Freelance arts facilitator I also work in a historic library and frequently wear tank tops and/or knitted ties. Printer, Artist, Storyteller & designer.
A corner of Roger Peyrefitti's apartment opposite the Bois de Boulogne. The plethora of pinecones on the cabinet, under the statue and elsewhere was more than décor. Each was the memento of a youthful orgasm sourced in the Bois. That's warm friendly France for you.
The most important skill to master in 2025:
Self-Regulation.
Without it, you'll stay lost, anxious, and stuck making the same mistakes for years.
After 2000+ hours of clinical training as a therapist, here's how to finally take command of your nervous system: 🧵
Your anxiety didn’t start in adulthood.
It started when you became "The Good One."
People-pleasing is harmful.
It rewires your brain and fractures your sense of self.
Here's what most therapists won't tell you.
This is important. Please open 🧵
The most dangerous, oddly glorified, yet overlooked problem in the world:
Overthinking and underacting.
It's why you're stressed, depressed and your immune system is always in chaos.
Here's Eckhart Tolle 7-step protocol to escape the prison of overthinking: 🧵
🔻Witold Pilecki is known as the only person who voluntarily entered the Auschwitz concentration camp.
Inside, he organized a resistance group, managed to escape, and reported the crimes committed there to the outside world.
Here's his story.
Thread:
Favourite lie I've told my kids is that The Artist Formerly Known As Prince was only the size of a cat and had to have special clothes and shoes made just for him. They asked where he is now I told them someone asked him to hold their party balloon and he floated off into the sky
'Eden Rock' by the Cornish poet Charles Causley. I've posted this before, but here it is again, five short verses long, and just about perfect.
'They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.
My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.
She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight
From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.
The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins
A stone along the water. Leisurely,
They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, 'See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.'
I had not thought that it would be like this.'
My mum and dad in Ely, Cambridgeshire in 1954, the earliest photograph I have of them together. She is 18, he is 19. They had first met perhaps a few weeks previously.
Free dungeon map! Long overdue I have finally published this old dungeon map that I started working on years ago. If you need a map for a dungeon crawl adventure, feel free to use this! High-resolution download link is in my bio.