All to yourself

 The night is late, Day has had it's time. The dishes have been washed and the supper has been devoured. You sit in your brightly lit kitchen tired and prepared to enter your bed and be eaten alive by pitch black particles. To lay in bed and depress, worry and stress. Then you turn to your side and expect to see your parents giving you an assuring smile and a beautiful sense of security. But no. All you see is the dark that makes you turn away so you don't have to face the fear that clearly exists. You then face the wall with a fright of the malformed face of fear   merging up from the dark and its cold bony hand with long black fingernails cutting your cheeks and the hand wet with blood from another's dreams. It tells you that the sun will never rise, that your parents have no wish to awake. You turn and face fear's monstrous, melancholy, malformed face. You stare into fear's black eyes and your eyes report to your brain of the beast it has seen. You look intensely at it with no sign of fright and it does nothing. What can it do? It merges into the black particles and you close your eyes tight because you have been faced with fear and fear is nothing without fright.   

Not yet Tamed

There is pain in my brain but I treasure it dearly.
There is no hole in my brain. My thoughts do
not stop. I know the feelings I want to express
to you, the things I want you to see but it's far
from easy for me. I tip my head and try to sort
out the messy thoughts that are spilling out.
Writers block is not the word. I'll try my best
to show you the best but the rest is for me to
discover.

Skyscrapers part 2

He pressed the up arrow over and over again. The stress was immense. He felt he was not supposed to be in this forgotten city. Maybe these poor souls were better left undiscovered. And he thought he would soon join them. The elevator thrashed up and the end of the branch snapped off. But part of it still twisted around his leg. He saw this and knew it was a sign of death, he knew he would soon join the group of dead horrors. As it curled around his leg and grew, he was ready! Like an angelic being preparing for battle with knowledge of his death to come in the great battle of life. But don’t cry, don’t weep for in death and only in death there is true…

Peace…

He knew this for he was wise. He had such a fe … BING! His thoughts were interrupted by the elevator sound. He was now returned to the real world in a bang! He stepped out onto the top floor. Corpses scattered across the courtyard office. He saw them… He smiled… He saw a man with his face melted into the old office computer… He giggled… He saw a man with no arm just a thick branch with leaves fresh with blood… he was jealous. Not of their pain but of their death. Was this madness? No. And who has the right to rank us mad? Maybe this natural attack was helping us.

The trees new he was ready. And he knew he was himself. They had now made a sort of agreement or a trust or an understanding. So when his time is up. He will happily go into the leafy arms of his death. He knew that his real life was yet to begin…

And they would subsequently from this threshold onward desiminate a message through there conrete-soil swirled root-work , almost an intuitive photograph of our traveller, a temporal spell of protection or a cacious sanctioning of his body for plant-food, a pact of intriuge and a conscious; sun-synthesised heart moved, though conflicted, to a passificst conclusions. The overgrowth is not without a capacity for morals or extending kindness , far from it. Its green limbs as much as winding the same limbs round prey for feed or from anger. A sensory-visual mapping of the feeling of boots against vine and the senstive pricklings to the sore of the flora vein now known amongst all living things, the sore left by the rubber hoove of the shaken bordering-broken protagonist. Explorer ,victim, survivor , coloniser? Purpose and footwork unknown to us or the bewildered him. They would continue to caress at this point ambiguous if those was a malicious taunt of violent-passive whisper of an aggressor, a torture of time and slow remembrance of the travellers lack of safety or belonging in this horizon-less stone-vine-scape, at times it felt benign this felt in continuum with the traversals. At certain intervals or interventions of the plant curl movements it felt playful friendly even; and to the perversity and wicked lonlineess of our him , felt pleasurable projecting an erotic proposal in the caress of the green w(v)ines. 

eating foraging plants veigns becoming vines protagonist 

book title maybe (vain)

                      VEIN

A COLLABORATION WITH MY 12 YEAR OLD SELF 

The clouds like clowns

They sit, they stand.

They walk, they talk.

They slurp, they burp.

They slide, they slip.

They walk with no destination.

They walk with no hesitation.

They've got better stuff

to do surely? No. Never.

Ever.No.

They sit down on the

grass after a long day

of nothing. They look

up at the sky. Why?

What they can clearly

see is a resemblance

of their society, their

people and their self. Then

they quietly cry to themselves

and decide to live.

Skyscrapers

A city filled with sound, filled with fumes, filled with light. Full
of life but not all of it good. Full of people but not all of them
good.

Filled with people but none to see. Filled with sound but none to
hear. A waste land within a flowing city.

Through the ages people come but never go. People Explore but never
discover. People STAY.

A traveler. Always traveling. He sat down on the once flooded street
confused and alone. He gazed up as a cold breeze blew. He saw a tall
black office building. It was cold with modern age. Moss grew on the
side and was exploding out of the bottom which tilted the building.
The other buildings where similar. The road that once was inhabited by
pools of cars was cracked open in the middle that moss and dirt
escaped from.

The traveler walked towards the office building with human curiosity.
The sound of glass shattering ringed through his ears. The glass fell
down from a high floor of the dull-but-not-so-dull building. It hit
the ground in an awakening of sound then shattered in to separate
shards on the empty street. A thick branch fresh with leaves thrust
out of the broken window.

The traveler now with anxious curiosity reached for the door. A thin
twig with very few leaves was curled around the door. He touched the
knob and to his surprise the twig curled around his filthy hand. He
ripped it of with his other hand in disgust.

He opened the door with slight suspense. He stepped into the building
on the wet and muddy floor. Each step there was a sickening squelch.
He reached the reception desk and bent over to inspect. There sat a
man morphed to the wall with moss bursting out of his suit, branches
curled tight around his neck and coughing up dirt. The traveler looked
away in horror. He wanted to let out a scream but was unable to break
the stiffening silence. He saw the poor man in the corner of his eye
but chose not to.

He saw an elevator at the far right of the room. He walked towards it
shaking still in utter shock. He pressed the arrow pointing up and the
doors opened. He stepped inside and pressed the 2nd floor button. As
the doors closed the traveler took a deep and unsure breath. It went
up to the 2nd floor. It didn’t stop. It went up to the 3rd floor, 4th
floor, 5th floor, 6th floor, 7th floor, 8th floor and it stopped in
between the 9th floor and the top floor. It just stopped. The doors
opened in between the two floors. He took a step back into the
elevator. He heard the sound of ruffling leaves. A tree branch came
into view and whipped up in front of the elevator. It slithered into
the elevator towards the scared traveler. It wrapped around his leg.
And pulled him across the elevator to the edge. (unfinished story)

The Underwater Universe

Below,

Below,

Below,

Below...

The blue silk frothing through the watershine universe

She provides oxygen for the beautiful beasts below...

Below,

Below,

Below,

Below...

Her collage of awe and wonder a scrap book of a million life forms

Below,

Below,

Below,

Below...

Her children flow; flourish freely, her

Tranquil spirits of the deep

Below,

Below,

Below,

Below...

We must respect earthly monsters of the deep or we

Ourselves will become wild animals...

(Note: inspired by these photos of sea monsters)

Perched

It sits perched on a branch

and all that can be

made done is waiting.

Waiting for a victim;

a passer by or the plain

old helpless to be watched

with peeled eyes. To be

stalked on, stared upon

and to gaze deep inside you.

The black beasts of the night.

Their wings and sharp

vicious beak fade into

every inch of darkness.

And their reflecting glossy

black eyes are a

collision of beautiful

and horrific emotions.

Is a blackbird man

or beast?