Monthly Archives: February 2012


It is amazing how you never notice how addicted you get to something

Until it has gone

Either by personal choice or of another, or fate

There is the shortness of breath

The weight of your head on the pillow, in a feeble attempt to get up and start the morning

Even when it is the afternoon.

Looking around, almost as if you expect it to climb out of the crack in the wall, or the next turning on the road, or the next pub.

Addiction comes in many forms, obviously, we make so many for ourselves. Distraction.

And some of these make you become an outcast if you don’t join in.

Alcohol, Facebook, apps, music, fashion, politics, religion, shoes. Fucking shoes.

Makes it a struggle to break away when everyone looks at you in drugged up eyes and thinks you are losing it if you walk.

We are all dead. We really are.

It has taken a long time to realise, we are all sat, eyes squared, too fucking scared to look beyond our screens, how can we live without the noise, without the 24 hour disruption.

Absent minded on so many things at once we miss EVERYTHING. Nothing goes in, everything gets sucked out, trickling out of our ears and regurgitated through stolen words from our mouths.

If you sat in the silence for a few minutes, no sounds, no words, no screens, you would weep.

Every addiction can get fractured, think, if you lost yours would you remember who you were before it took you?

There there, nothing to fear, let’s just all go to sleep and start again tomorrow.


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Blank with words, too much going on. Brain feels like this.

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Posted by on February 18, 2012 in Painting




It’s all gone a little bit squishy

And boom boom boom

Shake down

Windows wobble

Walls break

Turn up the dial

Hanging on light bulbs

And wish you were here

Caked in mud

With a glass of elderflower wine

And a sandwich

Please let the cat out

And walk me home



Things are caving in again

Walls turning in on themselves and bannisters stretching for the ceiling

Everything scattered on the floor

Just material object with no meaning

And everyone dances to the same tune

But I don’t understand the heartbeat

It’s all a confusion, am I ill, am I alien, is it…Me?

An urge to run to the sea, throw my phone to the rocks

And never look back

Just up

To the stars.

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Posted by on February 12, 2012 in fiction, poem, poetry


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Photographic Memories

Being a photographer by heart I often end up looking at old photos more then the average clicker. I am always striving to save that image I took in 1993 of the goats, or the one in 2009 with the clouds over the sea. Sometimes it takes years to master a way of getting it right.

And of course with old photos come old memories, old flames, old friends… And it quite often takes years to master them too.

Some schools of thought feel it better to forget the past, to tear it up and throw it away. It smothers the brain in goo and wont let you grow. Other schools think you should grasp these times with both hands and never let go, or you will never learn from your mistakes.

I hated school, but does it make me wrong that I spend time going back to improve on the past?

Sometimes I draw horns on their heads. And willies.

And they’ll never know.


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It all started as a bit of an adrenalin rush. The coffee was good, and free. She put the shakes and twitches down as tiredness. It started growing inside her and she never knew, until…

Well, that was 10 years ago, we should have all seen it coming, now there are only a few thousand of us left. We snuffle the ground like pigs after truffles and try to disappear into the undergrowth when the wind blows their scent in our direction. We are faster, but sometimes we mess up. Some just have enough and walk towards the light. We understand.

The water is good now, after a boiling and some herbs it is tolerable. Tremors occur but we have it under control. They are winning though, whatever started this, whoever wanted this to happen, well, they have the flag ready. We wait and adjust to our new ways. Nature is glorious, now we see it without windows in the way.


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I’m tired of it

All the ‘oh, well, I am sure the one will turn up soon’

What if I am happier with my lot.

My material objects that bring contentment

I don’t want to lose myself again in someone else

I miss them too much when they leave

So please, stop feeling sorry for me

Just because you are happier in pairs

And believe that this is what should be

I’ll take my coffee a different way

And I am happy with it. The end.


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