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I am honestly unsure how I have had a writer’s club for this long and haven’t presented you with a word pool. Word pools are easy in concept; you are given a pool of words, and you, the writer, are tasked with managing to fit them into a single piece of writing. For this prompt, I want to put the above words specifically in a piece of writing about love…

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A good few years ago, a friend dragged me along to a party where some strangers had transformed an old industrial building into a dancehall and dubstep shook the troubles away or at least that’s how it seemed. I mean, it was probably the drugs but I am naive and wishful enough to believe it was the music because a speaker can become a church to anybody on the correct station. I have never enjoyed the sort of music they play at illegal raves. My body doesn’t know how to move to that sort of rhythm but these are the sort of sacrifices you make for friends. Luckily, it wasn’t long until the police came and shut it down, the vibrations were reportedly felt for miles and the strobe lights made the moon dizzy. I would argue though, that it is better to see something alive instead of dead. however, I would also agree that a rave is not the right way to go about it. Because it is in these sorts of places that people become ghosts and I don’t mean that metaphorically. I am saying some friends gathered and loaded their vehicles with speakers and a DJ deck and went forth with the mission to bring the people together and we can argue that it is the wrong way to do a good thing but a good thing it still is. And since then I have walked into abandoned churches and pondered on the acoustics. I am convinced the right person with the right guitar could start a revolution in these places and turn the picket signs outside of the factory building into more than wasted ink. The right noise is better than silence.

Across my country, there are remains of grand places that were left to ruin and I think of how they could house something more than dust. How there are homeless people stretched across the country looking for a warm place to sleep. I think about how different music can sound in different places. I have seen it performed in chapels and I am convinced it is still echoing to this day. I wonder how much of this country has been left behind and how much of it is still living. I think then of the world and then of all the beauty, we destroy for the same old office block or the same set of overpriced houses that struggle to sell in this climate. How lucky we were to ever come together after the pandemic and dance in the same room as one another. Put a punk show in an old asylum and let us feel with our bodies. Let us raise our fists in unison and march down the streets chanting the same song. I recently saw Gang Of Youths and we took over the city with an army of ‘doos’ from their hit single ‘In The Wake Of Your Leave’ and gosh, didn’t it feel magical to be a part of something. Even when the hope is gone, its spirit remains. Let us celebrate these places - let us breathe life into places left behind. Every time I see the rubble, my bones shake at the thought of what could be.

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Yeahhhh. Today, we are talking about habits and the comfort zones we nuzzle ourselves into. I feel everybody has a bad habit or ten. Many of us are guilty of holding on to things that should be greeted with an open palm and why? Because habits aren’t easy to break. It is a common thing for people to run back to bad relationsh…

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