Peach’s Almanac – Another Blog!

Hey you lovely people! ❤

Recently I have started a new blog. (don’t worry, I’ll still be posting here, and with as much frequency, this is just extra!)

It’s dedicated to Anime, Essays, Movies, Literature  – you know, pop-culture stuff, reviews and the like. You can do the clickety below and follow if any of that tickles your fancy. I look forward to seeing you there. And for those who aren’t sufficiently tickled. I look forward to seeing you here, as always! 😀

Peach’s Almanac


^ I like the clickety!!


Thanks, as always.

-Chris ❤


1000 Followers! – Thank You!

Hey there all you lovely people! Thank you so, so, so much for reading, liking, commenting – EVERYTHING, these past few months. It’s fair to say I’m really enjoying this, both creating my own content, and reading other’s. It’s a special thing I’ve come to cherish, and you’re all with me for the ride! Because, I’m telling you, sometimes it may get a little bumpy. But I’m cool with that. 😀

I can’t promise a consistent schedule, nor entirely consistent content. Maybe that can come in the future – because I really do hope this space I’ve created has a long and beautiful future. It’s turned into so many things I thought it couldn’t be, so many things that bring that extra little spark to my life. A day would feel strange without being able to interact in this way, without being able to launch my ramblings and depressing poetry out there into our world.

The reason for doing it?

I’m not sure… after I came back from university (you know, that dreadful week of despair) I felt like I needed to do something, to achieve something that I hadn’t before. And maybe this has, and will continue to be, the thing that allows me that. Or maybe it suffices a deeper need that I am yet to understand – maybe it something not entirely benevolent. Though, I try to take each moment as it happens, without looking too far back, or two far ahead.

So, for now, I really love this!

Hope to see you around!


-With love, Chris ❤ ❤ ❤

Sitting To Write

Today I made a decision to sit and write. To do my utmost best in resisting distraction, to work against the pull of all those other things.

I love my writing. Honestly, there is little in the world that can match it. And yet, it takes so much effort to work towards, so much straining to actually produce something, to make sure the day is not wasted.

I don’t know why…

I realised that loving something doesn’t intrinsically make it easy, effortless. In fact, it can have the opposite effect. The more we love something, the more we wish for it to work out, and the more we care if it doesn’t. I suppose, in a sense, this is easy to understand.

There is a ton of weight resting on my ability. The fear of failure is so much greater when it is something I dearly care about.

The fear of not being good enough. Of never being good enough.

I want to let all my creative juices flow without anything holding me back. Without any of the anxieties surrounding my writing – what I can and cannot do. Without perpetually weighing myself up against others.

I only want to sit and write.

Tiny Stories – Intents and Purposes

Intents and Purposes

For all intents and purposes, Frank was a man, a man like any other man. In all regards his life was completely normal. Of course, by all means, this was intentional. Because who desires to live a life that is anything but?

To Frank… life was a simple beast. Rather easy to tame, and mundane to execute. It was in this mundanity where he found the pleasure of what it was to live, what it was to be human. It was the small things. The sky on a winter’s morning, the smell of a sea breeze, and walks shortly before dusk. Trains too.

Of course, he was no stranger to suffering. Frank had seen his fair share of tragedy. And though he rarely spoke about it, though he rarely even acknowledged it to himself. It had carved a path for him, pre-planned the hills and valleys that lay ahead.

That morning was like all other mornings. Frank shaved, he shit, he ate, he locked his creaking, discourteous door. And with this, he left his home behind, the place that kept him dry, the place that meant nothing more than serving as a dwelling – and honestly, a moderately shitty one at that. But he didn’t care. This wasn’t what Frank lived for.

What Frank did live for was the pure, unadulterated joy of train journeys, and journeys in general. You see, Frank saw hardly on other meaning to existence that the pleasure that a simple train could bring. He revelled in the beating of the tracks, the squealing of the brakes, and the pulsating rumbling of the decades old diesel engines. He scowled, and thought, in what world could all those other boring pricks not see it? This, in and of itself, he thought, was heresy, first world madness at the very least.

Each morning he walked through the park. Not because he was required to, but simply because he could. This was the kind of man Frank was. There were things worth doing, and things not worth doing. However, walking through the park before a train ride was most definitely one of the more prestigious things in his life. It was one of those things rooted into his routine. Even if he wanted, he could not stop doing it.

