Friday, November 26, 2010


     There is a new world evolving in the bottom of my coffee cup. I have been watching it for a week now. It is dry, arid. Lifeless. The cracked plane of dried coffee crystals is coated with an oil slick. A chocolate coloured snowflake spreading outwards and upwards. Each day I look at it, and then put it back on the universe of my desk. It seems as though it belongs there, a china and acrylic paint star in orbit around the white-lit Flatron sun.

     If I drowned the coffee cup world, tried to erase it from existence, it would eventually release itself from its porcelain crust. It would not dissolve; it would float to the surface, still a perfect flat disc. I allay the thoughts of ruin. I allow the world another day. Tomorrow I will look at it again. Contemplate its future. Return it to its universe next to the spent pen satellites and the single-serve milk-portion asteroid belt.

     I am here but I am not here. Mostly I am not here. My body is here, I am an expert at multi-tasking. My brain and body types, carries, sorts, files and collates. My heart and soul explores, creates, wonders and longs. There I am, and yet, there I am not.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Wicked Prayer

Oh please, slow this ride a little. I haven't had the time to make my time, to take my mind...away.

I haven't had the chance to bleed this out, to pick this wound clean. To force the poison through my teeth.

My shoulders slump, my breath escapes, I fold, I gave in long ago.

If it weren't for the blood in my veins I would have laid down long ago, I would have said 'enough's enough'. I would have dragged this solemn corpse into the sun and left it there to rot.

But this worming parasite resides, and it's claws dig deep. Stimuli, oh brazen warmonger, burrowing, plotting, scheming. You want me. I cannot resist you.

A paper aeroplane in a wind tunnel has no choice, has no will, no fate but to be buffeted and forced. But what if it wants more? What if it wills more?

Do I stand against the wind? Or am I merely the folded paper...with no greater fate than to be flattened against the wall?

Heavy eyes, heavy heart. I tire of this game.