I’ve made my photography work available on Photobox, in a number of different sizes and formats, chack it out:
A pupil to the study of cinema,
a participant in world history,
is it wrong to wish for the alien invasion?
The unification it would bring
either in death or in life and in both.
The short sharp shock
of “here’s your waste of time”
My own politics have been lost on this,
I had a point once.
made up of parts of everything
only to belong to nothing
a life spent in the cracks of the world
the days are bleeding out
these days into
need to take stock and the stick
taking myself way too seriously
stop looking inwards
let the light in and out
and the dark
well aren’t i ridiculous
to act the way i do
punching out in directions
breaking the broken
shifting in and through
hard rip into all of it
to do it my own way
pushing to make
dominance in reverse
as it releases
reel to end
be kind rewind
wind it all up
placed in an archive
revisit to remember
why it was
a fresh start
without your bullshit
a new time
White t-shirt casually flung lightly,
draped over your right shoulder.
Left elbow points towards the sky
as your left hand massages the back of your neck.
I’m a few steps behind, following you,
unintentionally at first but that soon changes.
Catching your sweat on the stifling breeze,
the harsh manly smell of your armpits.
Watching as beads of sweat roll down your back,
hitting your waistband,
some down the top of your crack.
Your body twists checking for traffic,
a flash of your hairy chest and your side profile,
skin rough and shimmering in this heat.
A detour for me, this isn’t the way home,
just to watch the muscles in your shoulders move,
to catch you on the breeze again.
Feeling overwhelmingly other,
being one of the others.
where are all the other others?
Lost in every metropolis,
drowning in the majority,
the majority of the minority
that the majority
thinks us and wants us to be.
A spectrum obscured,
disguised by the loudest of us,
falling between cracks
Lost without reference points,
falling out of pigeon holes,
too much for some,
too little for others.
My heart has hit the floor and it’s rolling,
violent waves inside moving forward and back,
my little dread filled ocean of red.
It is sinking within itself over and over,
reaching the bottom to float to the top,
to sink again while it escapes me.
If only it would break but for now it just cracks,
hair line fractures on its cold dead walls,
mapping its way over its veins.
Wishing it would just come home and flutter,
to quiver with excitement once more,
tickled from below by butterflies.