Those of you who have read my

irregular Ramblings, which I

frequently post on my Blog under

the title of Ramblings from a

Writers Mind, will know that each

Rambling focuses on a particular,

although random topic.

Each Rambling is written without

any formal structure, hence my use

of the word ‘Ramblings’.

These posts are not intended to

be or give a definitive, they are just

my own personal view regarding

the subject of choice, which are

often based on the influences of my

experiences, observations and

encounters of the preceding few

days. However I do hope that these

posts stimulate your mind and

create discussion, even debate.

ISSUE NO.1

RAMBLING AWAY

WRITING ABOUT RANDOM

THINGS

BY PAUL WHITE

RAMBLING AWAY

Welcome to this the first edition on my magazine Rambling Away.

The reason I have produced this magazine is to share with you, in a single place,

some samples the wide range of writing I am involved in.

Here in Rambling Away you can read about the life and tribulations of a writer’s

life, taken from my blog ‘Ramblings from a Writers Mind’

Share the self-doubts and uncertainties that we all encounter in our daily lives as

shared in another of my Blogs ‘Further Ramblings’

Here too you can read stories first published in ‘A Little more Fiction’ which can be

found on WordPress

Also I have sprinkled Rambling Away with the odd poem or two.

On the last pages I have listed my current published books, Blog addresses and

Website should you wish to read more of my work or simply find out more about

me.

I hope you enjoy this rather haphazard and eclectic mixture of various writings,

Paul.

Please not that ALL written works contained within this document is protected by copyright.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the

publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by

copyright law.

© Paul White 2014 © Paul White 2015

The Exquisite Quintessence of books.

(From Ramblings from a Writers Mind)

I enjoy reading.

In fact I enjoy reading just about anything, from the back of shampoo bottles, cereal

packets, junk mail and flyers, fast food placemats and holiday brochures, in fact I read just

about everything that has words printed or scribbled on it.

Most of all though, I like to read books, any books. Whether it’s a fictional novel, a

biography or a factual tome; and like most of the people I know, I have several books on my

bedside cabinet. I take a few easy reading paperbacks on my holidays, so I can read while

I’m relaxing on the beach or by the pool.

I no longer commute, but when I did I always had a novel with me to while away the time

on the tube or the train. Those poor books suffered many indignities during their life with

me. I only had the time to read them in ‘bite-size’ phases, so they were often mistreated by

being casually tossed into a bag, or wedged into a pocket, which was far too small to

accommodate them without causing distortion. Other times I have been guilty of rolling a

book up and forcing it into a tiny compartment of a case.

I have thereby read many twisted, misshapen, torn and dog-eared novels, many with loose

pages and scuffed covers, and that, in my world is a good thing!

No, no, I do not mean the mistreatment, I mean always having a book with me, regardless

of its condition when I inherited it, or passed it on to a friend.

A book in any condition, without a reader, is nothing more than a stack of paper. It is an

inanimate object with very little use.

You may steady that wonky table by wedging a book under one of its legs. Alternatively

you may pile a stack upon a shelf, or even line the walls of your lounge with regimented

volumes, bound in green and red leather, a mini library of unread literature there solely for

the purpose of decoration.

Apart from that, a book is basically valueless unless it has someone to read it.

Once opened a book is no more than sheet after sheet of paper, decorated with a

collection of seemingly random symbols.

To decipher those symbols one must have the key. That key is language. The right

language. I for one cannot read Mandarin, or understand the Cyrillic alphabet, so books

written in those languages are just groups of symbols spread across the page, and because I

cannot read them they are of little value to me.

Oh, but once you open the cover of a Novel which is written in a language you can

understand, what magic then flows forth from those strange symbols, what enchanted

fascinations emit from otherwise inanimate pages.

As soon as that secret door opens you are transported into a fantasy world, a nether world

in which anything is possible and everything imaginable becomes conceivable.

This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.

It is pure escapism from the norm, the basic and often boring routines of life. How many

times have you paused during your reading and looked up from the pages and, for those

ensuing few moments, have had to collect your thoughts, bring yourself back to the real

world?

I compare that moment to awaking suddenly, being jolted from a deep sleep. It takes a

while to re-boot, to re-focus your mind on where you are, who you are, and what you’re

actually doing there in the first instance!

