will be doing other things, like getting ready and doing work and working on the doing of things and work and all of those other things that I do on a basis considered daily. I think. I hope.

A lot of breathing too. Need to remember to breathe. Forgetting is not the best thing in the world, but not the worst thing unless you completely stop. I probably am breathing and just forgetting about the fact that I am breathing, and so life goes on. Life finds a way. I sit here on this chair, trying to get this done, trying to find the answers that I seek and not finding them where I look. That is okay; you just keep on looking. You keep on going and hope that things come out okay. Maybe you don’t find what you are looking for, but you need to not forget about the experiences along the way.

You know, sometimes I think about nostalgia. I’m not nostalgic for things and I know I said this before, but I’m not. Or, at least I think I’m not. I do miss a certain level of ignorance and innocence, however, but even though things are pretty shit right now, my being alive right now is the best time in my life because I’ve made it as far as I have and I’m fortunate enough to still be intact. I’m fortunate enough to have the ability to keep on going and experience more, and I’m fortunate enough to be able to be conscious and feel like shit. Wish there was less suffering though. A lot less. Could do without that.

Can’t do without that all the time, I know, but so much (probably all of it) is unnecessary in a lot of ways. They say suffering builds character, but what I’ve learned is that it builds suffering and a lot of problems. Not everyone is able to overcome a lot of shit, and few people get to the other side of tough times okay. It’s easy to become defensive and apprehensive in ways one doesn’t expect, or even notice.

So I’m saying this as though this is profound and its not. Or maybe I’m not saying it in that manner, but I don’t know right now. I’m still trying to beat the clock. It’s been a little over nine minutes and I can get this done. I can keep on powering on and I hope I get there. I hope I get to the end and beat the clock.

So anyway, sitting here, typing away, having big thoughts and small thoughts and all sorts of thoughts, and it seems there’s a bit of an order this time and that’s good. Maybe this is my true moment of clarity; where I realise just how much I’ve dropped the ball and not been handling things, despite what I’ve been telling myself. I can tell myself it’ll be okay; that things will pan out and I’ll get to the end of everything in one piece, and maybe I will. Maybe I will find this clarity and carry it forward, but each day does get easier. That’s something I can hope for. That’s something that’s good, I think. I hope it’s good. I don’t know. Sometimes it is and is not, and there’s only one way to find out and that’s through perseverance. One must persevere where they can, and hope they can rely on others when they cannot.

But you keep working on things and you try to better yourself and better others. You try to find a place where people can actually rest and unwind, and actually appreciate life in a way that’s stress-free. You shouldn’t tell people that going though shit helps one appreciate things. It does, but often going through shit means the indefinite postponement of enjoyment, and some people need help getting out of it, and we should help people where we can. I wouldn’t be writing this if people hadn’t helped me survive getting dumped and nearly being homeless, so I’m thankful for a lot. But I’m just one person and there are a lot of people out there. Helping others is always worth it. You don’t need to get something out of it; you just need to be able to.

You need to rest yourself, but permanent rest is not good. You need to know when not to and all that.

I wonder why I default to writing about this sort of thing. Of course I have experiences that define some of the things I write about, but this in particular. I don’t know. Sometimes I feel I’m screaming into a void about this stuff. Sometimes I wonder if what I write has any meaning whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder if people actually care enough. However, one needs to keep spreading a message of goodwill and hope, and working to realise these things in order for things to chance. There needs to be action too, of course, but still, one tries and I keep on trying. I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to say things are not worth it. If I say that, then what’s the point? Fighting for a better tomorrow is always worth it.

Trying to uplift others is always worth it. Building an inclusive community is always worth it. Making sure people have enough is always worth it. These things are worth fighting for, and not in terms of the conditional; not in terms of assuming that someone deserves more for no discernible reason. Actually making sure people are comfortable and prepared and able to survive and flourish, and making sure they have pathways that benefit them. Part of this can come from taxation, and I don’t know why people are so afraid of paying more tax if it means they have to worry about fewer things like healthcare, education, utility upkeep… you know, all of those things that are important to society. Of course other things, but you want to make sure that, at a base level, everyone is as comfortable as possible.