Frank greeted each person he passed with a wide smile. He liked to spread the happiness on those cold mornings. Mostly, it was never returned, but he felt warm on the occasions it was. Frank saw this smile spreading as part of his social duty, a good deed to be undertaken each day. But this was not the only thing he did. Of course, he gave money to Franz the German homeless man who always sat by the water fountain at this time. He was a good man. Frank wished people weren’t so unfortunate. He wished people could be more like Franz.

Nearing the end of the park, the dog sat by the gates. A huge dog. To Frank’s best judgement, a St. Bernard, but he could be wrong. For some reason, each day it sat there at that very time. Its posture still and calm. Its owner nowhere in sight. Frank, and he supposed Bernard had got used to their morning neck tickles. He imagined the dog smiling and laughing, despite knowing dogs could in fact, not smile, nor laugh. Facts like this made him sad. He thought the world would be a much more hospitable place if dogs had those abilities.

Entering the station, he felt happy. Just as happy as he always felt. He felt joyous in the simplicity of his morning – what he gave the world and what he received in turn. This gave true beauty to life, each little thing adding up to one big thing, one big meaning. At this moment, buying his ticket, Frank couldn’t help but smile. A smile to himself and the ticket-man. Frank knew a smile shouldn’t be an exclusive action.

So, Frank boarded the Train. This very model he loved with all his heart – the TW-000PL8. There was no finer mistress in life, and there never had been across all the ages. Some mornings, he doubted it could ever be topped. Though he hoped. Frank always hoped. Because, if it couldn’t be… then what was he doing here?

Frank sat beside a small, old-ish woman. He guessed she was probably in her early seventies. “Hello!” He said, politely. She did not reply, but glanced at him with a look, which transcribed to words might say something like – ‘In all of the Kingdoms, why has this train-loving, overtly happy child-man sat next to me. Of all the gracious old ladies here!’

Naturally, Frank being Frank, gave approximately zero shits. Though he did wonder, what is the purpose of such nastiness?

And then he thought, silently to himself, looking around the train – where did those people find their joy, their happiness, their calling? What made them tick over towards the next day, and the next? Frank had never pondered this, for he thought everyone was like himself. Finding joy in trains and in parks and in dogs called Bernard.

As he closed his eyes and listened to the unmistakable wheel chatter of the TW-000PL8, Frank noticed that the world, humanity had suddenly become a much more complex entity. And in this complexity, he saw the beginnings of new wonders, new things to explore and find joy in. New things to add to his daily routine.

Frank opened his eyes, looked out of the window at the passing world, and smiled. A deep, whole, loving smile.


Ranting, Love

I’ve written something about love before. Although, it wasn’t specific to love. Not in the true sense.

I like to rant about things. Sure, maybe people find me slightly opinionated and hard-edged. Yet, I prefer this to having no opinion at all, and that seems to be how many people live their lives.

Love – I don’t how I feel about it. Or if I should feel anything concrete at all.

It seems to be a mysterious enigma that people construct their lives around, that people base their decisions on. Yet, can any one person really explain what it is and what it actually means? Maybe in a subjective manner they can. Love… it’s a all-encompassing term to bundle together all those indescribable and irrational feelings we have. Feelings that fit into no other category, things that cannot be explained using any other word

Love… everyone wants it. It is a universal desire.

I’m not sure I can believe in it though. Believe in love at first sight, love as a concept in the first place… Maybe it’s because of the lack of control I hold over it. I cannot decide when or how it manifests, directed towards whom. I cannot stop nor halt its progress, its recession. Maybe I fear it completely. Maybe I fear what might happen if it ever comes tumbling down after so much time, after so much personal investment. I fear what that would do to me, my mindset.

I feel scared when I see love, and realise what I truly feel is jealousy in return. Love is something I’ve never had. I don’t think I’ve ever even come close. And sometimes, because of this, I become depressed in my inability to create the closeness required, the friendship that must come before.

I wish for change, and yet the change never comes.

Love… it’s jealousy, desire, need, selfishness, exitement, hope, disapointment… it’s not me.


Chaos Theory – Stars

“Some nights back home, I looked deep into the sky towards the stars, at the distant worlds I knew existed but could not see. I would think that I am like one of those worlds. So, so far away, invisible to most eyes, as they – as I – would always be. It made me feel small looking up like that. Sure, I know everybody says that, but it’s true. You look out there, and you look down here. Witnessing the past light of all those stars, in a sense, looking into the past itself. And still, that light felt closer than all that surrounded me.”