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Northern Echoes Be(lie)ve nothing

Northern Echoes



Last Updated: 12/12/2009

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Status: Single
City: Salisbury and South London
Country: UK
Signup Date: 3/31/2008

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Friday, December 11, 2009 

Category: Life
Fragments put in place make a map to find more fragments that you will then put in place and these will make a bigger map, which will lead to more fragments, which you will put together and discover they build a bigger map, which will lead to more fragments, which when you put them together will build an even bigger map, which will lead you to even bigger fragments....and so the universe unfolds before your very eyes. 

Mice on a wheel.


Friday, December 11, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
"Do not enter for I am the key" She said
Then fire
"Drench me with your flames" I replied
Because I fear no burns
Then whisper
Forgiveness is but shallow graves and I have no spade
With bare hands I dig
Your forgiveness is but all I seek
Silence and darkness surrounds these woods
The warmth of the flame has long gone
I hear the sound of footsteps cracking the dead undergrowth
The heavy breath of panic comes over me
From the shadows of the moonlight

You are my key

Monday, December 07, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
Slipping into the unknown always unnerved Lawrence 

Ever since the dialogistic meeting with his doctor four years ago

He knew it was know simply a matter of time before the first sign arrived

Today that sign reflected back on him like a head on collision with a juggernaut steaming towards him, bright lights over powering his vision, rain and drizzle lashing against his bare face as the thundering power of the giant engine roared towards him.

He had left the house this morning and made his way to the market, bought some freshly curt flowers and then confusion started to set in. The market was busy, people colliding into one another as the sought to buy the best produce for the best price. 

Smallholders shouting out costs for fruit, vegetable and all kinds of wears. Their voice raising above the noisy crowds. Lawrence stood amongst the crowd as they milled around him, he was strangely alone in the heart of this large crowd.  

It was at this point that his memory flickered and then gone, he knew he came to the market for something, but only a bunch of flowers did he have in his hands. He moved through the crowds towards the traditional park bench, which surrounded the market square. Names of people he would never meet were carved in the wood of the park bench. 

He sat with flowers across his lap, simply starring at the crowds, often somebody would ask him if he was okay, they spoke to him as if familiar, but this could not be as he surely did not know these people, their voices, or the random stories of children, grand children and dreadful holiday experiences. 

He had been sat on the bench for 2 hours, alone. When this beautiful women approached, he watched as she almost glided towards him, his eyes never left her presence as she held out her had with a loving smile. Lawrence felt the warmth of love surround him. 

The expression on his face lit the lives of people who saw the elderly couple embrace one another. She said to him, "I was worried about you."

Lawrence could not speak, his brain was saying words, but somewhere between his thoughts turning into words a barrier was erected, she could sense his frustration given she had loved this man for over 30 years together.

Although Lawrence was slowly slipping further and further into the darkness of alzheimer's disease he would walk to the market each day to buy the women he loves some flowers.

Friday, December 04, 2009 

Category: News and Politics

Female genital mutilation includes procedures that intentionally alter or injure female genital organs for non-medical reasons.


An estimated 100 to 140 million girls and women worldwide are currently living with its consequences.


In Africa, about three million girls are at risk of it.


The procedure has no health benefits for girls and women.


Procedures can cause severe bleeding and problems urinating, and later, potential childbirth complications and newborn deaths.


It is mostly carried out on young girls sometime between infancy and age 15 years.


It is internationally recognized as a violation of the human rights of girls and women.


It is not associated with any religious or faith based practices.


It is a local custom


It is a man made crime


Stop it.

Friday, December 04, 2009 

Category: News and Politics
Since 1983, over 60 people with mental illness have been executed in the United States. It is conservatively estimated that 5-10% of death row inmates suffer from serious mental illness. 

Research has shown that nearly all Death Row inmates suffer from brain damage due to illness or trauma, while a vast number have also experienced histories of severe physical and/or sexual abuse. 

