Candle and Coal

Candle and Coal

Into blackness these souls drift

you see them and they are so real

you think you can save them but it is impossible

that’s final.

Resonating only with pain and sorrow; it won’t continue.

Our love was a bold statement

it’s now seemingly burning down into a stub like a candle stuck on a table that has only ever been scratched and graffitied on.
Becoming nothingness, meaninglessness.

It is subtle and it creeps and it lets you know it’s there and it’s going to wear you down till you’re fresh again and nothing about it is sudden except the initial shock, accept the initial shock, every day because the shock wears down and eventually you are left with the numbness.

As you know and feel your heart it is continuously colluding with the souls that are drifting, that have fled, that have moved into darkness.

And you are left with your little soul that thrived off the love of a few big souls but now has no fuel to burn its flame and you cry out for something to burn but you are left with a little piece of coal and no hope.

You want to leave as well, and your soul is screaming to drift into the blackness, it has already moved so far over there that you haven’t one really, and it is waiting for you to make that final move, to embrace the new home of its friends.

Another candle is brought just before your candle was to burn out and leave a scorch mark on your derelict table.
You did not make it in time and foolishly you let it burn out.
You curse yourself and curse the fact that this love is now only a mark that will be there always to remind you of how you lost it.

Your piece of coal isn’t alight anymore and you dig through the ashes to find something hot, something real, because you need something to light your new candle with, you burn your hands and search deep amongst the ash and cinder and find another piece of black coal with speckles of red and you reach for the candle and press it against the red, you are patient and blow, hard, and desperately.

The candle catches alight and you melt its base to the wretched table that mocks your mistakes.

You melt the candles’ base right next to the old scorch mark.

An old friend goes out and fells a tree for your sake,
Another friend chops it up.
A new friend gathers kindling and dried leaves and builds it above your little black coal.


A recommendation


I let my teeth bare witness to the aching of this moment.

And hope they show I mean well as I cringe at my own unfortunate state as without a shred of charisma I ooze out hopelesness as I talk to people I care about.

In and deep Im sure it’ll be made better some day.

Have you read A.B Faceys ‘A Fortunate Life’ I recommend it.

Pain as an institution.

Mark my safety on a line between dredge and transparency

Indicate where I’ll be in a year for the wellbeing of dependency

Instigate a moment that will make me worry for a while

End it for the time being and drink the tears of the nile

Produce the openness that we need desperately

Into each second, my friends I will leave

I will be alone and, in a moment, I won’t have a scare.

I will be alone and, in a moment, I won’t be a part of it.

But we can parley often enough for confusion

I will meet you on the edge of destitution.

And we can drink the blood of the committed.

Their screams are worth the bitterness that I swish around my teeth.

And my tongue loves the flavour but my stomach will reject it.

Make us vomit up the mess to a believing few.

And they will lap it up like thirsty dogs.

Roping and waiting and lapping it up

Meagerly building an empire of my very own.

Ode to the true days

Where you could take what wasn’t yours and let your seeds grow.

Ode to the rope that binds me.

Why haven’t you moved me?

Im waiting to be shoved off my throne into the dirt and have my stomach ripped open and have my organs stretched over continents.

Why haven’t you displaced me so you can burn my fields and impale our collective hearts on a stake burnt out, perpetually ash.

I will just lap my kingdom up like a cat with milk, I will over indulge and be sick and wither and yelp like a dog thats been hit fatally by a moving vehicle.

Ten Misconceptions about Napoleon Bonaparte

I decided to give myself a history lesson on Napoleon Bonaparte.
He was a fantastic military leader who changed the world with his policies more than his wars.
In fact, many of his battles were more for the defence of the Republic of France rather than for conquest.
There were quite a few things that surprised me while I was researching him, I hope they surprise you too.