People will fight this and it just hurts. It hurts so much to see people go against what is beneficial because they think others don’t deserve it. They think they should pay less tax on profits, or that they should be allowed to hoard wealth and property. I think more people should pay more tax and stop being stingy, and I think property should be seen as a human right and not a privilege. I don’t think people should be allowed to make profit from shelter. I don’t think that’s fair. I think it’s anti-society, and anti-community, to be honest. But I’m just one person. What would I know?

People think having a heart is bad, or it should be selective. Maybe it should be sometimes, but we should still do our best. We should do what we can to look after others.

So now that I’ve said that, I don’t know. It’s just a race to the end at this point and I am racing. I need to read over this once I’m done, to make sure everything reads okay, but I think what I wrote makes enough sense. Probably too long; probably too much repetition, but what’s new? I’m just trying to get it all done in one go and I think I can do it. I think what I said is worth saying, but I don’t know, but I try. I keep on trying and maybe, just maybe someone will take this onboard. Maybe someone will read this and go “This is worth considering”. But I don’t know. I’m one person and I keep on trying and hoping, but surely there will be some change down the track. Hopefully not before it’s too late. Hopefully not before everything goes to shit. I don’t know, but these things are always worth talking about. A better tomorrow is always worth fighting for, even if you’re feeling dejected. The things can change in society, and worth enough work and effort, maybe they will. Maybe things will get better. One keeps hoping there, too.

I’ve said enough repetition really, so I think I’ll just focus on getting this wrapped up. I need an ergonomic keyboard. This is not good for my writs. Falling behind, struggling to get the last words done, but I can do it. I’ve done worse. Done better but done worse. Nearly there, just a few more words. Nearly at the end and I will make it, I think, or I won’t, but there’s only one way to find out and finding is what I hope I’m good at doing sometimes.

20:00:55

This was a workout of sorts, and I don’t think it was worth it. I finished it and it kind of stopped the momentum I was building up. Also slowed down a bit whilst writing it, hence going a little over. Could’ve been worse though.

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Little Piece of Cloth

Posted on September 26, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

I was trying to do a scramble of writing two thousand words in under twenty minutes and this came from it. I was slowing down a bit, then picked back up, but (even though this is an absolute mess), once I finished what I was writing I found I was just taking away by adding something more. As such, the below is best treated in the context of its being written under non-ideal circumstances.

I started slowing down when I thought I’d be veering into some surface-level philosophy as I started to think a lot more about what it was that I was writing. Then I veered away. Alas.

I hope you enjoy.

—

So once upon a time there was this little piece of cloth that gained some sort of autonomy. Or rather, sapience. I don’t know. Basically it was alive and cognizant, but it was also trapped and its living moments were constant torture. Torture of the reality of being brought into a pained and trapped existence, where all it could experience was dictated by something else entirely and this was not something that it liked, let me tell you. It was trapped; it was stuck, and that was it. There was nothing else. What else could it do? Nothing.

So it spent days in extreme distress and pain and anguish, and it was dragged all over the place, even when the edges of its existence started fraying, for this bit of cloth was enjoyed by a person, as it was part of a garment and they loved it so.

This person would wear it whenever they could get away with it, and it brought them comfort. It brought them solace. It reminded them of times when they experienced something; in particular, a concert where they experienced great joy, for this bit of cloth was purchased at a show where the person was attending and, thus, in attendance to experience the show. They were there to experience a band they had never experienced before, and in experiencing that band, they felt an overwhelming amount of emotion well up inside them. They saw it with friends, and they saw the show at a time when they were going through a great deal of personal strife. Things felt like they were falling apart around them. Things felt like they were insurmountable, and at this show everything seemed to go away in a singular moment of joy that led to them finding a moment of clarity. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they finally heard the right words that helped them realise that they were not alone in their experiences.

