SwanSong

Dappled light plays chords
Swimming swirling patterns on
The skulking listless lake.
She gazes out into mystery.
Her kissless lips seek
Uncomforting rays.
She longs for what she lost far far away.
She lost because it does not exist without her loosing her freedom.
Her feet trapped in entrancement
Beating and binding
Pointing and punctuating the uncomfortable stillness.
Her jerking neck stretching out to the remaining hopeless sun.
Bare skin.
Bare skin.
Exposed to the breeze and the shadows of the crippled trees
Watching and waiting
Whispering to the muddied earth.
She longs to love or be loved.
To feel her feathered wing to be free
To be loved by something beautiful.
Her wildness catches her breath as she swirls and sways.
Her poor madness longing and lusting for touch.
She sings wailing wishes to the watery world.
The world that holds the deep dark desires
Where fished conspire to eat and gnaw at her feelings alive.
She flairs her arms as the gasp at last life.
To feel this bound up
Last fight and flight from the such strife.
The devils last whispers of temptation and fear cast spells on her senses.
Her very last tear.

Her shoes wont stop dancing an emotional death.
Her eyes wont stop streaming
Oceans silently falling
Her turning and kicking
Dancing music of sighing.
The wind in the rushes
The doom in the sky
The love that she feels
Such a burning desire.
A furnace an explosion
Her heart burning up
To die for the love
Of an ephemeral ghost.
A moment of dreaming
To dance not alone.
The drinking of truth from her spirit by God
Her swan is a symbol
A prison of life.
She sinks into deepness
The playing doesn't stop.
Her breath failing
And stopping
Not gasping for life.
She lets herself float higher and higher.
No fighting her fate as she falls darker and darker.
Her mind is the clearest
She knows what she loves
To die for this beauty
The beauty of HER love.

Painting in petals of the past

Stalk as dry as her cracking brittle bones
Scraping at the corners of the air,
Scratching the rim of the replacement vase.
The cold shiny steel sucking the stained roses red bloodless life.
Their fragile state holds time
Moves place.
The transient shadow cast on the new greying wall wavers hitting cold damp air,
Floating through dimmed window shattered plate, pane of glass,
Bladed past.
One petal remains.
Hanging on as if clinging to some purity lost in new found innocence.
White overpowered by sordid bleeding blight.
These roses are old and belong to a different me.
There is a pink to the grisly rain and these emblems need to run free.
The petals in my palm shiver on the wind as they scatter into the swirling sea.
The earth takes on a new form
Painting patters of pain that is, that are, too pretty to see.
Sinking deeper and darker the gentle flash fades away.
Waves of pleasure hit and eb and flow in new found ecstasy of my lost found mind.

The Vorticists - Manifesto for a modern world.

"Victorian vampire, the london cloud sucks the towns heart." Blast 1

Jacob Einsten -  Rock Drill

Henri - Gaudier - Bruska : Front (head)

Back : Penis

Jacob Einstein

"Think of a whirlpool...At the heart of the whirlpool is a great silent place where all the energy is concentrated. And there, at the point of concentration, is the Vorticist." Wyndham Lewis

The Tate Britain is a refreshing change from the wonders of the Modern and it never (all though far less frequently visited) fails to disappoint. I rushed at the last minute to "The Vorticists - manifesto for a modern world" exhibition...which finished yesterday.. despite the fact that I had been meaning to see it for as long as it has been in existence. 

   Just like The Miro I absolutely loved everything about the show. The curation was (thank god) intelligent and interesting. The wording fluid and the display stunning. The Tate seems to be getting better at understanding it's audience and inspiring awe in the viewer. The work was shocking but beautiful and I found a fragility in The Vorticists work as it so apparently took on the world it was scared of. Obviously the connection with writing was a point of interest and inspiration for me. Poetry is key.. however as with the Miro. I feel inspired to make art again. Thank you. 

  Even though I of course do not take the Vorticist view seriously its rhetoric makes me smile.

"BLESS the solitude of LAUGHTER.

BLESS the separating, ungregarious

BRITISH GRIN."

then again.. maybe I am just to fleeting or influenced.. lets hope it sticks!