I do not believe that there is any other medium that can create such a wonderful

experience as reading a book. There is nothing else in which we can become so totally

immersed that all around fades, for that period, into irrelevance.

This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.

Which leads me onto the issue of eBooks verses Real books. I know there are benefits to

both formats, for instance you can cram an awful lot of reading material into the memory of

a reading tablet. This electronic wizardry allows one to carry a virtual library with them

wherever they may be, and to have the ability to add to it almost instantaneously. Without

doubt there are many benefits to eBooks, which is why I make all my books available in

digital formats as well as the traditional printed versions.

For me however the Real book, either hard backed or paperback, gives the reader

something that no device can deliver; that is a tactile and sensory quality.

To be able to feel a book, to touch the paper, to physically turn its pages is a wonderful

thing. Add to that the smell, the woody, inky, sometimes musty scent which pervades a

printed work and, for me at least, I am instantly moved.

Those scents, the tactile feel of the paper, the sound of the page rustling as you turn it,

brings not only a sense of pending adventure, but memories of past experiences, and the

places that previous books have taken me to.

I do not think that any electronic devise, any amount of technical sorcery could ever

conjure a spell of such vivid intensity that is imparted by the wholesomeness of a real book.

This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.

Enjoy your reading, wherever it takes you!

X

One Thousand Lies.

(Selected from Further Ramblings)

Today I suspect that I am going to be doing much the same as most of you.

I shall go to work, eat lunch, and return home. After that I may pick up some groceries, grab

a beer with a few friends, or eat out in a restaurant. Alternatively I might spend an hour or

two in the gym before taking my girlfriend to see a movie.

I have no particular plans, whatever happens will happen.

Much of my life is like that, I take each day one step at a time. That is not to say I simple drift

along. I have pretty much planned Christmas, well at least have a basic outline of where I

shall be on any given day during the festive period. I have also organised a holiday abroad

next year.

But on a daily basis, an hourly basis, my life can be, and usually is a pretty random affair. I

like it like that. It suits my lifestyle, it suits what I do.

I do not think that living this way is by any means unusual. I think it is basically a relatively

normal way to live. Probably not too dissimilar to your life?

But this rambling is not about how I or you live our lives, it is about those one thousand lies

which we tell each and every day.

You see, when I go into that store to pick up the groceries and the cashier asks me the

inevitable question ‘How are you today’, I shall say ‘I’m fine’ and smile back at her.

Later when I am sitting in the bar and my buddy says ‘How are thing’s going’, I will tell him

they are going great and regale a funny story about someone falling over, or explain that I

had to break hard to avoid hitting some idiot on the road this morning.

Those answers I give will, of course, be lies.

Because, like you, I am not doing fine. Things are not going great. Not really. Not truthfully.

Not if I am being totally honest with myself.

What I should say to the cashier is that life is a bitch. That I never have enough money

however hard I work. That the Government takes too much in tax and deductions. That the

basic necessities for living; electricity, gas, and water are way too expensive. But I lie to her. I

say ‘I’m fine’.

I should tell my buddy that my relationship is on the rocks. That my love life is as messed up

as my head. That I am fed up with struggling and fighting the system each and every day of

my life just to live, just to exist.

I should say I am weary and on the verge of depression. But I say my life is great and hide

the truth in my eyes behind a story of no consequence. I avoid the truth. I lie.

You see I want more.

I do not mean the big house in Malibu, the Lear Jet, the motor yachts and the billionaire

lifestyle. Do not get me wrong I would like those. I think most of us would, but they are only

dreams for the majority of us. Dreams and aspirations which we keep shuttered away

knowing in all reality we shall never achieve such things.

The ‘more’ that I want is much simpler. I want not to struggle to pay the bills. I would like to

be able to afford to repair and service my car without having to make cuts in my spending on

other things that month.

I would like a lover who loved me as much as I did them. I would like to see my children

happy and content with their lives.

I would like to understand other people and have some answer to the problems of this

world.

I want to be able to understand me, my thoughts, my fears, my uncertainties and

insecurities.

Yes I want more, more love, more understanding, more solutions and less worries, less

stress and fewer demons.

Is that too much to ask?