Murder is wrong not matter who commits it - state or individual 

An eye for an eye just makes you blind.
Sunday, November 29, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
The glass panels at the bus shelter were shattered. The crime had been committed several months ago. Like the many lives that hustled a live on the housing estate nobody was bothered to attempt to pick up the pieces and put them back together.

The fragments of class sparkled in the flickers of rays from the sun, which were struggling against the last remains of darkness from the morning. The state was quiet for now, its young inhabitants were sleeping, recharging their batteries like the mobile phones. 

The blue hall estate like so many built in the 1950's to house the growing working class who served the growing heavy industries had passed its former glories. The industries had long closed down leaving nothing but empty souls and tortured communities with no prospect of opportunities, alcohol had replaced water and anti-depressants had replaced all connection with the tenderness of love, life and laughter. 

The fabric of the housing estate was in severe decline, garbage, overgrown weeds and gardens. the corner-shop resembled an armed bank rather than an essential service. People were now living as individual with no sense of communal understanding, life was about survival. Men had left for work and left their families behind, often never to return. 

Stanley, had been growing the rose from seed, he had tendered its every-stage of development with love and attention as if on a mission - he was. he had risen early to ensure he would not be disturbed, he walked over the shattered glass of the bus shelter, it crunched under his boots. 

With a spade in one hand and a potted rose in the other Stanley made his way to the large grassed common area that lay in the centre of the estate. Once in the centre of he dug a small hole and planted the rose an stood back. 

Immediately the sun's rays finally broke through the morning clouds

The tender smell of the red rose entered Stanley's nostril senses 

He gently closed his eyes and fell into deep thought

He stood still for 1 whole hour before Mrs Ward, who had seen Stanley plant the flower whilst peering through the curtains of her bedroom window cane over to see what he was doing.

As soon as she caught smell of the rose she too immediately, relaxed, stood still, sighed, closed her eyes and enter a similar state of total peace. 

This occurrence maintained its pattern until 11.45am. By this time every resident of Blue hall estate was standing in a large circle 100 people deep, in a state of bliss enjoying the smell of the perfect red rose.

By 12 noon the police were in attendance, but could not do anything, because of the numbers and density of the people they could not access the centre of the circle nor were they able to smell the frequency of the beautiful red rose.

No matter how many times they asked, the people did not respond. They remained silent and focused, head slightly bowed, as if in deep sleep.  

TV crews from the local media arrived. Politicians, who had not visited the area for years searching for answers and the noble people of the town held discussions into the strange behaviour on Blue hall estate.  A sense of 'loss of control' was shaking the establishment, but they did not know what to do. No crime was being commitment. 

As day became night the sound of helicopters could be heard above, barriers were erected around the estate to stop people from entering or indeed leaving. The chief of police tried to address the people from his loudspeaker, but no response was to be seen. 

At 12 o'clock dead, Stanley opened his eyes, bent down and removed the red rose from the soil, placing it back into the pot. He stood up and like a regimented army people slowly came to their senses, smiled, turned and went back to their homes. 

Early morning, the day after, Stanley was sitting in his front-room enjoying his morning tea and toast. A sound he had not heard for a long time was emanating from the streets outside. 






Monday, November 23, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry

The clock stood still yesterday

I pondered on my childhood

A young person caught in a maze of mistakes

A vacuum waiting for time to make things right 

To be an adult

Yet, the child still remains

Inside this body of a man 

Cracked resemblance's of my parents live on and are reflected in the children I now give life too

The cold steel reality of life as I witness the flow

The beauty, the pain that tomorrow only knows 

Yet the clock stands still 









Sunday, November 22, 2009 

Category: Life
The impact of losing somebody from your life depends on the means of departure. To lose a friend through a disagreement can be repaired over time, we fall out of love and separate, we move house and never see our old neighbours the list goes on. 

There is no return from death. It ends there and then. There is no fixing of bridges, or means to repair, to put right. You are simply left with the memories, stories and the possessions of the person who has died and where suicide is involved you reflect increasingly upon the little signs, the behaviour and cries for help you ignored, but in reality you could not hear them. It is you mind projecting the pain of the lost one onto yourself.