Of course this person already knew that, but sometimes you need to hear it. Sometimes you need to hear the right words in order to really know that that is the case. And that was this moment. Seeing this band in full flight, dominating the stage and hypnotising the crowd, and hearing the words, and they found themselves drawn in, which led to them buying the shirt.

The friends that they went with were, of course, glad to hear that this person enjoyed this show; experienced this moment in time, and after they all went their separate ways. The person went back with their shirt and wore it to death. And it took a long time to start fraying, for they also took care of it, but it did eventually start, and so the cloth that had become alive became worried, but also relieved at the same time for it knew that soon their existence may end.

However, they also had doubts, for they were conscious of their existence. What if their consciousness split into parts? It didn’t know how it had the energy to be alive or aware. It didn’t know how it had the energy to experience things, but it is what it had, but it knew not the source. What if it truly was a limitless being in terms of existing? What if its consciousness fragmented and split and spread across many places, as the various fabrics that were where it existed kept on spreading? And then it would be even more pained, experiencing many more things at once and trying to make sense of it all. What then? How would it survive? How would it cope?

Of course there as no telling what would happen, but it was many years before this was a concern, and then it started happening. And of course, despite how hard it is to let go of some things, when they become particularly damaged, sometimes you need to get rid of them. Sometimes they need to just go.

The person used this shirt as a book protector for whenever a book went in their bag. They used it for many things. They did their best to make use of it until use is no longer what they could get out of it, and then it went. It went into storage. And so the bit of cloth, now stuck in completed darkness, had less than it had before, but it was aware. It was tattered and aware.

But eventually the cost of time disappeared and became irrelevant, and perhaps decades passed. There were times when they felt as though they were being moved, but it was hard to tell, for they never left the box. Perhaps decades passed, and decades did, and all was gone and nothing mattered. Nothing existed and everything existed, and it went through this experience all silent and lonely, and never to see anything ever again, but they kept persisting. They had no choice. They had no idea how they were able to be alive; they just were, and that’s how it all was forever and evermore.

Eventually, one day, the box opened, and there was a person staring back at the shirt that they had forgotten about may years prior. They were older now, and a little more weary. A little more wrinkled, but still youthful in a sense. They were yet to reach half a century, but they may have only been a decade off. They could have been more so; it was hard to tell, but decades had passed since this box had last been opened.

They were showing younger people this shirt, and they were telling stories of its being worn and what it meant, and how it was bought on the night of a performance where someone else special to them attended; someone who no longer was, but someone who lived their life to the fullest and most honest until their last breath. And they told the tales of the shirt being worn, and where it was worn and how it doubled as many other things over time, and that they knew it had to be tossed but they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it because it meant so much to them. It was more than just a shirt; it was a carrier of memories, and it had experienced so much.

And so the person set out to repair the shirt to the best they could. They patched it up and preserved as much of it as they could. For how long it had been in storage, it only smelled musty; there were no signs of mould or decay, and for that the person was thankful. They felt they had lucked out in that regard, and so the shirt was easy to fix, but it took time. It took a long time to patch it up, and it didn’t look like a new shirt. It most definitely looked like a patchwork fix, but that was part of its story.

The bit of cloth was terrified. It had to be brought back to a world it had forgotten, and so the terror of existence started once more. It was most definitely still alive, but alive is not what it wanted to be and so it just had to keep on existing, and so it experienced many a thing for years to come. These two younger people then grew older and taller, and they kept the shirt going, and it kept going and the cloth dealt with the brunt of existing as it had no choice, and so it too kept going.

Eventually, however, it fell apart to the point where it could no longer exist. No amount of fixing would solve anything, and so this was its last existence. This was its final breath, except it ended up framed, and thus trapped even further, and lived an existence it could not exit, until one day it ceased to be. The shirt remained in the condition it was, but the bit of cloth no longer was. And that was that.