But like you I never say these things. I never tell of my failing hearing, my dimmed sight,

those creeping aches and pains, my inner terrors and the nightmares which plague me

during the nocturnal hours.

I just smile and say ‘I’m fine’.

Why.

Because I am the only one who feels this way. I must be, because everybody else tells me

they are ‘just fine’.

So I tell those lies a one thousand times a day.

X

Seeds of acceptance

(Sown by the Media)

(An extract from Further Ramblings)

A short while ago the Television and Radios stations had been broadcasting a Video of two

young men smoking a hand rolled cigarette.

Big deal I hear you say. Only in this instance the young men were Zayn Malik and Louis

Tomlinson. You may well ask ‘Who’? Don’t worry you are not alone, I asked the same

question!

It appears that these young men, in fact they are still boys, are two members of a band

called One Direction. A group that sing songs to backing tracks. In my day a ‘band’ was

either brass, jazz, big, or pop. The common factor was that the members of a band actually

played instruments.

Oh how times have changed, or rather, how our collective acceptance of the meaning of

various words have altered over time.

It seems that this One Direction are an extremely popular singing quintet at this moment

in time, hence the media’s interest in any tit-bit of information concerning them.

It has also been alleged, that the hand rolled cigarette seen in this video, contained

marijuana, a type of drug known correctly as Cannabis sativa, a psychoactive drug. The

principal psychoactive constituent of cannabis is tetrahydrocannabinol (THC); it is one of

483 known compounds in the plant, including at least 84 other cannabinoids, such as

cannabidiol (CBD), cannabinol (CBN), tetrahydrocannabivarin (THCV), and cannabigerol

(CBG).

That said it has not, at the time of writing this, been admitted or proven that the cigarette

in question contained any form of drug whatsoever. Even if it did the two boys from the

quintet were not committing a crime as they were in Peru where it is not illegal to possess a

small quantity of Cannabis for personal use.

However this post is not about drugs, there use, misuse, the current legal, or political

stance, regarding them. The above is purely for some background information relating to the

next part of my Rambling.

The first morning that the Media broke this story I was watching television, waiting for the

weather report. What caught my attention was the opening statement made by the

presenter. Although I have not committed it to memory verbatim, this is what was said, ‘A

video that is being broadcast all over the internet, showing members of the boy band One

Direction smoking a hand rolled cigarette, has shocked and stunned the bands fans’.

Not only was this statement inaccurate it was assumptive and misleading. Firstly this

video, although widely available to access, was not ‘all over the internet’.

Secondly was the assumption that this was a ‘joint’, the report was careful not to say that

it was, but clearly suggested by constant inference that it was so. There was, at that time, no

proof of what this cigarette did or did not contain.

The third, and most infuriating, was the misleading statement the bands fans ‘were

shocked’ by the event. Wrong. The majority of the bands fans were puffing away merrily on

their own reefers before leaving home to attend kindergarten.

Ok, Ok, maybe it was primary school, not kindergarten! But you get my drift. Most of One

Directions fans found it quite amusing rather than shocking…….until they were informed by

the media that they should be shocked!!

On the surface you may consider what I am saying to be illogical, even crap. But this is just

one simple example of how the media, whether acting under the instruction of Government,

corporate or political manifest, or on its own agenda, plants the seeds of conformity into the

minds of the susceptible by stealth.

The susceptible include you by the way. You have been conditioned to absorb the Mass

Medias input, downloaded constantly and consistently, directly into your mind since birth.

After the above announcement was made in the early hours of the morning, this message

was repeated at regular intervals for forty eight hours in every form of media possible, TV,

National Radio, Local Radio, Web & Net broadcasts, newspapers etc.

The resultant, and desired outcome was that the majority of people now truly believed, as

most probably you did, and without question, that the fans of this One Direction were

shocked by the revelation that the band members may have been smoking a little weed.

While the band members may well have had a little toke, the statement of shock however

was pure fiction designed by the media to grab you attention and influence public opinion.

Therefore, if it is so easy for a false message to be adopted and believed as a truth over

something so simple, consider just how many of these messages, this proper gander, this

psychological conditioning you have absorbed in the past?

Ponder for a moment those things that you deem to be fact, the truth,

reality, actuality. Then take one more moment and ask yourself this

question, ‘WHY do you assume that it is fact’?

