It had the potential to be ground breaking. Or did it?

My intention was not for my 100th post on My Screaming Twenties to be an update. In truth, I had no intentions.

I’ve been quiet of late. Quietly scrolling through my reader, observing words, wit, wisdom and woe from an uncomfortable distance. Uncomfortable because I, a month ago now, was in the fray. I now sit, in a deep blue bath saturated in gold dust Lush manufactures, wallowing in my lack of impulse and discipline with the world’s smallest violin. My notepads are not without lines, stories and commentary; they just all remain unfinished. Outlined in black ink but nowhere near shaded to perfection. Not whilst fires rage, families cry and terror seeks to divide. My words are plenty, emotions plenty. Yet stunted.

I live in Britain. I am an English teacher. I flinch at the news and I put other people’s children first. And in marrying the two, I observe Macbeth’s milk of human kindness we all thought lost.

With this, I am launching a series on My Screaming Twenties –  The Milk of Human Kindness. What will be produced, I hope, will be poems, prose and commentary on what you and I witness daily – humanity, at both it’s lowest and finest. I have written another post (The Milk of Human Kindness) setting out my intentions and how people can submit their own work to feature.

With this project, which will run until the end of September, I seek to exert some ownership upon our humanity which many try to strip away from us, day by day.




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