Words of Wisdom: “Keep the Momentum Up!”

New year, new blog resolution? Yay! Keep your excitement high with resources and tools that’ll keep you publishing through 2017.

Some great tips towards growing your style, inspired by ‘The Daily Post’ prompt


via Keep the Momentum Up! — The Daily Post


My Epilepsy story an introduction

Miracle grow at its finest! I hope things continue to go well

cannabis cure

I had my first seizure when i was 18 months old and soon after was diagnosed with epilepsy, I have mainly nocturnal seizures either when falling asleep or waking but when I’m ill, upset or tired I will have daytime seizures and on many occasions i have injured myself from falling and hitting my head.  Throughout my life I’ve been on numerous medications, anti epileptic drugs, sedatives, anti depressants etc.. Nothing stopped my seizures and the side effects of the medications were horrible, I was constantly tired and sick.   I’ve been passed around from consultant to consultant, and not one of them knew me or what i needed so they either just threw more drugs at me which I’d already tried or tried to say i may not even be epileptic. An accident and emergency doctor once said to me that my epilepsy was an atypical case and that…

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Insomnia 59: Day One

This is my newest branch of the blog: 8BZT Gaming! This is the first gaming convention of many that I will be attending to get some inspiration for creative writing, provide coverage on some new indie games, reviews and interviews! I’d love some feedback on this post, it is an alternative look at gaming conventions in the sense that I will primarily be focusing upon the party element and the many aspiring game developers that spend time getting to know the gamers and what they want.


I may be wrong but I see this as a poem about dealing with the loss of a loved one. The amplitude of emotion of which cannot be shared by your partner who lays beside you as you toss and turn. Through the cracked window is a brilliant site, I highly recommend

Through The Cracked Window

This one beside me

Cannot ease the pain

I endure the burden’s strain

To ease this mortal load

One would have to know


I would fade in days

My demons rant and rage

As I write upon this page

They try to hide

But I will not abide


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Nutmeg High

A few hours had passed after consuming the recommended amount of nutmeg which I had purchased from the local shop. Such disastrous consequences to be had from a substance defined as legal, such hallucinogenic properties to be found as the key to a new awakening of my deep, inner subconscious. “A legal high” I thought to myself as I led smiling to myself in my bed. It figures, due to the paucity of psychotropic antics which I was eager to experience and yet until now eluded me.

As I waited with my eyes shut I began to produce an internal monologue of my feelings and current state. “I feel quite alright” I thought to myself. I began to debate the legality of the substance, calling it “an abomination and indictment of this countries legal system”. How could a drug with such severe side effects and adverse effects including visual and auditory hallucinations be legal and readily available to any and all who walk into the store in a society which demonizes marijuana. Marijuana being a drug with defined medicinal benefits with no chemical addiction or long-term effects.

“Perhaps it is you who is broken”

“Perhaps… however this does not explain the general ignorance or failure to recognize both sides of the debate. It is as though they entered the court with a pair of fluffy pink earmuffs to void them of the responsibility of having to uphold their supposed democracy… wait, who was that?”

I opened my eyes. In the corner stood a skinny, skeletal scoundrel that I can only describe as Gollum’s less vertically challenged brother. He stood by my door, his ribs overhanging, his eyes shrouded and as dark and reflective as a black mirror. A mirror which if one were to gaze into for long enough, one would be able to enter a realm of enhanced perspective, an ecstacy fueled vision of the forgotten realities of the habitual drug users. Too stoned to comprehend, and too mindless to remember… I find a pen and paper helps. The mans skin was a pasty, translucent white and crawled with black, snakelike veins. His jaw locked open as he trembled with oozing black liquid which meandered around his teeth.

A few minutes passed, all awhile I stared back asking him simplistic questions in a futile effort to provoke some kind of response. I questioned him, I asked his name, his origin and why he had joined me on such an auspicious night. He remained silent. I decided not to pursue this further and so rolled to my side to ignore him. I began to close my eyes, my mind began to drift onto seemingly more pressing matters such as what state I would be in the next day.

“If I just turn my head to the side… and shut my eyes…”

Suddenly I became subject to a deathifying scream of such amplitude that it shook me to my very core. The moment I ripped open my eyes, it was gone. I looked at the man again as he stared vacantly back, the intensity of my glare began to make my eyelids heavy. I decided once again… to drift off and… fuck sake!