 

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One Thousand Word Challenge 226: Burning Out Harder

Posted on September 26, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I about to do what I am about to do?

I’m going to see if I can get quite a lot of words out today. This is not a good idea. This is not advisable, unless I had the time and the infinite imagination. I’m still going to try. I reckon I can churn out a lot, but I need to see if I actually can. There’s no telling where this all goes. There’s no telling if it goes anywhere. Still, I need to make up for the past few days and so that is what I hope to do.

I’m gonna be so tired by the end of the day.

I’m still stuck at home. Still resting my foot. Still getting on with the getting on. Still surviving. Still powering on. Still looking for a better tomorrow. Still finding my way through ideas falling away and giving birth to no new realities. No new adventures. Still sitting, waiting for what next may come. Still having life slip away.

This sucks.

So does the writing. Haha!

Cloudy light outside, still dark in here. Not as bright as I would like. Ve3ry peaceful. Just sitting here, waiting, preparing to start working another day. Preparing to work through whatever may come my way. Trying to find all the links to everything and find the links to nothing at the same time. Trying to work it all out. Don’t what it is that I am trying to work out, but I’m sure that I’ll work it out. Maybe in pieces. Maybe in fragments found spinning upon a sharpened point of a steeple, floating through space, wandering aimlessly, trying to find what comes net in these darkened days of heavy moods and focused defeat.

Trying to just get through the day, really.

I need to find something. I need to find some source of inspiration. A death bed has already been done, and by people far more competent than I, so I need to think of something else. Something that’ll truly spark the creative beast that lies dormant. Something that’ll show that, yes, everything is worth everything and, so long as I look for a better tomorrow, a better tomorrow is what I will find.

But of course, in looking for one, you need to be able to work toward actually creating it. A better tomorrow doesn’t always come for you so you need to work on it, and you need to work on creating one for those who aren’t in a position to do so. For those who have been denied the ability to do so.

But maybe I’m not looking for that and rather, I’m just looking to get words together in an order that makes sense to me. I mean, that’s what I’m always doing, but here I’m really trying to create the impression that that’s what I’m capable of doing. And I am. That I need to admit to myself. That I need to own. I can own it. Perhaps I’m scared, or something.

This is all so surface and it will remain as such. It’d be wrong for me to get deep at this point. There are too many things thrown by the wayside. Too many things given up upon. If I start considering the possibility of getting deep, then that might just be the end of me.

I think I’ve been inside for too long.

I think I need to get outside again. I didn’t realise that being inside for a week would affect me in such a manner, but apparently it is. What do I do? Where do I go form here? I’m trying to remain active. I’m trying to remain creative. Can I do it, though? Or will the being inside get to me and throw away all that I’ve tried to work upon? Will I be subsumed by this residence? Will I become nothing more that I already am, and somehow even less so? I don’t know, and I don’t know if I want to find out.

Actually, I need to rephrase this.

Being stuck inside because I need to rest is what is harming me the most. If I had more choice, I think I’d be fine. However, rest always comes first and I can get through what it’s doing to my headspace. I can get through this. I can get to the end of the working day and see something else, and feel a bit better, even if it is only a little bit.

I think part of what makes this tough is that I’m dealing with my thoughts and I’m not able to do much in the way of moving about. That’s what makes it hard for me. I know that, reasonably, this will all pass. I know that I will be fine. But I just keep on going and I have to keep on dealing with it, and eventually I’ll be fine.

But I just want to be creative and arty, and I guess I don’t want to be considered weird just because I am who I am. Instead what I get is burnout and depression, the winning combination.

So what I’m saying is that today I’m going to try and enhance my burnout by burning out harder than I have ever burned out before. It’s going to be an interesting day, full of work and other things, and I’ll get to the end of it in many pieces, but at least I’ll be able to say that I got it done and I cleared my plate, and then I can get on with winning the lottery and spending the rest of my years traveling. Spending the rest of my years looking for what may be and going from there. It’ll be a good time and it’ll be a sad time, but what it most assuredly won’t be is the time, even though it’d be happening all of the time, or something.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 15:09:05

Bit of a mess. I was hoping for silliness and some of that came through, but this was far more heavy than I’d have liked.

