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creative writing & photography

Eternal Memory VS Eternal Loneliness

The waves beat at you

you beat back.

Better to have

loved and lost,

whatever the cost.

The tree will crumble

and the crumble will give

flowers and the flowers

will be humble

until they stand

on their own

two feet.

The waves beat.

The waves beat at.

The waves beat at you.

You beat back.

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Now are

That day
you left me
I vacated
my body…
A hollowed out
tree now
the thing I are.
Are?
Were.
What are
the parallelograms
up to?
Do we fit
each through?
I slew
the box
of you.
It all
went by
so fast.
But even
so
it was
excruciatingly
slow.
You tend
to grow back
unexpectedly
and against
all odds.
Even on rocks.
In Euclidean geometry.
Quadrilateral.
Two pairs.
Parallel sides.
That day
you left me…
it was two days
before Christmas.
A hollowed out

tree thing

I now are.

The Warning

We know

before

we find out

because of our senses.

It is a defense

mechanism.

The fall can’t be

avoided,

so it needs

to be

prepared

for.

We are

warned.

We take

or don’t take

the warning.

We know

before

we find out

because of our senses.

We don’t hide

behind art,

we hide

behind life.

Where

Art is art. This includes:
Paintings
Sculptures
Light
Graphic design
Film
Stamps
Flags
Doors
Flowers
Trees
Birds
All art is is a place. You can be in that place. You are in that place.

Karma

Tear

by tear

All the

tears

disappear:

Colour in

the eyes

now following

the cleanse:

Chameleon soul.

Ride the horse

20170926_112729
Turn a person inside out,
and what do you get?
A landscape.
Empty and full
with canyons.

The voice
of my mother, saying:
Eat
something.
Don’t be so
dramatic.
You are so
lazy.

Turn the canyons inside out,
and what do you get?
A million minions of you,
clambering for the front of the line.

The voice
of my father, saying:
You are full of
shit.
You are so
afraid.
You are
meaningless.

It’s okay.
It’s not okay.
It is definitely okay.
It is absolutely not okay.
Okay.
Not okay.
Okay.
Not okay.

My grandfather, god rest his soul,
tried to strangle me when I affronted him,
I was, what, eleven?
and my mother
rescued me.

Sometimes I fall, you know?
I drop, like a dancer.
But when am I dancing?
unless I am always dancing.
Sometimes I fall into the child I was.
As soft as a soul.
You can pet the soft fur of a soul.
Often and it will cost you nothing.
What is another day in the past.
Five thousand dollars.

The voice of my friend, saying:
Ride the horse.

Another summer

Little did we / know.

Another / summer.

If she runs / I’ll try to outrun her.

She materialised / in my kitchen requesting apples.

I should have / known better.

Any being, of this world / godly, dead, undead,

all desire things two:

food,

love.

Another / summer.

An usherer / for the dead souls.

Across / the river.

Another / summer.

Eat well / fall in love.

You are among / the living.

I don’t live in London at the moment.

Time reveals

I had been

locked out.

Wanted

to get in.

Nails first.

Tail

through

the door.

Lizard.

I resembled

a future

September.

Send her

my love.

Lizard

became

some gorilla.

Blizzard

for ever.

From the ice

I emerged

amongst

others,

striking

rock

on

rock.

We journeyed

so very long

to get here.

From hindsight

it was not

an obstacle

but an

evolutionary

leap.

Pity not

yourself

in times

of adversity,

sweet human.

Everything is

not

what it

seems.

Like for like (in the golden hour)

With each thing

Virginia Woolf sees

she wishes to see the thing

“itself”.

As an object,

even a subject

stripped and rooted

to its essence,

laid bare,

to write of it,

through it,

trangressing its

boundaries,

going into the seeds

that nourish the roots

of each thing,

each tree,

standing proudly,

in each country.

Virginia Woolf, at her most anxious,

heard voices, coming out of the walls.

The voices terrified her,

but she understood why they

were here,

again,

and would lead her,

at the end of her life,

to her death in the River Ouse.

The voices were here

to take vengeance. Most of them

were male, and they were angry

with her, something she could tell

with accuracy, as these were the

voices of the men of the art of letters.

How dare you, Virginia.

You are a woman.

Wash something.

Birth something.

Leave the writing

To the geniuses.

But Woolf was also a genius.

From thou to Thou and thought to Thought

Choosing the spot

of least distraction,

let us sit

with Thou

and exchange thoughts

into Thoughts.

On Thursdays

we undress ourselves

of ironies

and brush fear

into a clearer, more

merer, managable

object,

for the

stray cats.

We sit

under a barren tree

and by the time

dialogues 1-5

are done

the tree

is in full bloom,

like a cherry tree

in June

in another country.

Go thou, now,

treefully,

covered in flowers,

and leaves.

Follow Thou,

across lucency,

over all currencies,

to the Pater.

Blood flows freely

between us.

Us.