The man belted another piercing scream, this time giving away his foul intent; to prevent me from delightful slumber.

“Two can play at this game”

I decided to establish a new perspective, I stood thinking to myself that the man led in bed looks rather disgruntled, noticing that it was actually me. I stepped closer to myself to see pale white eyes surrounded with curling black veins as I smiled and began to hysterically laugh. The man in the corner continued to scream as I pondered my new self.

“Is my new perspective the product of a memory lodged in my subconscious and brought to life by this drug? Is this temporary construct the result of an opened memory from the countless times I had seen this room from this angle, amalgamated with countless others including my time spent looking in the mirror which has provided a scale accurate map of my own features? Had I really watched that much Lord of the Rings?! Am I dead?! No… the man in the bed looks very much alive.”

I then decided in my infinite wisdom to don a pair of fluffy pink earmuffs which I happened to be holding. I turned to a free-fall through a portal of spiraling blue, glass shards. I was stopped by the abrupt sound and feeling of my face impacting my pillow.

“My new perspective is a thing of the past”

I said to myself.

I was now unable to hear the man in the corner of the room. My eyes were closed to avoid further witnessing this terrifying apparition in an attempt to get some much-needed rest. Without opening my eyes I saw myself generate from a flash of clinical white light. I was now led lifeless while wearing a white gown and the earmuffs in a white padded room desolate of any objects or distinguishable features. I was able to see myself with my eyes shut, an omnipresent perspective which I seemed to have no control over. I felt an unnerving presence followed my rippling vibrations that resonated my bones as I felt it draw nearer. Then I saw it. It’s mouth gaped across the entirety of its face with serrated white teeth protruding asymmetrically, it had no eyes, hair or nose, only stretched skin with indents where its empty sockets lay. He knelt next to me and began to move his chaffed lips, the cool chill of its breath shot goosebumps across my neck and further instilled a morbid feeling of death which accompanied its presence.

Its whispers continued, undefined by my muted ears until a single word broke the silence. A word that even today induces an icy chill down my spine; “fear”. It’s voice was a grainy crackle which shocked me to my very core. My closed eyes ripped open to reveal a glaze of black decorated with electric blue and yellow lightning which covered any white surrounding my matt black pupils. This word drained every ounce of blood from my body, leaving a resting pale skeleton with a stretched skin canvas clinging to it. My world was plunged into darkness, and so ended the first night of the promised three-day trip.

I should add that I do not recommend trying nutmeg for the intention of hallucinating. The risk outweighs the result. I am not responsible for anyone trying this themselves and do not condone doing so.




“It’s time.” Those words echoed in the deathly silent room, a room bathed in clean, clinical white embellished with novelty art illuminated by piercing shards of sunlight which emanated through the metallic blind. I gripped my mothers hand as the nurse wheeled a mobile bed into the room, positioning it adjacent to mine. They lifted me onto it, the cold sheets felt muted, dulled by the cocktail of pain medication and adrenaline my eight year old body was subject to.

My mother walked along side still firmly gripping my hand as I vacantly stared at the passing lights overhead. I was told that the surgery was high risk, they informed me for the second time in my life that I would never walk again prior to admittance. I led daydreaming of the time I spent being wheeled around town at the age of four. My mum did this to spare me the pain of walking on my fused ankles and ever present pain of spinabifida. I recalled the smooth texture of the wet, reflective paths as the caster wheels of the bed slowly turned. She would often run to see me smile and maneuver me over the bumpy topography of pebbles to hear me hysterically laugh, my voice juddering with every motion of the pram as I gazed up at her laughing along. I looked into her eyes as I asked when I could see her again. She smiled through trembling lips and assured me it wouldn’t be long, that I was going to sleep and that I would not remember a thing. Behind her passed paintings of equal size and of near identical aesthetic. They sported the same modern art vibe one would use to describe the artistic capabilities of a young child. I felt mildly critical of the art until I saw it.

The bed turned another corner, revealing a wall sized piece that now stood beyond my feet as the nurse continued to walk me closer to the double doors at the opposing end. The painting was an amalgamation of broad, vibrant colored strokes entwined with the ominous presence of darkness. The juxtaposing light seemed to breach it as a bright light would pierce a shadow. For the first time, in that one moment of my brief existence, I felt hope. My mums words sent a chill down my spine as the double doors flew open; “good night, God bless…” And with that I felt her hand slip away and saw the now distant painting fade away with the silent swing of the doors.