Fresh Paint

A while ago I started blogging, or more like I wrote things and hit publish. It got me into a little bit of trouble, because I said some things that some people didn't like. It wasn't wild amounts of trouble, or very exciting in an D H Lawrence type way, just more like some people weren't actually very good at reading what was there on the screen, or some people - the same people - had axes to grind and decided to use what was written against me. Misuse even. And since I don't much like protected court battles and cold shoulders, I shut up. I let my tongue be cut out and focused on the little things, the little people, coffee in the morning, endless rounds of washing, cooking, other peoples' work, it was safer that way. Or so I thought, only the trouble is, I hate being quiet, and much as I like cooking, coffee, small people, quiet moments, the silence becomes a roar if you leave it too long. And then, earlier in the year, I when found myself back at my own work, and when people asked if there was a website or a blog with all my things collected on I'd say no, and think of the place there had been, that had become a sullied thing; and suddenly I couldn't care about people who would seek - sneak - to undermine or hunt out words to prove I was one thing or another, there are also other people, people who like my work, and want to see my work, and at the centre of it is me, with a tongue grown lazy, words jumbled, and so here is a new place, fresh paint, some old words being moved across over the next couple of days, and all my work listed, or some of my work, or most of my work, and a resolve, to never be silenced again.