by Thomas Bartlett | May 29, 2017 | #humour, arguing, blog, current affairs, Ireland, meloncholy, modernlife |
Internet Arguing v Real life arguing Picture it, hurtling through space, time and our pervasive atomic imaginations, we grind to a halt, progress stalled. I’m referererering to this strange phenomenon, this festering illogical pustule that is, internet arguing. A says...
by Thomas Bartlett | May 25, 2016 | #ABP, #writing, ABP, blog, childhood memories, Drinking, France, Ireland, Italy, meloncholy, writing |
I saw him the other day in Galway, the dangerous guy in every bar. His knuckles are the old bone keys for the crypts, a small man with furtive laser eyes, sunk in with malicious disappointments at things happening that he expected, he expects the worse, lives inside...
by Thomas Bartlett | Jan 31, 2016 | #writing, ABP, Ireland, meloncholy, modernlife, writing |
Some wildly inaccurate and generally smug musings about the Midlands from a train. In the Midlands much of the man-made features seem abandoned; half finished, or half started, depends on whether you feel like being charitable. It looks mostly flat. Hillocks, eddies,...
by Thomas Bartlett | Nov 25, 2015 | #ABP, #humour, #writing, Ireland, life, meloncholy, reading, war
Modern Life 3 – Everything is Amazing! No it isn’t. Neither is everything terrible. Warning: Hectoring and contradictory (like modern life). The human propensity to believe they are all something unique, living in an age of unprecedented x, y, z remains as strong as...
by Thomas Bartlett | Oct 9, 2015 | #writing, blog, guilt, life, meloncholy, modernlife, reading |
Modern Life 2: Where has Everybody Gone? I’m at the age now when I like it when people call me young. I’ve done a few different jobs, lived in a few countries, and despite never being exactly overly friendly I have known a lot of people. But I never see...
by Thomas Bartlett | Sep 1, 2015 | blog, guilt, meloncholy, modernlife |
Modern Life 1: What the Hell do we Want? Happiness? Ha! The familiar knot in the spine, knitted by the shoulder blades, pulled taught everyday by our missed calls and rampant thoughts. Nothing notifications and the relentless liking of everything wearying us and...
