I’m looking after a cat for the week. It’s the cutest pet and sometimes my mind falls away with it. Are metaphors successful if nobody else understands them? In the past my mind employed harmless ideas to cover up ghosts. The groping fingers of my grey matter would drape its ghouls in silks and baubles…… Continue reading Catharsis (2)
I started to write. The air around me was still and the past progressed from my finger-tips like taffy. Outside the sky was glaring blue. I watched high up as the clouds scudded past like stupid children, bumbling along on an unknown current oblivious to the implications of their movement and participation. Their cow-white presence…… Continue reading Catharsis (1)
“Without hope, all men are animals,” he tells me stoically from the chair. “And all women too!” I reply with an ironic grimace, teeth bared to cover up All our fear. We smell it on ourselves now, Universal a low lingering sour scent of too many mistakes, too many actions unable to be undone, By…… Continue reading POWER Responsibility.
Two sides this life; black and white endlessly contradicting one another; cancelling one another out; a mirror opposing a mirror in my mind. This need to interpret to assign meaning has been generated via necessity but is now functioning to render all moments mute all sunrises empty and all pathways circular because it has…… Continue reading Resolution (poem)
Tired synapses struggle with connection. I blink, and look back down to the page. Words stutter, to resolve themselves on my lips and in my mind, they patter out from the darkness on flat feet and flail about in the light of awareness, my brain’s waves are irregular- inspiration stutters and blasts in and out,…… Continue reading Tired synapses
Turns out the love stories were all just two dimensional. Whether on screen or on the pages of a bookthey didn’t stand up to scrutinyand so when I became more confident and certain of my own rightsto inspect these accounts more closely I lifted them up and turned them on their head and they simply…… Continue reading Overturning love-stories
Kid A Rocks my baby back through psychedelic shades of memory ridden contemplation, old faces haunt me shadowy alley-ways run deep down behind my jaw line walk themselves home as I recollect old beats old faces, old places which I never really left- before my time yanked from the only place I ever really felt…… Continue reading Old Faces
It is the 30th of December and a new year looms. I am still sat, writing crappy poetry and vacillating between numerous unfinished projects. I have the main project, the one I have been working on for three years and have recently sent to my mum for beta reading and comment, as a kind of…… Continue reading Writing, thinking about writing, and de-cluttering my flat.
Mary Shelley shot a bolt of lightening into me; I’m not sure whether it entered between my legs or through my eyes but suddenly I saw stars and the very atoms of the air crackled with infinite potential and malevolent design. Inspiration is right in front of me- I will create a literary monster and…… Continue reading Inspiration
Pursuing my dreams often causes me a headache, and yet the idea of not pursuing the things I can imagine seems infinitely more painful. The proverbial rock and hard-place. I am stuck between the looming rock-face I wish to scale, and the hard place behind me which is a hard, flat desert of inactivity. I spend…… Continue reading The tiring nature of pursuing ones dreams