Wednesday, March 23, 2016


Here you go, a poem
something I have learnt
sometimes I do writing
mostly stories meant to burn.

They all begin the same
a hunter starts to hunt
a hunter with no name
another hunter with no life.

Without ever finishing their game anyway
nothing more lame than a half-done play.
Half-lovers, half-men, with their artificial eyes
it's so sad to watch them disappear in their own lies.

Feel the passion now
or these words are too rough?
Tell me something now,
was this good enough?
Was it good, was I cute, when was that, was it all right
was I gentle, was I tuned, not too soon, not too tight
did it hurt when you heard how you never had a heart
does it hurt not to have one and to hunt the hearts whole life

Blade Runner, 1982.

Maybe in those last moments he loved life more than he ever had before. Not just his life - anybody's life; my life. All he'd wanted were the same answers the rest of us want. Where did I come from? Where am I going? How long have I got? All I could do was sit there and watch him die.


Invitation to Inspiration

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