Freewriting
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Walking down the city boardwalk I am in pursuit of a greater evening. It is a miracle and a privilege to be alive and doing nothing at all. I commiserate and I conversate with the crowds of nobody relevant. Sometimes I let words unentangle their tongues in my pockets. My hands are at home there…
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God was a carpenter because I don’t know any carpenters. That is a way to start a prayer,in the same way it is to end one. Sometimes in the middle of crossing the road I stop to think of the luminal space between God and pavement. Consider: God as pavement.Consider: God as atheist. I am…
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Staring down the clock to divine meaning from the intersection of clock hands. Hands on top of hands, layers upon layers of intimacy stacked like a half-shuffled deck of cards. Is it any wonder why we personify Time? But why is Time a father? Time has never given us pause. Time is a mother, time…
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Anything to keep the faucet going, anything to keep that great big hamster-wheel of the heart spinforever, anything to be a poem.I realise that my life has been a series of fortunate events andseveral turns of phrase, like the turnstile of the station nearest to my first heartbreak. Hark, it’s9pm and I’m dirty and unwashedand…
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We went in on a dare, so of course we’d be half-alive by the end of it.A dare is a half-suspended heart beat. The drum, out of place. A falling out of line. There is so much you can do before someone else will want to nip it in the bud. Ah, a cliche. See,…
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I am challenging myself to engage in form. To fit in this self-construct -ed mold, the oneI’ve inherited frommy father, and hisfather before him,to swallow, become. And then I break out like I’m on the verge of insanity. And then I break out like I have no family to care about. In an episode of…
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There are two ways of looking at every situation. Let’s call them A and B. If they were people, they’d be David and Peter. Or, as I remind myself to degender that ambiguous jellyfish of the mind, let’s call them Valen and Valen. Valen is the type of person who walks down the street every…
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Writing is a ritual for me nowadays. I don’t do it unless I have to, but I do it every day. I get into something nice, I put on music. I draw the shades. I sit in a comfortable position, and I pull out the blank page. The blank page is a canvas for this…
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Smoking away in the stairwell I put the still-warm weapon into my mouth again. Pull, catch and release like an angler, the smoke trail a tangled lure. Dissipating into the intersection of moonlight and wind, the breeze rolling in like a policeman waiting to catch us. For what? We haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just…
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Knives knives knives knivesKnives in the gap of your teethKnives in between your eyelids Knives like crowbars propping your mouth openKnives diving into flesh like eagles Knives underneath every nailKnives as the opposite of a hammer What is a pair of scissors but two knives held together with a common purpose Knives as an exploration…
ugly stage 