When Jorge left us, he died a lonely and sad death. I wish with all my heart I could have been there, first and foremost to stop the journey he was destined to take. If he was beyond my influence I would have liked to hold his hand as he moved from this world. To let him know that people really do care.

I met up with his old girlfriend recently and discovered he had left half written poems, unfinished music and a small collection of possessions. I am carefully going through these to find if any can be developed in to full tracks and writings. If they can and when they time is right they will be shared, with you if you would like too.

Jorge's body was flown back to Portugal, without any ceremony here in the UK. I've liaised with the Portuguese Embassy and found the graveyard where is body now lays. During 2010 I am planning to visit and pay my last respects. The added pain in all of this is his old girlfriend, Jorge's family blame her for his suicide which I know is both wrong and cruel. I'm continuing to offer support and assistance where possible.

As for me I joined a volunteer project, which is supporting young people who find themselves in similar situations to that of Jorge. I am also a believer that life and the universe finds a way of balancing itself out. A few weeks after Jorge's death I received an email from one of my long lost daughters who I've had no contact with for almost ten years. She is now happily married in her late twenties with a child. My grandson....he is called George.







Friday, November 20, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry

My head....

Orbit spinning....

Transfixed ....

Remote control....

Damage limitation....

Forgotten ghosts ....

Eating toast....

Sailing in a boat....

When to boast....

In front of your host....

.. ..

Bingo caller....

Number 6....

Empty scaffolds ....

Howling winds....

Eyes closed....

Ticking noise....

Walk to window....

A crow chokes on crusted bread....

Cracking statue ....

Clouds of red....

Decision locked in head....

Take the key....

Remove the latch....

Can you see?....

.. ..

A painted portrait....

Of a crippled dancer....

With begging tin....

.. ..

Seasons come....

Seasons go....

What you find tomorrow....

You must let go....

Drink some water....

Find forgotten time....

Live your life....

Remove all hatred ....

Destroy all fake art....

Wear a rusted badge imprinted with peace sign....

.. ..

Teach your children....

Not to be blind....

Sing to them in nursery rhyme ....

Boil an egg....

Wash your parents feet....

Look to the past ....

Refuse to accept the rules of fools....

They are just petrified ....

Hang your troubles out on the washing line....

.. ..

Skip, sing, celebrate, and dance ....

Don't be afraid to cry....

Touch you loved ones....

Tell them no lies....

When you die....

They will be proud....

.. ..

Leave your mark....

When somebody mentions your name ....

Make people smile....

Warm the bed for your loved one....

Embrace their cold hands and feet....

Tell them you love them....

Even when you feel like shit....

.. ..

Be scared to leap....

Before you jump....

Smell the coffee and flowers....

Eat warm bread....

Write long letters on a friends website....

.. ..

Take some time....

To reflect on mashed up words, rhymes....

Your journey so far....

When two buses arrive at once just simply smile....

Next time you see a beggar....

Stop and talk it will be all worthwhile....

.. ..

Sunday, November 15, 2009 

Category: Life

Silence is the killer in most relationships, not the silence shared between two loved souls, but the silence that arrives from friction, doubt, mistrust and boredom.  The first major step of disintegration in Jorge’s relationship with his girlfriend came when he just disappeared one day and stayed away for two days. His girlfriend was beside herself again, she had contacted me and because of our general concern we visited places where Jorge would go.


No sight was found and then he turned up, unshaven, needing a shower and a change of clothes. It was if he had just forgotten where he was living and walked the streets. 


The cycle of mood swings became more volatile, the depression, the silence, the stalemate, slowly grinding her down. There was no doubt he loved her, but for some unexplainable reason he was destined to destroy the relationship and every time she tried to repair the damage Jorge would find a new way to break her will.