Lastly remember where you first heard of saw the information, was it

the Television, or a Newspaper? The Radio? All three?

Was that statement, you know the one that told you the same thing so

many times that you have come to believe it is true.

Well, was it as accurate and informative as the One Direction broadcasts?

Well was it?

X

X

Seeds of Wisdom

A simple poem

Hidden within, beneath my seasoned skin,

I embrace a wealth of life and living and all therein,

Of desire and anger and fear and shame,

Of elation and sadness and hope and pain.

All these things are lessons learned,

And not a solitary one came unearned,

I’ve fought and struggled and almost died,

Accumulating that which I hold inside.

So when I speak and write of these,

Do not dismiss them, I beg you please,

For each and every word I say,

Is the honest truth and not a cliché.

You will of course fumble and fall

For that is what we do, one and all,

But have no fear, have little dread,

And don’t let panic fill your head.

To live is to learn, and that you will do,

And I’ll help by sharing knowledge with you,

And by the time your children have grown,

You too will have seeds of wisdom to be sown.

So embrace life and living and all therein,

And keep it secure beneath your skin,

Feel desire, and anger, and fear and shame,

And learn from your sadness and hope and pain.

The Field.

Flash fiction

So you wake up in the middle of a field with absolutely no comprehension of how you got to be

there.

Lying next to you are two bloodied and battered bodies, one dead, one moaning in agony.

The one that is still alive is crying for help.

Although, to actually make out her words you have to put your ear very close to the gaping wound

that was once her mouth.

I am sure that she was a very pretty before.

I am certain of that by the way her nails were painted, and by the remnants of her long blonde

hair, or at least the few strands that are still attached to her blackened and burnt scalp.

Maybe it was only those few strands of blonde hair that were keeping her skull from falling apart

completely?

There was little I could do to help her, except to go and find help.

That was when I realised that fetching help would not be quite as easy as I first thought.

Two things made finding assistance difficult.

The first was that I could not stand.

Because to do that it helps to have entire legs, and not stumps that turn into a fibrous raggy mess

from just below the knees.

The second problem was the field.

I had not noticed until I looked around me the dips and hollows dotted about.

These were the craters left from the explosion of the landmines.

X

Sentience of Mortality

Ramblings from a Writers Mind

NOTE. Unlike many of my Ramblings this one focuses on a subject which some may find disturbing.

That is the topic of death. Whilst I do not wish to upset anyone, I make no apologies for writing about

this issue, because it is one which we shall all inevitably have to face at some point in our future.

As I have previously explained these Ramblings of mine are frequently inspired by events and

incidents which are happening in my life right now, as well as stimuli and experiences I absorb from

the world around me.

At this point in time it is death that seems to be one of the most prominent factors in my world, and

being a writer I have an inbuilt natural necessity to question just about everything I sense. I want to

know why certain things make us feel, act, or react to them in the way I, and others do.

I have spent the last few days deliberating over my reactions to death, not my own death, but to

death in general.

A subject which, I am sorry to say, has been foremost in the world’s media recently, and for many

various reasons.

It is our personal reactions to these various manners of dying and being killed that has given me

the need to write what follows.

A good friend has recently suffered bereavement; I can feel her hurt and pain, I can sympathise

and empathise with her, as we all can when death affects someone we know.

We can also understand the devastation which Michael Brown’s family in Ferguson must be

experiencing, and with those that know and worked with the Photojournalist James Foley, and Meet

Singh Kapoor from Afghanistan, who died in the shipping container at Tilbury docks, for these are

single deaths, and we can associate with each of these individuals passing.

Our compassionate ability begins to waiver as we struggle to comprehend larger number of people

dying, those whose lives have been ended by warfare and unrest in places such as Libya, Syria, The

Lebanon, Palestine, Afghanistan, and Iraqi.

The number of deaths that have occurred in these places over the last few decades are

unimaginable for any of us, as single individuals, to truly comprehend.

We have no nucleus, no central point on which to focus our emotions.

The individual that we can so readily empathise with now bares no visible or imagery quality

amongst the masses, we lose our sense of perspective, that important singular impression. We have

a state of overload, so instead we feel abhorrence, a gut reaction of revulsion and distain for the

whole. We cannot comprehend mass death, so it becomes a tragic statistic rather than that singular

which we can morn.

