A Better place

Is it in vain
Is it a crime
Is it something I didnt explain?

Maybe I'll come by here again.

Maybe I sang too fast
And tripped over the words|
Getting pulled over for overspeeding|
Clutching the ticket and praying to a light
or something even greater up there|
Hoping I'd do it again.

Maybe I dreamed too bright|
Gulping down memories and
diving into them again|
Opening my eyes underwater
and breathing in till they burned|
Making new futures out of old paper boats
and setting sail again.

Or maybe I held my own hand too tight|
Walking on the edge of the knife
A snail on thin ice
Slipping into old skin
and slipping sliding fighting it
with worn soles
and a heavy rucksack

Preparing myself for the worst
and finding a better place,
After all.



I was listening to La Dispute by Yann Tierson.

Ode to a Piglet.

Dear Pig,

Im awful.
Im a pile of goo.Blue.Smooshy.

I haven't updated either of my blogs in ages.
I thiiink I've been loving our course on character design(though I missed 2 weeks due to viral flu:()and then these empty spaces remind me of why I am the pool of goo blue.
I have joyously not bothered,and forgotten of their existence.
Things have distracted me.The weather.Anonymous insects that eat the flesh of my knee and fingers and then abscond by morning.My Name is Red(slowly,but a wonderful escape)Then there's the Aeroplane birdmans and 4am snooze alarms and seeking of my tattoo. More bugs.Green apple vodka.Courses and backlogs.Thumbnails turning blue,and eventually hanging by a strip of skin singing 'nyah nyah!'Chocolate(in coffee/biscuit/concentrated form,it ravages).And let's not get into the days when one squeaks,"But I havent got any work to show!"

Awful,awful,de-clawed, de-inspired and de-strung me!
Shame,shame,puppy shame and all the other heartfelt abuses of childhood!

Respectfully Yours,
Me


Pig lives in Stephen Pastis' epic comic strip series,'Pearls Before Swine'. Two volumes are possessed by yours truly, in bookshelf and sowl.. I heart and <3 Pig. Only he would understand the above lament.

blue strung on high wires

Its funny how a single colour
can evolve with a shade
deeper than the rest.
you dip one finger into a pot of black
and in that single,
gratifyingly slow,
dramatic instant,
the view shifts.

the virgin blue.
centuries of mistrust and betrayal
lies sunken lower than the bottom of a barge.
reborn,
history repeats itself in those softly unspoken whispers

etched on your back.
stained with the moss of
"a hundred sordid images".
a wine red sliced deeper
slower
achingly more mottled than all the rest
it bubbles beneath
the cold sheet of iced blue.

the boat sails.
the wire is drawn.
the bottles capped.

"because it dripped down the sides ".
"my family portrait".
"I didnt have a sharper brush".