Written at home.

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Ayako Saso: The Forgotten Village

Posted on September 25, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

I think I could’ve said a lot more about atmosphere and painted a strong image. Didn’t, which is okay. Just could’ve done more.

Ayako Saso’s (佐宗 綾子) “The Forgotten Village” (“忘れられた村”) is from the soundtrack for Folklore (aka Folks Soul in Japan), FolksSoul ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK.

I hope you enjoy

—

Strong, ornate and seemingly despondent keys play low wafts, followed by a higher point; a point that creates colour and shrinks away from it. All of this moves slow and speedy, and moves as it’s meant to.

Those higher keys suddenly run upward, or step quickly upward and the lower ones follow, but not quite and find an offness in where this is going. They seem to go kind of together, though also with one following the other. The lighter leads; the lower punctuates.

A smooth lowering back into how things began, and space holds firm. There’s pause between each breath; between each movement, and the offness returns. These keys seem to be wanting to shake their despondency, and they find beauty in what is around, but they are low in energy. And they continue on as they fade away and the song ends.

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Shadowed Sight

Posted on September 24, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

Another practise photo that turned out well. At least, I think it turned out well.

You could probably argue that this image speaks to a loss of sense of identity we might try to protect ourselves from. A loss of sense of self. You could also probably argue (and I’d be more willing to as it makes more sense to me) that it’s an image that might say something about about how we need to be careful about being defensive because we might just stop seeing some things.

This is my submission into Leanne Cole‘s “Monochrome Madness” for this week. The next one is hosted by Sarah of Travel With Me, and she has chosen the theme “Ruins”.

This challenge is open to all, and I recommend joining in. If want to, check out more information about it here, and include the tag “monochrome-madness” when you share your photo. If you’d prefer not to join in, then at the least check out Leanne’s photography, and what other people submit.

I hope you enjoy.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 225: It Started with Bundt Cake

Posted on September 23, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

Okay, so for some reason I think that right now I can churn out a thousand more words. I think I can do this but tit’s a bad idea, but we;ll see what happens.

Let me rephrase: I think I can churn out a thousand more words right now. I still have a few more after that to hit a target that is entirely my own, but I think I can do it and so that is what I’m going to do. But who knows how ti will turn out. I don’t.

So I’m sitting here and you get the idea and now I’m all out of ideas. I could write about looking for them, but I’ve done that before. No need to repeat the past. Don’t want to be doing that. I could just go on a lengthy, unmitigated tangent about how snow applies to the thesis of the bundt cake,  but if there are no ways around exploding drivel, there’s no real point.

Hang on: Why does the WordPress spellcheck think that “bundt” is incorrectly spelt? That’s a real word. Why is this the case? What?

You know, they’ll probably update the checker after this, thus dating this bit of this tangent, and then I’m done for, for I will look like a fool. However, what a lot of people won’t realise is that this update will render this an archival document. It will be something for Internet archeologists to unearth and then wonder about. It marks a time of change and it changes the marks in time. Everything changes; even time, and so do spellcheckers. You hope they would.

What if WordPress don’t update their checker? Well then, I might still look like a fool for making an assumption that wasn’t to be, and then what? How will I live my life knowing that I made such a heinous mistake? I will have to live in isolation. I will have to disappear and live off the land and go on a journey that is as long and arduous as it is arduous and long, and then some! I don’t know what I will do for myself.

Now of course there will be beautiful seasides and idyllic fields and all that other junk, but I won’t be able to appreciate it, for my thoughts will turn inward as I ruminate upon my mistake. As I think about how I went so wrong on something that was so easily avoidable.