That is death for which we can attribute a reason, but there are also the deaths which are naturally

cruel by their very nature. The current outbreak of Ebola for instance. Almost 2,000 people are

reported to have been infected, and the latest death toll stands at 1,069 across Sierra Leone,

Guinea, Liberia, Nigeria and Spain.

How do you, how can a single person, even begin to understand the monumental scale of this

misfortune let alone sympathise with the victims? There are just too many for one mind to handle.

We can however as a group, a society, pay respect to that which we physically cannot do

individually, by way of memorials, ceremonies, and associated events, like Remembrance Day which

was extremely poignant this year, being as it is one hundred years since the Great War (WW1), or an

event like the Sarajevo Red Line.

The central event of Sarajevo Red Line was staged near the Eternal Flame monument.

From the stage near the flame down the Maršal Tito Street, 11,541 empty red chairs were

arranged in 825 rows (as an audience).

This red “audience” stretched for 800 meters and ended in the area between the building of the

Presidency of BiH and Ali-pasha’s Mosque. 11,541 empty chairs symbolized 11,541 victims of the

war which, according to Research and Documentation Centre were killed during the Siege of

Sarajevo. 643 of the chairs were small, representing the slain children.

To conclude this Rambling, our close losses, be it a parent, sibling, partner or child is devastating

to say the least. Their passing will and does change our lives forever. But how does one even start to

make sense of the death of entire families, of generations, of the decimation of race and society’s?

That is something I am still considering.

X

Masterpiece.

Rambling from a Writers Mind

I find myself sitting here with the compulsion to write an amazing Rambling for you today.

You see, I am in the mood to write. I do not mean I just fancy a writing session; I mean I

have an urge, a compulsion to splatter letters and characters across the page in some

deeply meaningful and creative form.

I want to write something that will draw you in and amaze you with its relevance and

connection to your own life.

Yet there is where it stops.

I have the will and the desire, a deep craving, the lustful wanting for the feel of words

dripping from my pen onto this page.

But that yearning is, as yet, unrequited.

I shall stand, literarily unclothed, bare my all to you in saying that I am flummoxed as what

to actually say.

Please do not get me wrong. I am not suffering from that mythical condition referred to as

writers block, far from it in fact.

Yet I cannot gather my flock of random thoughts and round them into a single heard of

consistency. Today my mind is like the wilderness of a Welsh hillside scattered with evasive

lambs, bleating at me with distain.

So I shall write as this day affects me, and as the title of this blog suggests…..Randomly!

I know that many of you, the artistic and creative folk, the writers and poets, painters and

singers, will at some point have struggled with a situation similar to this; where your heart

and soul are committed, but your mind is playing truant, playing football in the park or still

snuggling into the soft down of your pillow.

Today, (so far), that is where I am.

I have projects to complete, or at least progress. Poems & short stories I wish to write, and

this Rambling, this classic tome of astute wisdom and intelligent acumen…..I think not.

But I do think that what my mind is telling me, is that it needs to rest. That it needs time to

itself to mull over all that I have perceived and observed recently.

My concentration has been to keenly focused for too long on one basic set of tasks. Like

any athlete we all must make rest and relaxation part of our training regime.

We must also understand the need for ‘recovery time’ as do sportsmen, say after running,

or in my case, writing a great amount. While we writers may not always be physically

regarded as god like bronzed Adonis’s, or indeed lithe and sensual Venuses, our minds are

often far more agile and supple than many others might be.

Therefor we too can overwork and strain ourselves, so take time to ‘chill-out’, meditate, or

simply do something as energetic as you can which will make you concentrate purely on that

activity, thereby giving your brain a rest from the exertion of consistent creativeness.

You shall then return refreshed and renewed, with the vigour and clarity to create a

masterpiece; the like of which has escaped from me today!

X

Late train home

Flash fiction

I find the dull metallic hum, as the train pulls away from the harsh glow of neon lights on

the station platform, somewhat comforting in its reassurance. As is entering the dark cavern

of the subway tunnel whilst cocooned in the dim warmth of the vibrating carriage.

Once again the familiar tempo of steel wheels upon the rails, and the irregular rocking as

the train rumbles along, calms the customary angst which always seemed too accompany

me in hectic, overcrowded places.