79

And it starts with 79. 79 repeated. The day seems lost on me but I sit and I smile.
This is new and I'm not sure why it feels so right. Maybe it is the people. I like the light.
The streets feel different around here and the air is that holiday air. It is that different colour that tints my eyes. A haze that fills my breath. The cranes outside loom but I see them as wild creatures. Fantastical beings symbolising this fantasy world. Fantasy in a good way. Where I want to be alive because the point is just to be free. My face is tired. I could crawl under the covers and remember everything. The roses remain.

On Time and Writers Block

There are fixed points in time when everything changes. It is something that you should get down in words but the words don't explain much. Change is natural. Sometimes it is gradual but the points where they are instant are the only true moments of clarity. When your sure about something. Reason and cosequence. It doesn't mean it won't change again but this shift in the universe means something and it has to mean moving forward. I have been there many before but the constant repetition reaches a breaking point. Writing becomes boring. You have heard it all before. We all have. Trying to get to the actual centre of it all and pinpointing the right phrases is too difficult a task to take on so therefore I don't write. Trying to write creates an itching of the mind because it just isn't coming out in all those complex layers that you want it to. The mind isn't in a sentence. It is confusion and contradiction and conscious and unconscious. A stream of everything and never ever ever ever stops. A waterfall of everything trapped in this small little box. That vast space of thoughts and feelings and urges and longings and emotions all caught up in a little black hole. Communication is a constant struggle. Looking at the sky helps. Standing there with nothing but the world. My face is touching the air. I am in the world. That is what matters.

They fuck you up your mum and dad

The genius that is Alan Bennett ( a particular favourite of my Grandma before she died)

but still, I think I was born fucked up.

Black box

Maybe if we had stayed inside the black box where we found ourselves in the beginning, or at least returned there, we could loose our perception of reality and live with out fear. Not being able to see but feeling you smile. Who knows where it ends. Just keep on walking and listen to the children laugh. The black box is where it began. Where my sense of sight was numbed but I knew myself. You knew yourself. Or maybe neither knew anything but it didn't matter because all that could survive was blind innocence. When ones eyes are switched off and the boundaries of space are lifted who knows when to stop. No wrong can be done in a black box. Darkness. Pitch black darkness. Can you see the way through with your mind? I just wanted to cling to you and know that nobody knew or cared. If we stayed in that black box would we be free?              

Museum

In the museum
We stand as RELICS
Watched by those remnants of the past.
Ageless


Priceless
SUBSTANCE


There eyes see so much?
Stone eyes.
Jewel eyes.
Secret eyes.
No eyes.


We are the oddities?
We are categorised and stored.
Our individuality arranged and seen.
Time has been so       long.


These gods and goddesses.
Saints, serephins. Share your secrets...
I wish I could open my eyes and see your stories. Instead I have to
close THEM.
I. We are just flesh.
You live. You see the heart of the world in time.

My (very un-) surreal thoughts.

My surreal thoughts at this very moment are not very automatic. Fairly obvious. The mouse. the mouse running across the floor means a lot. I hear a constant rustling. Constant dirt. Constant bits. Bits all chewed up. Dry bits. Wet bits. They all seem to resemble wood. Maybe the house is crumbling under this one gargantuan mouse. The mouse now is associated with bright bright orange. Plastic bag. Mouse. Wooden bits. House. Maybe even recycling. Does the mouse eating my rubbish mean I am recycling?
Penny.
USB stick.
Vodka.
I can't get the sheet to stay on my bed it always peels off on the corner I sit on. Oh well. It is all pretty dirty and uncomfortable anyway. Changing the sheets makes it worse. The sheets are stained.
My life seems to be all piled up.
Piles and piles of things. Dirt. Things. Dirt. Things.
Maybe I will al be piled up. I feel a bit piled up. My cells all piling together. Stuck. Sometimes my muscles feel so stuck. What happens when there is no more space in the ground to fit everyone in? Will we just be an earth of piled rubbish and dead people and things? Walking on a crust of .. well something.
I never lock my door. Maybe I should. It has three locks. I am so scared of getting locked out though. No thats not it. I am just lazy about the careful things.
The rubbish needs to go out other wise this mouse makes a mess.

