The world does not stop.  
Its hands grind the hours to dust,  
indifferent, relentless,  
a machine that tears beauty from its roots.  

They pave over wildness,  
turn green to gray,  
and laugh as they vanish into cities  
built to collapse.  

And I hate them for it—  
for the way they pass by  
what remains,  
too blind to see the tender rebellion  
of a wildflower rising through cracked stone,  
the stillness of a hill beneath an endless sky.  

At fifty-five miles per hour,  
they reduce the infinite to a blur,  
a place they will never touch.  

But I love the quiet, the overlooked.  
The way moss clings to damp stone,  
the faint pulse of water through soil,  
the hum of life in a field mouse’s frantic dash.  

A single blade of grass,  
standing unbroken beneath the frost,  
carries more grace than the world  
they call progress.  

For I, too, am a speck of dust,  
being ground down by causality,  
spun within the great indifference  
of all that moves and does not see.  

And yet I persist—  
a small thing against the weight,  
an ember clutching at its warmth,  
a whisper in the deafening void.  

I want to scream,  
not to stop the world,  
but to make them see.  
To make them hear the voice of moss,  
the whisper of grass,  
the soft rebellion of the unnoticed.  

I want them to kneel  
and lay their palms to the ground,  
to feel what still endures beneath them—  
not in grandeur,  
but in the quiet things  
that will outlast their noise.  

Let them say I was hollow.  
Let them call me bitter, or ruined.  
But let them know this:  
Every fragile thing that stood defiant  
held a piece of me within it,  
a weight to steady its roots,  
a breath to fan its fire.  

And when they forget,  
as they always will,  
I will remain in the places they passed,  
small and unseen,  
but unbroken.

In my journey as a marketer and strategist, working within the dynamic world of media and advertising, I’ve come to realize that success is not born from flashes of creative brilliance alone. It is something deeper, a persistent force; grit, that has driven my professional development and growth. It has become clear to me that in an industry where innovation, creativity, and strategy is highly valued, it’s not simply enough to have vision. Sustaining that vision requires dedication, discipline, and the ability to weather setbacks with unwavering resolve.

Early in my career, I believed that raw talent or the next big idea would be the key to success. But with time, I came to see that ideas, much like passion, are fleeting unless coupled with a dogged commitment to execution. Campaigns aren’t made great by the initial spark of inspiration; they succeed through relentless iteration, feedback, and optimization. It’s not the glamour of pitching an idea that creates long-term impact; it’s the persistence in refining it, over and over, even when the outcome isn’t immediately clear.

I’ve learned that in media and advertising, failure is inevitable. Campaigns don’t always hit the mark, trends shift, and audiences are ever-evolving. But rather than being discouraged by setbacks, I’ve grown to view them as critical moments in my professional development. Each challenge, whether it’s a missed opportunity or a campaign that falls short, has become a lesson in resilience. With each, I’ve honed my ability to pivot, to absorb feedback, and to adapt; skills that are as essential as creativity in this fast-paced industry.

In the same way that grit shapes personal success, it’s the cornerstone of professional growth in media. Success is less about having one breakthrough moment and more about showing up every day with determination, ready to push forward despite the obstacles. I’ve seen how those who persist, who learn from failure, and who continuously strive for improvement in their craft are the ones who ultimately thrive.

As I reflect on my career, I understand now that it wasn’t my initial creative spark that defined my trajectory, but my willingness to grind through the mundane aspects of the process, to work toward long-term goals even when progress was slow. It’s this fusion of passion and perseverance that has allowed me to turn ideas into impactful campaigns, and to evolve in an ever-changing industry.

—

It’s not the spark that lights the flame,
But steady hands, day after day.
A mind that bends but will not break,
Through every challenge, for progress’ sake.

It’s not in speed, nor strength, nor flight,
But rising up, time after time.
For grit is forged in quiet strain,
A constant push against the grain.

When all seems lost, and dreams grow dim,
Grit finds the strength to try again.

— Sincerely, Boris

In wellie boots
I wade through the years.
Tears of denial seep through
and splash into the top of these wellie boots
dragging me down
one by one.

Sticky in your grasp
I cling
wishing that mud could turn to stone.
trudging through the realization
that it never was
and never would be.

With each step these wellies
begin to separate.
They fall off and sink.
They’ve drowned.
I’ve waded into quicksand.

I laugh at the belief that these wellies
would be enough protection
from a much larger situation.
I’m laughing as I am slowly sinking
at least I’m not drowning unaware
that you would watch me suffocating.

Tears meet the years old tears dried at my feet
delusion meets grief.
Now at shoulder depth
I am laughing.
As I prepare to take my last breath
I am laughing.

I get pulled out while still laughing.
By someone who isn’t you.
and I see my wellie boots in the distance
dead and floating.

Now I jump in relief. Barefoot.

healing;
excited to work again;
my best shot.

Verse 1
Hello toilet, my old friend
I've got to go now once again
I've been waiting for a great while
This time I'm going the ex-tra mile
With a force that few have ever known,
Sheer will alone,
I'm taking...the ****...enormous

Verse 2
In truth it feels more than I can take
I could pass out-and yes there's no mistake
That this straining-it is as such
Upon a mountain where lightning struck
Where I felt the challenge
May be well beyond my strength
What it might take
Attempting...the ****...enormous

Verse 3
And in the end I can now feel
This force of nature makes me reel
Pushing a boulder of such great size
Pushing a stone so big-one can't deny
Making a log-giving it your all-one may survive
Yes-in all my life
As this was...the ****...enormous

Verse 4
By my word-I feel-that this is it
Upon this toilet throne I sit
An overwhelming explosion from inside
With no place in my mind left to hide
As this was-unreal-yes, you can take my word,
The gigantic...****...enormous

Verse 5
And my goal it now seems in sight
I give it all with all my might
In a strange vision this very moment
As this an unreal bowel movement
And soon I feel:
Like the clear shaking in the earth
That as making n' breaking waves
I'm stunned and dazed
From taking...the ****...enormous

Through the voids and reserved screaming,
The seemingly endless echo of despair,
The damp greasy bleeding of my heart,
Each death of it so sure it was the last;

The pariah, the abandoned and lost,
All of it in one unremarkable person,
He survived it all with the violence unseen,
Born from it, the gentleness and kindness;

A revenant healing his way to his best,
To be who he needed all along before,
To be the light that never came for him,
He became him, who always hoped to be;

No more chasing the darkness or solitude,
A beacon of hope for himself, the hero,
He lived in the dark still but shining,
For that each dawn of today's different

Until it was and he was changed again,
Iridescently casting his strength and power,
Powers he never knew he had or felt,
He beats on in hope, faith and love

Progress is the storm

that has risen at the gates --


of Eden's garden.