Napoleon wasn’t short.[1]
He was actually a little bit taller than the average Frenchman of the time. After his death in 1821 The English recorded his height as 5 feet 7 inches but Napoleon implemented the metric system in France so we will say he stood at a decent 1.69m
Napoleon was usually surrounded by his imperial guard and officers who had to be a certain height, this would have altered the perception of Napoleons ‘short’ stature.

 Napoleon wasn’t born French. [2]
He was born in Corsica an Island originally ruled by its own republic with history of occupation by the Genoese and was conquered by the French forces after his birth.
Napoleon disdained the French growing up but his father didn’t and was forced to go to an aristocratic school in Northern France where he did not think of himself as a Frenchman but a Corsican and was seen as an outcast by his schoolmates.
His real name was Napoleone Buonaparte but changed it at the beginning of his military career to sound more French.

Napoleon didn’t like his wife stinky.[3]
There is a rumour going around that Napoleon sent his wife Josephine letters, telling her “Don’t bathe, I’m coming home”
There is no discernible proof of this statement except through popular culture and speculation; as at the time some women would put an orange peel under their armpit wrap it in a cloth and send it to a loved one. This statement could be attributed to Henri IV, an antiquated French King who is long gone out of our memories.
We cannot confirm Napoleon wrote anything of the sort as nothing has been found in the correspondence between Napoleon and Josephine, though, they did send some pretty steamy stuff to each other, one of the letters wrote.
 How happy I would be if I could assist you at your undressing, the little firm white breast, the adorable face, the hair tied up in a scarf a la creole. You know that I will never forget the little visits, you know, the little black forest… I kiss it a thousand times and wait impatiently for the moment I will be in it.
It did get hot and heavy, but not in a smelly way.

 Napoleon didn’t make a law about pigs[4]
Speaking of smelly, Napoleon never made up a law about naming pigs Napoleon.
A rumour was spread that Napoleon, being egotistical and controlling of public opinion made up a law that you weren’t allowed to name a pig Napoleon.
There was a law (that was repealed in 2013) that said you weren’t to name any animal after the head of state but this law was actually put into action in 1881 after Napoleons Death and long after his exile from France.

Napoleon wasn’t afraid of cats[5]
He just didn’t like them, he thought them lazy and useless and compared them to the courtesans who exiled him “ because they never left the house”.
This common misconception is based around his nephew Napoleon the third, who would leap up onto his stool if a cat entered the room and wouldn’t get back down till the cat had been removed from the room and the fact great and terrible military leaders from history had suffered from ailurophobia, the fear of cats.

He did like dogs though, and once wept over the grief of one dog who had lost its master on the battlefield.
Napoleon wasn’t just a General.[6]
He was an emperor of one of the greatest land powers in European history and fostered religious freedom, industry and education.
In the first year of his rule he put through economic reforms that turned Frances economy around and also established a public-school system restarted primary schools and made an elite secondary school. He also promoted education for women and greatly improved Literacy levels in France.
He is noted for assuring freedom of religions and equality to all peoples within Frances jurisdiction and believed in ones merit rather than their status.

Napoleon opposed political freedom[7]
Contrary to popular belief Napoleon did not share all the same views as the French revolutionaries and would set up what is known as a military state.
He even went as far as setting up secret police who had a spy network that reached everywhere in France.
Jean Paul Bertaud, a specialist in French Revolution and military history said “You go to a salon, there’s a spy. You go a brothel, there is a spy. You go to a restaurant, there is a spy. Everywhere there are spies of the police. Everyone listens to what you say. It’s impossible to express yourself unless Napoleon wants you to.”

Napoleon did not believe in Freedom of press[8]
Napoleon would personally oversee every play produced in France and if he didn’t like it, it got the axe. As a master propagandist, he would never let a bad word be said about him and would contort negative press into a positive light whenever he got the chance.
Napoleon also controlled the press ruthlessly; throughout his rule he dismantled more then 50 publications, leaving only four publications left and two of which were created by him, one called ‘France and the Army of Italy’ and another called ‘The Newspaper of the Army of Italy’.
He also wrote some of the articles himself, a line attributed to Napoleons pen is “Bonaparte flied like lightning and strikes like a thunderbolt”.


