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Filed under silence

I will keep

All our secrets

But not dwell on them

Too often


Like sips

To moisten the lips

But there is a beast

Which knows no restraint

And there are people

Monsters who would find

Meat and marrow

In releasing him

So, curation

Falls to a tender, attentive


Filed under silence

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Other Rooms, Other Times

Some things

Are taken to other rooms

At other times

Like tea ceremonies

Relief like peeling the skin

Of an orange with your thumbs

An anguished strain

Taken to other rooms

Because no one sees tears

And thinks better of them

Outside, everyone

Pukes up their slightest feelings

Invites you to look

At the intestinal mandala on the pavement

Proclaims it a sign of sensitivity

Virtue as they slap palms

Against the smooth surface

Of the tower they climb

But I renounced

My worship

Of furtive Gods,

You cannot lose

A game you do not


And as the victims form a tower

I go to other rooms

Shed a tear for what might have been

What was lost

In the fire



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Two Pages (19/09/16)

I have started to hit a big point in the second act now, which necessitated some research and some of that was upsetting to me, a thing that happens in other parts of the world that I cannot find a single justification for. We all have those practices or beliefs that we look at and it locks our brains up with disgust or horror. This background detail would warrant a book in itself but here, it’s allowed me to define a character in a way that reflects the main themes of the book.

Sometimes I actually think I know what I am talking about.

Bit of a restless day yesterday, did some editing on Until She Sings and at this stage, there’s merely nuance to contend with, chores inbetween and posted a story here that has been well received. The main thing yesterday, as it is every day, was advancing Lawful Evil another two pages and keeping in mind the structure.

It’s not an outline to follow, it’s a guide to keep me moving forward and to know where the next beat needs to go. It is a way of showing respect to the form and genre that I am working in, and giving the reader what they want.

Just, perhaps not in the way that they expect. I’ve found that a lot of attempts to subvert are affectations, rarely as clever as they believe themselves to be and receive muted feedback. I’m not subversive or iconoclastic in the slightest, because to me that weds me to the opposition and puts me in competition with it. I am only in competition with myself, I push myself forward and will happily help others if they need it. I view writing as a gift that requires development and self awareness, it makes me kinder to books that I don’t enjoy as much because I know what effort goes into it. I used to indulge in the recreational bitterness of insulting popular books but in truth, it doesn’t make me any better to disparage something that other people enjoy. I live and let live, I have preferences and boundaries, tenets and strengths which are mine and I don’t impose them upon anyone else.

I love the process of writing, even these spacious days where there is only the work without the reward, because the work is the reward. I can write, so I write. I’m not crippled by physical or mental health issues, sure I get up a bit earlier but that’s my choice and it means that I produce work every day. I used to be afraid of it, I probably regret not pursuing this sooner but then I wonder if I would have been saying or writing anything of worth, seeing as my life experiences inform my writing indirectly. I spent more energy and took on more grief not doing this because I was afraid of not being perfect, of not deserving this, of not knowing the secret password to Writer Land.

There isn’t one. It starts when you finish things, when you risk rejection and turn down things because you’ve got writing to go.

So, thank you for reading. If you have comments or questions, please do so.

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Animal Vs Angel

When the black eyed angel folds it’s wings

Around me, I would tear them,

Root and stem

Unmanned, and in my divine rage

Dash it’s ugly skull into the concrete

It is not an action fuelled by violence

In the palace of my skull

Wanders an animal

And it knows not love nor hate

But survival

And it is that,

A compulsion that blesses

The places where the world wounds me

It screams it’s hate into my face

But I remain inviolate,

I have work to do,

And armoured in that

I face the legions that follow it,

Bleak envoys that tied me to darkened rooms

Silenced me but I have many allies,

Beautiful, brave, bold and quick

Set against

These monstrous shadows that claim so many

Dumb pawns invigorating them with the phrase

‘Pull yourself together’

But I have triumphed before

I carry it’s memories in my veins

And I will win again.

Wash the blood off my hands

With the sweetest love

I’ve ever known


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Raise your shield high

Silence has a weight


A rock worn smooth

By time

A delicacy as raw silk

Sliding over my rough, dark hands


The screams – outrage, pain disguised

As signals of virtue

I stand askance

My path takes me through

These places

Once walled gardens of enthused discourse

Now the flowers drip blood

I hold my own counsel

Keep making my art

As though casting a suit of armour

Against the fragile, vicious beasts



My silence is my shield

And I raise it high

I raise it high


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Born In A Storm

Sometimes it feels like

The brief respites

Are placed in sadistic proximity

To the slow, grinding horrors

The minor key disasters

Like you were born in a storm

That has never ended

So long that you cannot

Feel the rain any longer

But soaked and shivering

Learn to smile again

Accept that when the lightning

Comes, it will be too sudden

A thing to feel, ushered into

Another storm






“Would you have…

“Would you have a great empire? Rule over yourself.” – PUBLILIUS SYRUS

I used to flail around, thinking I could change the world. I burned up vast resources of energy wanting to be liked by everyone. Then, when the world broke me, I let it go in favour of something better and more fulfilling. I focus on the important things in my life, one of them being myself. I’m not sure if that makes me a narcissist, but I believe in improving myself and working on the things that matter. My writing, my friendships and relationships, both old and new. Being here is part of that, because although you’re not all leaping out to interact with me, some of you are reading this and it’s important to feel listened to, although I do not need it, i welcome the chance to read and have people listen to the things I talk about on here. Thank you. You can only ever be you, so be the best version of it.