I can't write at the moment except that I am actually writing. I do wonder what the point of all this is. Like who gives a flying fig what I think - really. If I were reading a blog what would I look for?

Well, for a start, a perspective on something I was interested in. Something that had some sort of insight about a matter I cared about. Perspectives on a film. Reflections by an actor. Something a journalist is considering behind the scenes. I am interested in writing, not because I like writing, but I love stories - I try to avoid the stories because it sounds a bit… lame, I prefer to call them narratives. Let’s face it though – it’s a big person’s word for story time.

Narrative lets you encounter a range of things. As I write what comes to mind is that it lets you revisit emotions that you've had in the past, it lets you experience them in a safe environment. I recall that this was the reason why the ancient Greeks loved their tragedies. They wanted to experience the feeling of loss without having to experience actual loss. This was something that the writer of the particular article found deplorable. At the time I agreed, but now days, I think - isn't that a bit judgmental? The tragedies allowed for the viewers to participate in the spectacle, but it wouldn't have been the only thing that they brought away with them.

Tan and I are watching Battlestar Galactica at the moment and loving it. I think it succeeds where Star Wars ended up failing. Well, it doesn't make merchandising a deciding factor in terms of what you put up on the screen. But putting that aside it succeeds because it explores the nature of relationships, the dynamics of our decisions in the many places we occupy in our lives. What it is to be in a position of authority, trusting those in a position of authority, the experience of being a son, a daughter, a friend, a lover - all these things are done so well. It actually uses the genre of Science Fiction well, the main ingredients are there, not least of which is the theme of the human race over-reaching itself. The essentials of being a human – that even in the face of extinction we still fight and betray, that we can be petty and that ultimately the enemy will always be us. A theme explored by having the enemies, the Cylons, actually look like us – imperceptibly different save a synthetic compound in their ‘blood’ that is almost impossible to detect. I could go on… but I need to get onto death.

At the cemetery yesterday I came across an old tombstone shaped like an open book. On the left hand side was the faded insignia of a husband that was loved and missed by his wife - I don't remember if there were children. He died in the 1940s in his early 60s.

The other side was blank.

It looked strange seeing something so old, so faded, waiting like a fresh page forgotten. It was like he had been left at the station. His wife never came. What happened to her? Surely she was dead, there is no way that she is still alive. Did she remarry? Did she return to a home over seas? Did she really not love him? That empty page strikes me, the waiting....

Outside it is raining in the darkness and this seems more appropriate to this memory of a blank tombstone than the sun and warmth of when I encountered this grave stone

I think about that, I think about loss and waiting and expecting. Sometimes the days can seem like a production line, our obligation to stand as the mundane and the ritual of it all pass in succession with each hour. Not sure what it is I expect. I'm not unhappy. But there is an emotion or a feeling that is sitting in my chest - it's a constriction, it doesn't hurt but sometimes it flares and it feels... like if I were to yell it out my voice would be too small.

There are lines all around my life, like fences on properties. There are roads between the fences and the properties and I walk them everyday. I dare not deviate from them. I remember feeling that years ago driving to and from the school where I was a relief teacher. Thinking that I should pull over and go for a walk in a park before I got home.

To stop every so often and savor life.

There was a costal freeway, I remember reading about once, and on it there were signs telling people not to pull over to watch the whales. Sure enough it may cause an accident, but what an opportunity at sunset and that every so often someone out of the thousands that pass by there everyday would stop and risk their safety to experience that sight. Would we enjoy cooking if it didn’t smell so good? We have to eat, but it’s the pleasure involved that makes life worth living.