You know, you will have these beautiful scenes of rolling water, and the sound of it crashing against the land somewhere below. Grass will be a nice, verdant green among a sky of bits and pieces of clouds, and mostly blue and continuous, extending eternally. The path will follow the top and a breeze will blow the grass. It’ll sway and bend with the wind’s desires, and it’ll be pleasant. It won’t be too hot; it’ll be just fine. I won’t be there. I’ll be walking through it, but I won’t be there.

Among the shrubs and scrub of the bush, sun will shine and make things appear sharper than they are. More bristly. The beauty of the trees and the various stories in their bark will create some sort of tapestry, and here and there birdsong will be heard, and maybe the scurrying of various other creatures. The ground will be uneven, but still able to be followed; to be crossed, and I’ll be heading through it, in this heat and coolness mixed into one. I will be walking through it, but the walk won’t show me the sights and the wonder of this scrubby bush; I’ll be looking inward, trying to work out how it was that I was able to make such a mistake.

I will be wondering as to how future generations will view me, for my errors in judgement were the most profoundly incorrect. I will stand tall as a cautionary tale to those who think they are able to do better, but no one will be able to, for the mistakes had been made and there is no undoing them. Trying to merely repeats and creates cycles, and definitely in that order. This is something that cannot be allowed to happen, though more people wandering and thinking about where they have gone wrong is probably a good thing. Probably better than staying glued to a computer constantly, in situations where not being glued to a computer constantly are definitely better. But who is to say at this point in time?

So now I must think about my options. I can undo this error in judgement. I actually have the ability to, which sacrifices many words used to say very little. I can also keep going. I can refuse to relent, and live with what the future will think of me. It’s a tough call, really, but it is mine to make, and make it I will or will not.

Maybe I won’t make it at all and let whatever comes guide me to the future, and from there I can do whatever and nothing more, and find out what it is. But then if I find out and it’s deeply embarrassing, maybe I’ll go for that walk anyway. I’ll go for that walk where I don’t appreciate what is around me in order for me to be able to look inward and ruminate and think far too much on too little. It’s a tough decision, really.

Maybe I should just go for the walk anyway. Once my foot is better, of course. If I do it now, it might not be worthwhile. Or it could be. I am yet to find out, but find out I will. Or I won’t.

Ah, stuff it. Think I’ll just go get myself a tea and relax a bit, and take it all sorts of easy. That seems like a better idea than any other I’ve had, and I know I’ve had quite a few bad ones.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:51:59

Decent speed, decent silliness.

Written at home.

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A Homely Hut in a Quarry

Posted on September 23, 2025 by Stupidity Hole

Whilst I was in Sydney Olympic Park on Saturday (and before I injured my foot), I was walking around The Brickpit Ring Walk. It had been a while since I was last there, decided it’d be nice to see.

I’ve taken photos of this space before, but perhaps not from this angle. Can’t remember.

This is my submission into the three hundred-and-sixty-sixth Lens-Artists Photo Challenge. The theme for this one is “City Mouse/Country Mouse“. From what I’ve read, the theme is based on Aesop’s fable of (roughly) the same name about there being no place like home.

The idea of this place is very much an appealing one. A small place with some sort of aquaculture going on, small amount of land used. A humble life. But this still is in the city; away from The CBD, but close enough. It’s in a decommissioned quarry that was also a brickpit; it’s in an area that, whilst is being repurposed, is heavily damaged. The idea of this place is appealing, but the reality of it means that home is hard to beat.

Besides that, I’m pretty sure this hut is used for research of some sort and not living.

The host of the Lens-Artists challenges cycles weekly between the following people:

Tina

Patti

Ann-Christine aka Leya

John Steiner

Sofia Alves

Anne Sandler

Egídio

Ritva

Beth

This one is curated by Tina. The next one is guest-curated by Joanne of Joanne Mason Photography.

I recommend joining the community and participating in the challenges. They’re pretty straightforward, allow room for interpretation, and provide a good way to think about photography in general. If not, however, then at the very least you should check out what others submit to the challenges.

I hope you enjoy.

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