Napoleon did not come up with the famous hand in coat pose[9]
Napoleon didn’t actually walk around with his hand in his coat, the pose he adopted was commonly used in portraits to portray nobility and steadfastness in men in the early 18th century long before Napoleon.
But Napoleon was unpopular with his people at the time of the famous painting ‘Napoleon in the Study’ and the man who painted it was a Napoleon supporter that wanted to give Napoleon a popularity so he painted him in the famous pose.
Upon seeing the art, Napoleon was grateful and said  “you have understood me, my dear David” and continued to pose for many of his portraits with his hand in his coat.

Napoleon wasn’t really the best tactical genius[10]
Most of Napoleons tactics had already been developed during the French revolution and Napoleon relied mostly on his Field Marshalls to win battles.
One example is his field marshal Davout who literally does the impossible to save Napoleon; a straight 36 hour march to Austerlitz, fighting half the Prussian army with only a third of their numbers in one corps at Auerstadt, being an important anchor in almost every major battle during the 1809 campaign and so much more through Napoleons Military career.  [11]
Though Napoleon should receive credit for his mobilisation and organisation of Frances armies where he placed highly competent Field Marshalls in charge of brigades of 25,000 men each comprising exactly the same number of infantry, artillery, health and cavalry forces.










[11] Napoleons Marshals ed. By David G. Chandler

Easy Mornings

Arna Baarts artist @

Thanks to you.
Easy mornings forever.
I’m a mess and you tidy me up.
Shave my face.
Splash it with the water you draw.
Ready, Ready, Ready,
Thanks to you.
It shouldn’t be controlled
Easy mornings forever
Thanks to you.

The hook

The hook, the hook.
let it slice and cut and bleed you out.
Everybody is screaming for the hook to enter and rip.
To scream is to bleed and you will.
We all will.
Deep, dark, live, snark.
Sad, open, fairy tales seeding love into your dull life.
lovely height lets you see more of your strife.
Easy, closed, turn around and walk back over those nails you put in those floorboards that you put on the carpet so you would tread carefully.

Link to photo

House of Stairs


It is ready for your entry and you are you, ready for a little world of your very own.

Let it suckle on your life force because it is everything you ever dreamed of.

And you are ready and willing and I know you are tougher than you look.

You are going to take on the world for as long as you humanly can because if for not than a moment when you can you will shred the papers and build your brand new world inside four walls a door and a damn tonne of stairs leading to nowhere

The egg was laid in space.

The egg was resolute and wanted to be broken, to spill out its life essence but everybody knew the big egg wasn’t ready.
The big egg was full of life and it wanted to crack and spill and sizzle all over the universe.

People didn’t trust the big egg from space and they locked it up.
Locked it up with life and love and everything else mysterious and burly.
But the egg did not retreat into sadness, it didn’t give up and it gave the world a yelling.
It shook and shouted and pleaded with strength and gave it’s prison a what for.
“What for this and that?”
It shouted it knew all the answers but no one would listen and life would go on.
While the egg sat and festered and rotted from the inside out and eventually the shell began to weaken and the egg started to seep.
It seeped out a stench worse than your nightmares.
The smell was fetid and had a foreboding that could only strike remembrance in the battles of old.
Of trench warfare, where dysentery was not as common as death but it was close.
And men, rather than running to relieve themselves in an obscure crater that an artillery barrage had landscaped would relieve themselves on their iron dinner plates.
And men would cry and lose their minds and die of chemical gas and bullets shrieking through the bones and organs.
And the egg would seep this stench for a millennium and then a millennium more because the egg was forgotten.
And only a large puddle of stench and gusto would reside in it’s place till eventually, the roof split open and the sun would dry it up.
and all we have left is crackled rotten proteins that seemed to mock what could have been.