hope

An Ode to Books

Dearest People, Books are brains, inside-out. Books are impossible, archaic, odd, and easy to dismiss - but only if unread. When read, books show us everything that is Other. Our personal concepts of these things are unravelled, reveled in, and transformed in the journey of reading - a private paroxysm of epiphanic communication. Life previously…Read more An Ode to Books

i dream of rosehip tea.

it was months ago when i picked rosehips along my path home by the sea, slipping each one like a little gold nugget into the pockets of my grey, zip-up jumper. i’d imagined doing it so many, many times, like a child in a candy shop, reaching up to pluck the beauties down; this time,…Read more i dream of rosehip tea.

…That Thing with Wings

Autumn breathes on my face from afar — so fresh! — stirring every unique nerve ending to sudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool hand rested gently on my arm, I’m startled awake. And out from the ashes of languid, summer days, my heart rises up and up, spiralling higher, higher, and higher still, feathered and beating…Read more …That Thing with Wings

Today

I cannot write. Cannot write, cannot write cannotwritecannotwrite. There is nothing to say, it's all been read,saidanddone. I cannot write right: my idealism won't countenance these mongrel awkwardnesses, won't afford them the space, award them the effort, free them for flight -- the gut-dropping, nose-first dive I know it will inevitably be. I cannot write…Read more Today

Grey

  https://youtu.be/808nTiXLam8 I’m still in this place. Sometimes it seems I never leave. * Gallery, 2014 Imagine, if you will a gallery piece installed, a row of plants at progressing stages of growth, lined up in pots and flash-frozen in time, breathing cold puffs, crystalline almost synthetic. Imagine also the moment the exhibit starts to disintegrate, freeing gouged…Read more Grey

The Ever-Processing Machine

I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied masochist at heart(less), doomed to miserable inaction for the rest of my days. I do not dedicate myself as I should, as I need. . . There’s a…Read more The Ever-Processing Machine

‘If the Furies Should Take…’

'It is widely rumored, and also true, that I wrote my first novel in a closet. Before I get all rapturous and carried away here, I had better admit to that. The house was tiny, I was up late at night typing while another person slept, and there just wasn't any other place for me…Read more ‘If the Furies Should Take…’

A New Proposition

-- "Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent... Faith is not a series of gilt-edged propositions that you sit down to figure out, and if you follow all the logic and accept all the conclusions, then you have it. It is crumpling and throwing away everything,…Read more A New Proposition

Everything Unresolved

-- "...I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given…Read more Everything Unresolved

Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

Hello all 🙂 Thank you all so much for your support. Idiolalia is available straight from the printer now at 3 GBP or 5 USD each (or a cheaper PDF ebook copy). If you order from Lulu through the link provided here it should be sent straight to your house, super-easy. The price may change…Read more Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

Barren

Bent old woman, past all youth, her been- there- done- that -- sufficient. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks, you know", I know, everyone agrees with a shrug. All things are best left exactly as growth and evolution left them and once maturity has been reached there is no Hope of newness. "We must…Read more Barren

Marx & Foucault Meditation

I was going to write a piece I could be proud of this week. Something perhaps with a twinge of the intellectual child hiding out in my supremely poetic(transliteration: sappy)soul... I was going to write something that intersected with the reality found in thinking, rational minds, something that touched on the points of the incredible…Read more Marx & Foucault Meditation