I've just been through my gallery, searching for something to submit to a poetry/prose competition. And I was one really dark and depressed dude in Finland.

Why the hell is that? It should have been the best year of my life. Maybe it took that year (and probably the next) to get over having been bullied, maybe it was a phase, maybe it was just teenage angst... It makes me angry, and regretful, and hurt that I wasted such a great opportunity being depressed and lazy for a lot of the time. A lot of it was great, too. But could have been so much more. Regret is something I do all too well.

My girlfriend's probably going to read this, if she ever plucks up the courage to delve into this site. Hi. I'm not that depressed anymore, Ash! Don't worry about me!

Still, if there's one good thing that came out of that period, it was that I started to write poetry. And although the stuff from that period is not that great, I guess it's all learning. I'm pretty happy with my more recent poems. I shudder, though, to read the stilted and inconsistent attempts at metre, and the forced and hideously, abhorrently maimed rhymes I shanghaid into service. Hah. At least I'm more tolerant of other people's incompetent writing now. Not that I spend much time critiquing stuff like that - they'll grow out of it eventually. Hopefully.

Anyway, got to sleep now. I hope I have a really, really vivid dream.

-mike