The Dam.

-
This is a picture of a dam.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Welcome To The Crash

-
Image
Welcome to the crash, my friends. Welcome to the crash. The dawn clock ticks on, as checked shirts torn off hit floors, and a vodka scented sweat soaks into the seams. His handlebar moustached lip, and mandible jaw click open, and begin to pour forth five oceans of spit ruined, rorschach tested, unborn, x-rated dreams and tears stream from in between blinks as he thinks "I should have done more things". Then suddenly in his neck he feels it, like a heart attack, his own pulse beating, thick with fat, and as we sweats he tries to catch breath, and breathes deep with a stretch, reaching out to grab hold of another cigarette and as he lights it, he looks straight into the camera, right down the lens and says; Welcome to the crash, my friends. Welcome to the crash. Because the iCloud is full, and the App Market's open, and she's hoping that we're all just going towards something else, somewhere else, close up, maybe in real life, or maybe just in...
Read more

Meanwhile, in the background

-
Image
He stood proud, a moment of clarity and confidence. “Will you take my picture?” he asked his friend. “Sure” came the reply. So he posed beside the pool he’d phoned home about, an example of how good he was doing and how great the place was. Meanwhile, in the background... No one even knew she was falling, until the water splashed their faces.
Read more

All Wretch & No Vomit

-
Writing is not necessarily an antidote to how I'm feeling. It's more a way of pulling something out of my body, to see it hovering, almost tangible, articulated in words, filling space. This helps me work out what things might mean, because I'm under no illusion that a lot of the time my experiences of abstract sadness are purely chemical reactions in my brain. It's just other times, they're not. Other times they are a consequence of the world around me, they are caused by the utter discontentment I have for myself, they are the thorn of living in a version of the world I never agreed to be a part of. So when all this is inside of me swirling around and settling down like a black-tar lead-lump of thick grim silt, sunken to the pit of my stomach, writing is almost an attempt to spew it all out, before rifling through the chunks of detritus and confusion, endeavouring to work out what might be causing today's pain. But like I said, writing is not the antid...
Read more