Choked up

When the lights stop flickering

You are left with nothing but the howling waves and thrashing wind.
The nature is violent but it is where I belong.
Not locked up in this
Caved
Ceiling
Choking
Cell.
Prisoned.


        Prisoned.
                 Prisoned in windows and reflections.


I am locked in the droplets of water you can no longer see because they are engulfed by the storm.
Lost in cracks and crevices
In crumbling walls.
Keep walking down the tunnel.


Keep on walking.
There is NO END






This water will have you trapped.


She is not doing it on purpose but in this desolate place it is so easy to get sucked up into time.
Time that you can’t put your finger on because it goes back further than the beginning of the universe.
Start before the ancient myth began.
Poseiden didn’t exist without the sprays that she controls.
I laugh.


I laugh.


I laugh at you.


I laugh out of pity because it is all held inside her heart.
She can’t.
          I can’t even understand because the re-incarnation of her history hasn’t come into play yet.
I know something.
But not everything.

The lock on the truth is fear.


She haunts your eyes.
Her eyes haunt you.
Her eyes are haunted.


Her power is lost in her frail body.
The scream too strong.
Screaming wind is too choked up inside her chest - her limbs - her head .
Dancing. Jerking. Swaying.
Stillness.
Beat upon beat upon beat upon beat
Drum
Drum
Death
Drum.

This life is ephemeral but the truth transcendent.
In this dark room I remember the white light of the past.
Another time when she looked with different eyes.
On different things.
Different bodies.
Different minds.
Different fragile hearts.
The thing is - You want to save her.
She doesn’t need saving.

That is you.

Dear Alice

A story of a city

Sitting in the dark, the walls wallowed in her misery. A crack in the corner caressed the foul odour of her stale tears. The starless sky beckoned at her heart as she stared stuck in solitude out of her dusty window.

  She no longer knew what she wanted - or she wanted nothing. Everything had been lost. She had been completely devoured by her heart. Memories taunted her as if to deliberately remind her of what she had lost. She had felt so whole and so, so very free. For the first time in her life she had felt she was not alone; her soul had been complete. This was in the past. 

   The street lamps cast an ugly light on the greasy rotten street below; the street below that had become her life. The street where she had spent the only time she could ever remember joy. 

  She got up, took a few tender steps to the door. One. Two. Three. her body wasn't working right. Too drained of life but still she forced herself on. All she wanted was to get out there and attempt some kind of new freedom or at least end this prisoners existence. Nobody came anymore. She used to eagerly wait. Waiting to here his footsteps as they ran up the dirty stairway. Now they were empty of any noise. Sometime her heart still skipped a beat as she imagined she heard something; What evil hope teased her. Nothing ever came. 

 One foot in front of the other she levered herself down the stairs. A few more steps to go. She pushed her way outside on to the squalid street and stood for a second. The air stung at her skin. London was no place for her anymore. She began to run. The pain didn't feel like anything anymore. Faster and faster bare footed along the filthy bloodstained pavement she flew. Clarity filled her mind and a stream of light reeled her path. She was sure she was following something. Some sort of discovery.

 Onwards she pushed passing once familiar sights and structures. A place that once excited her had become so bland and grey but now there was definitely a light. The sky seemed to fill with stars. Beautiful shimmering stars and she felt as if she was soaring above everything.  A white space filled her mind and sound, glorious sound flooded her ears. Now that place was so so close. 

  When she was a little girl she had believed in fairytales. A year  ago she had believed in fairytales and fairies and life! That had been crushed by blackness. Her reality was coming back to her. She looked down to earth and she saw water. clear water and at the bottom was a beautiful city. The city was unlike anything on earth. It was fresh and clean and uncontaminated by anything human. There were people but they were shining creatures and the looked happy. More than happy. They looked natural. This was where the light was coming from. She just had to reach it. She knew if she could become that pure then she would be really truly free. The city was full of love. Truth, beauty, freedom and love. This was her chance to escape. Shut the door on her past and welcome her eternity. She just had to be strong enough to pass this last door. 

