I met a girl.
She was Christian.
She said her name was Faith.

We talked about God
And all my sins
And all that I waste.

But in the end it was not about God,
Not about me,
And not about her.
Nor was it even about
The petty little
Pitiful pieces of picture
I painted for her.

It was about spirit.

I met a girl,
Her name was Faith.

The Age-Old Room

Parted Perceptions of

Particular Persons, DIVIDED by

The Reasoning and Rationality

Of Man –

An oath sworn Failed to curse,

Nor did bellow to the yellow walls and

Blackened Roof. Thus,

Windows remained

A Gapless Grey and

Opinions filled the floor

Like an Overload of Soot and

DEAD Particles.

I was the Chimney,

Smokey and Impartial,

As each corner

Of the Room Perceived it’s own DOOM.

And the fire spread Eternally indifferent

To the flickering flakes of it’s forlorn Ashes.


My mind must have been drifting again. The water sloped and slashed heavily against the pier without rhythm. Land seemed a full mile away, with lights cascading down the sides like an ambient runway. And there was this old wooden arch framing my shadow, which was glowing like a ghost.
The density of the air weighed me down to the sole of my feet, which felt like dumbbells against the creaking slabs beneath me. All this seems strange. It was like a memory, a weird kind of mist.

She crept up behind me like she used to, I could smell her perfume. At least I think it’s her. In the dusk she seemed to have no face. No face at all.
As she approached I could sense her fear. The sky was barely moonlit behind the distant hills, looming over her shoulders.
Yet the water below remained black, and as she hovered closer so did her pain. And her face, that face I knew so well, dark with nothingness – framed by her golden hair, which was now a lifeless grey.

As I reached out all I could feel was cold. My hand glided through her as my whole body went numb. Only then she disappeared like she was never with me. It must have been her but was she even there?

Now it’s foggy too even see. Not that I’ve really been looking. Along the pier I could see several figures by the embankment, shapes of people I recognise. I felt like they were judging me. Signalling something horrifying I couldn’t quite fathom. And staring, faceless, motionless…
Suddenly I felt something brush against my shoulder. It startled me as if a gust of ice-cold wind past right through my throat. Breathing became too intense, and I sensed that there was something I had to accept.

The end. The end of everything.

A Theraphosa Blondi Ate My Shoes

All spiders and tarantulas, from tree-dwelling to ground-dwelling, see humans as merely moving ‘land-mass’.
Practically all arachnids have venom, the most potent of which will never be indigenous to the spiders of Great Britain.
The largest of all species, the Goliath Bird Eating spider (Theraphosa blondi) rarely eats birds, actually. But if I were a magpie I’d think “Bloody Nora. I’m out of here”.

Give ’em chance, even the biggest and most ghastly of spiders aren’t out to get us.
Unless they tear your face off.
Sleep tight.

Chronic Chronology

Whisper eerie words laggard through the weary wind.
Send me a note in the fog as I call out smothered thoughts.
Open up a tombstone for the day of my birth
And shimmer me sideways, for the knots of the
Past and the present remain as mumbling in my brain,
Unknowing of any beginning, nor end.

Shout not in my ear as you speak out in such impatience.
Then let me roar to you my daily doings and spare you
No time to listen to distant ocean waves
Or singing birds in the morning dew as the trees sway immortal.

They’ll be no time for chronology. The air is wet against my neck
And I think I just heard a clock grumble like lightening.
Hail stones mock my attempts in speech.
I refrain to a being, but for being a being,
Forever distorted and drenched.

Not for beginning, nor end.

Behold The Man

Whirlwind from yesteryear gusts guilt into
The gasp of many mouths, drowning in a lost past
Which only lingers as the landscape pours out of an echo, echoing
Lacerated lacerated lacerated scar tissue that was created
In the days of marching numbers, who
Had it all
In their spears
And their swords, and
In the ever crescent moon travelling at demise.

Oh, hell.

Our Understanding and Attitudes of Morality Towards Other Species

Environmentalism – a term created by man to seek righteous levels of empathy and understanding for the world around us, and it’s vast range of living things. Evolution had us fooled that the Earth is ours and so we endanger the existence of beauty much less violent and demonic as ourselves. But have we got it all wrong? And more to the point, could it have gone any other way?

As it happens we’ve rampaged and slaughtered and devoured all before us, whilst in more recent history we’ve attempted to free life from the shackles of human captivity and poaching. In a twist of irony we might well be rushing as best we can to save the planet from the man-virus, and so the lessons we’ve learnt turn our efforts to preservation.

We shun those who still charge out into the open fields and forests armed with guns, other animals, and with sheer ignorance alone as the most destructive of tools. We rally against deforestation. We petition against cruel treatment and housing of our farm animals. We loathe the hunting of elephants for little more than ivory, and we sneer at others wearing fur as a fashion accessory. It is taboo to kill for pleasure or convenience, is it not?

Yet of course fox hunting arose from farmers protecting their livestock, poaching black bears in the northerly wilderness of The United States and Canada is to protect ourselves, and the mass killing of wolves in America was for the very same reason. The carnage is not without cause, but it remains concerning that some of our attitudes towards our neighbours, from fury to freakish, is often solely stemmed from fear, most of which is entirely irrational.

Now I’m not saying that we should be hugging polar bears in the arctic, inviting goliath bird eating spiders around for tea and biscuits or play fetch with a black mamba. But surely a little sensibility should creep through. Essentially, we are not the prey. We die from snake bites. We get crushed under the power of large mammals. We get eaten alive at sea. A simple case of wrong place, wrong time. If we carry on killing for joy or out of ignorance then the world won’t end, at least not for a long time, but we’ll find ourselves continuing to scratch our heads as species wide and afar will slowly die out.

So don’t tread on the spider, he just wants to go about his business. Don’t interbreed dogs, they will suffer on your watch. Don’t kill stuff like bludgeoning idiots unless you plan on eating it. Do not torture any creature, for may torture be bestowed on you.

Lastly, do I eat meat? Yes I do.
Have I killed a wasp before? Yes, I believe I have.
Is morality innately doomed to begin with? Perhaps, but as individuals we can always strive to find a common ground – To save what’s left of the human ‘soul’ by keeping and caring that which is immediately around us. Maybe one day our species can understand and appreciate others better, we surely hope. I certainly do. Not like a pageant queen reading from an auto-cue, but as someone who fails to comprehend humanity when the word itself is supposed to carry the notion of care.