I spent Easter Sunday at a local market, wasting the day between the stalls and excited children. I watched the stall owners conduct varying levels of business, whilst the children were focused solely on chocolate-coated marshmallow. Backing all this was the gentle sound of jazz.

Dancing — artist unkown

I had a look at…

Digital Transformation… Snake oil by any other name

The term digital transformation has long lost any meaning and the ability for a sane human being to define it without getting into linguistic knots. Yes, I too was an advocate or is that proponent of the digital transformation, aka DX. But…

The start of the end was confusing, he knows change is imminent, pressing against his future. His change anchored to his past, a comfortable place where habits roam around unconsciously.

A promise imprisoned in the year 2021 screamed for its freedom. The keys jingled as he took steps into the year, the sound of potential clanging against the steel of failure.

The bars cast a shadow over the beauty of his freedom. The shadows sliced through the image of all he held dear, keeping the pieces apart, a puzzle never to be completed.

Tumbling along the dusty floor the bones kicked up powdery blossoms red chocking dust. After each throw the dust slowly settled back down on the floor, and who knew how many times the dust had risen and fallen; far more times than the sun rose and fell each day.


I thought I did
I thought I did
I thought I did

The truth was a lot further, it lost me in the tails of it's deceit. The deceit that had tempted me away from the lies that had kept me warm. …

Winston Ritson

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