 She glanced back. Blackness. She was running from a horrible storm and there was one way out. It swirled and beckoned. The darkness was still trying to seduce her. Convince her that there was excitement in that cruel world. Then she saw him. Standing there. A slight smile on his pale lips. Standing tall in the middle of the raging winds. Her heart juddered. He whispered. The words reverberating through her body " I will always be here to protect your heart." From there it all became easy.

  I no longer looked backwards but only forwards at what was beyond the water. There I would truly belong. This humanity was all a lie and beyond lay peace. I stood tall and straight for a few moments. One . Two. Three. " I will always love you!" and jumped. Symphonies filled my ears and I knew finally I had found life.

Black hole

You fucked your little sister when she was way too young to understand. You sucked her innocence away without warning her or stopping to think that what you were doing would cause her to die and bleed her soul of beauty. Her world went black. She used to cry to the stars because the city was grey but now your thirst had fucked out any last light. Her crimson blood lay tied up in bonds of  dark lies and inky shadowy spectres haunted her hell. She didn't understand how this dark snake had managed to swallow her whole and with your vicious blows digested her truth until she didn't want to know anymore. This black hole is endless and there us no chance of lightness. Tunnels of dark gloom stifle her throat and strangle her joy. The sun in pointless. She had nothing left. No return to life away from your mangled cunt.

Crime and Punishment

"They wanted to speak, but could not; tears stood in their eyes. They were both pale and thin; but those sick pale faces were bright with the dawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life. They were renewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other."
           Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky

......

The Cock of Damien Hirst

Unit 1 feedback (because I am at university)

SI guess it is quite nice to have a bit of feedback on an academic level and this is what I got from that stupid REPORT i had to write. I don't know how many credits I got but have definitely passed... THANK GOD hehe... at least I don't have to write anymore essays for the rest of the year..

Research

• Wide ranging research that has been used to focus on self discovery.

Subject knowledge

• Excellent engagement with your subject

Communication and presentation

• This is very engagingly written. You have  constructed a good way to explore your concerns.  
• but you need to read your work thoroughly for mistakes.

Personal and Professional development

• The essay is evidence of a lot of learning and involvement with all aspects of your practice.

General

• You have used the essay to address issues of your practice effectively.
• You have used all aspects of your course imaginatively and with commitment.
• Read around the work that you look at to contextualise your responses more thoroughly.
• Perhaps begin to focus the enquiry further - it is very wide ranging.
• Use writing and re-writing to check for errors.

I would not normally post something like this however I think the feedback has been very helpful and informed. It furthers my faith in my course and my tutors and shows how important all criticism is. I am very pleased with my feedback and know that I fall back on checking work. I am tooo lazy. The fact is the essay bored me and I just wanted to write my thoughts. Anyway .. I still think I did well and it is good to know that I wrote something interesting.

So the first bit of my course down...

Does this help me become an artist?

Who knows!

Please wake up

Blood thickens as the cries scream

Churling shudders of little limbs

Weak heartbeats of bleeding lives

Nightmares child

Evil child

              Innocent nothingness

                                                Life that should not be



Strangling veins of alien creatures

Crying whining terror



Brain dead feeding sucking parasite

But

Bursting Life



A little whimper of hope

Times time that is yet to begin

But oh that whimper is of pain

MURDER



Hard cold no reason no option no thinking
                                                    killing

Life or LIFE

Pain or PAIN

IS this control I seek or total lack of control
                                                                       take it away
                                                                       take it away

Someone take it away



Red crimson water

Running streams

Streaming ruby

Flowing heartache



Are you mine

Is it mine?

Is this what it will be like
LIFE



Oh
      But you are just a dream

Why dream?

Oh dream be gone you haunting spectre of sodden life

That’s it

Plese wake up

snow message

Spot The Ball i-D magazine

A shoot I helped out on for i-D magazine about 6 months ago. It was a good lerning exerience and if you watch the video in the link you can see my neckalce and face juping arond onthe right! A fun way of earning £50.

Spot The Ball: Australia