I spoke at length with him about his behaviour, which relationship of my relationship with him was cruel and selfish. Practically every occasion when I did talk to him he would break into tears. He knew what he was doing, but hated himself for what he was doing, he loved her, but he did not deserve her and then he hit the nail on the head…”she will leave me just like my mother.”


For six months this game of torture seemed to persist, then some where in the middle of is confusion came the dark step that put us all on alert.


His girlfriend, whilst on work placement as part of her university course, received a telephone call on her mobile. It was Jorge, he told her that he had taken some drugs, sufficient for an overdose and that he was going for a walk.


Immediately she contacted me and I in turn immediately went on the search for him. Fortunately, as a drove towards his flat I found him walking in the opposition direction I was travelling.


I jumped from the car and run over to him. Surprised to see me I quickly asked him if he had taken any drugs tonight, from the shuffle of his hands, the movement of his eyes, I could tell he was contemplating it, but had not done anything. I asked him the give me what he had, which amounted to three balls of crystal crack balls. I took them off him and stamped on them and then kicked the dust across the damp walk way.


He could see from my look, assertiveness and underlining anger (which I was controlling) that I was not playing games. He stood there is half shock, bewildered, like an empty vessel. I telephoned his girlfriend who broke down in tears.


I told him this has to stop and he agreed. Things calmed down for a couple of months. Then the cycle started again, this time his girlfriend informed Jorge that she needed some time from the relationship and that she was going back to Italy to visit her family for a week…as she put it…she was exhausted. 


During this week she had decided that she could no longer remain in the relationship unless Jorge received help. Her message was relayed to Jorge over lengthy telephone calls that would last hours with large period of silence. She told me that quite often she had to ask if Jorge was still on the line.


He would cry and be sweet until she indicated that she would consider giving the relationship another try then he would shift the conversation to ensure it became strained, then when she returned to her view that she could not stay in the relationship he would cry and become sweet again.


During this week Jorge started to ignore my telephone calls and texts. I would call round his flat to discover nobody in. His girlfriend returned from Italy and took the decision that she needed to move out, which she did.


I finally made contact with Jorge and arranged to meet him in central London for an early lunch. His girlfriend had let me know that she could not remain in the relationship until he started receiving treatment for his depression and mental illness. I had to agree with her no matter the pain to Jorge his girlfriend had demonstrated real love, loyalty, support and strength. She had given everything and had nothing else to provide.


I met with Jorge and I was shocked to see how much weight he had lost in a very short period of time. Secondly, he was caught up in a state of paranoia regarding the men who managed the nightclub he was working at. Thirdly he had given up his flat, since he split with his girlfriend and was now living in a small storage room in the actual nightclub. All this had taken place in a matter of two weeks.


I was shocked and tried to convince him to come home with me for a few nights to sort things out, but he was not with me. Every time I spoke to him about anything not of his instigation he would simply change the subject and refer to the men managing the nightclub…he was sure they were watching him all the time, following him and reporting what he was doing to others, they had made his girlfriend leave him, etc.


Jorge was living in his own reality, one that removed any responsibility from him and his actions. Then he stood up and said he needed to make a telephone call and went outside of the café. I turned my head to the waiter and ordered a coffee and when I turned back Jorge was gone. I searched, but to no avail, he could not be found. I telephoned and text, but no replies. I called his ex-girlfriend and asked her the mane of the nightclub he was working, but he had recently moved to another club and did not know the name.


Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. I made it a point each day to send a text, or call…but no reply. 


Then on 31st August late one evening two text messages and a couple of telephone calls were received on my mobile, which I had switched off whilst at the cinema. When I switched my mobile phone back on I immediately returned the calls and texts…but silence.


Three months had passed and I decided to break the silence and go to the café where Jorge was working to ask them if they had any news or how I could contact him. I had moved my work location again and had started to frequent an alternative coffee shop on morning. 


As I entered the café the owner walked towards me, greeted me with open arms, with sorrow written across his face. I asked what was the matter?


“Jorge is dead, he committed suicide,  he jumped into the river Thames late on 31st August.”



Jorge Balde RIP

I miss you. Dad x