Seated comfortably, time slows. Harmony descends upon me like a cloak of serene velvet.

I sigh out loudly, a liberated wisp of disquiet flutters away, disappearing into the ether.

Unbuttoning my coat and flicking the hood from my head, I leaned back stretching my

weary legs out in front of me. The carriage is empty. I am alone. Peace and calm descend.

At this time of night the subway takes on a different form, its very structure becomes

prominent. Vibrations resound in every wall, wafts of cool air frequently gust throughout;

inhale, exhale, the subway breathes deeply. Recurrent metallic taps echo from the depths of

the black underpasses in harmony with those rustling organic whispers. It is as if the subway

comes to life, wakens as an entity in itself.

I love the subway at this time of night, which is why I like to take the late train home. I can

relax.

I like to stare through the glass, trying to make out what the indistinct passing shapes that

flash by actually are. Long, thick wires twist together, hanging in sooty swags from the tunnel

walls, like massive black anacondas awaiting unsuspecting prey. The occasional light, dulled

by a layer of caked on grime, giant fireflies? And dark recesses, small arches sunken into

the curvature of the walls. What lays within? Possibly a door, a secrete door to another

world, a parallel universe?

Then there is the reflection, my reflection, eerily unfocused, staring back at me from the

darkened window pane. But is that me? I think not. Looking I see the reflection has a smirk

on his face, he is hiding his knowledge of me, or a secret. He has the answers I seek. The

answers I have spent my whole life trying to find. He smiles before fading away as the train

enters a brightly lit station.

These are my fantasies, my late night daydreams as I travel home. This is where my reality

and illusion merge, where imagination and invention combine.

This is why I like to take the late train home.

This is the birthplace of whimsy and caprice.

X

Catch my drift

A poem

I did it all for him.

I lined my eyes,

And powdered my face,

Coloured my lips,

Plucked my eyebrows,

Painted my nails,

Shiny and backscratchingly sharp,

If you catch my drift.

Sheer silk stockings, with lacy tops,

Suspender belts, he could ‘twang’

Against my pale flesh.

Panties, smaller, thinner,

Gossamer thongs.

And push ‘um up’s,

Canyon cleavage,

Deep plunge balconette,

If you catch my drift.

Apricot and jojoba

I scrubbed my skin,

De-fuzzed, everywhere,

Pecan and tangerine exfoliation,

And waxed my legs,

All the way up, intimately,

If you catch my drift.

Dresses that clung

To my curves,

Skirts that let my ass peek out,

‘Hello boys’ it said, winking as I walked.

And tops, so low, or tight, or both.

Revealing and thin, almost not there

At all.

If you catch my drift.

I did it all for him.

For him to see,

To look, to lust,

To want, to have,

To pleasure him

And pleasure me, eventually.

If you catch my drift.

But that was then, before he left

So now I do it, do it just for me.

His glance, her stare, admiration and envy,

Oh, and that look, I am so aware.

If you catch my drift.

I do it all for me

High heels. Stilettoes,

Low cut, forced up.

Jutting out, perky, pointing.

Like they are cold.

And short, no shorter than that,

Only more, or less,

Depending which way you look.

Bare flesh and flirtations abound,

If you catch my drift.

X

I would now like to introduce you to an internet site I think is wonderful Sneak Peek. This

website has two excellent properties.

The first, if you are an Author, is that with Sneak Peek you can promote your books on

several major platforms to readers worldwide for FREE.

Secondly if you enjoy reading books Sneak Peek allows you to read excerpts from the

books listed before you chose which to buy. That way you never buy a book you do not like.

Sneak Peek can be found at http://takeasneakpeak.wordpress.com/

As promised earlier here are the addresses of my Blogs

Ramblings from a writers mind: Writing about Writing for Writers.

http://ramblingsfromawritersmind.wordpress.com/

Further Ramblings: comments on life, living and society.

https://paulznewpostbox.wordpress.com/

A Little more Fiction: Flash Fiction & Short Stories.

https://alittlemorefiction.wordpress.com/

If you would like to know more about me and my work, or to contact me regarding freelance

writing, my website is

http://paulznewpostbox.wix.com/paul-white-writer

X