Latest news/noise
One too many - Poem
It hurts to be the one too many
But it wasn’t you, you were one of many
Lockstep - Poem
You've spent so long fighting, you can't recognise someone lockstep beside you
You can only assume they're the shadow of your next adversary
Bloody Rust on the Boards - Poem
See I met my mark, left bloody rust on the boards, spat my lines.
An ode to collaboration.
Cattle in the Rusted Thorns - Poem
Cattle in the rusted thorns
Red blood and white milk
Broken horns
Echo - Poem
I believe our greatest trait is adaptability to strange times
This world is now so far removed from stone, water and fire
Yet we flourish, thrive and achieve the impossible and again
Still Life - Poem
This is still life. High contrast.
It is hubris to search for secrets not worth knowing
or to attempt in conquering timeless force
Well Fed - Poem
Shadows on the wall
Feeding
Well fed
Process // Over // Process \\ Over \\ Product
Coffees On - Poem
Red // Black // Gold
Cheap grounds // Amber earth
Cold Home // Stale upon purchase
Dogs at the Salt Flats - Poem
Dogs stands at the edge of the salt flats
At the edge of no tomorrows
You Don't Belong Here: A Response to 'NaissanceE'
Far back in history, we built great machines. Boulevards, towers, and factories to pull humanity from the dirt and lift it to the stars. Gradually at first, but then faster and faster, accelerating to the point of whiplash. The body broke while progress continued onward. Always better, always further.
And this is the world you stand in now. A world built for you.
But one you do not belong in.
You're a Bad Liar: A Response to 'Dead Man's Letters'
“All preventable, all foreseen, yet perhaps all inevitable.”
Something different for me: I’ve written a piece musing on themes taken from the film ‘Dead Man’s Letters’. A 1986 Soviet post-apocalyptic drama directed by Konstantin Lopushansky.
We often look to children as beacons of innocence and, against our best interests, ignorance. Believing that they can’t possibly understand the world and have yet to learn their place in it. Are we wrong?
Once Organic Stone
Lining the walls hung the skulls of creatures long forgotten, their gaze meeting mine.
I recognized some, silhouettes that traced a line to memories of photographs that I marveled at as a child. Others could very well be other worldly in their origin, their shapes giving little hint to function or behaviour.
Storming the Palace
Mighty beasts of ancient stature stalk the halls, their forms comprised of designs ever fluctuating.
By the light of one room the bust of a lion may perch upon the carapace of a crustacean born from the depths.
Yet by the glow of a dying candle may glint fangs of a wolf protruding from the bulk of a boar.
Only the eyes would suggest these creatures were one in the same.
Dark voids ever famished.