Selfies: a retrospective of sorts.

Credit for the professional ones :
Felix. Fiona.

16th April, WednesdayReblog

Steel your resolve.

16th April, WednesdayReblog

Weight of the World.

16th April, WednesdayReblog
The Bird That Wanted To Be Born - finally got round to do some more work on this.

The Bird That Wanted To Be Born - finally got round to do some more work on this.

16th April, WednesdayReblog

Don’t cry for me, I’m already dead.


Don’t cry for me, I’m already dead.

15th April, TuesdayReblog
This lady has been my best friend for over a decade. I fucking hate that sobriquet in any other context but my Gods has she earned it, by the simple expedient of being her.

It goes without saying I have fucked up innumerous times but we still hang out so thank fuck for that.

This lady has been my best friend for over a decade. I fucking hate that sobriquet in any other context but my Gods has she earned it, by the simple expedient of being her.

It goes without saying I have fucked up innumerous times but we still hang out so thank fuck for that.

14th April, MondayReblog
Fingers Reach


My fingers reach out for what was.

7th April, MondayReblog

Of course I would have a panic attack and have to bail. London memories are still too fucking raw despite being the other side.
Tomorrow will be a tramadol Sunday for sure. I could do with some inspiration and fucking support but there ya are.

6th April, SundayReblog

Decided to jump in the van and head to the twelve bar in london with my mates band.

Coping strategies, old haunts, booze n heavy music. Fucking therapy.

5th April, SaturdayReblog

The past four significant others have ended it with me.

There’s only so many times you can hear that “it’s not you it’s….” either ‘me’, some guy in Europe or some girl or someone else they’ve always loved before they met me but gave me a chance because y’know…

2014 is thus far a shit fucking year.

5th April, SaturdayReblog


Funeral Diner - We All Have Blood On Our Hands

"We’ll even take the sky away, block out the sun if we can." This has been planned for years. The reasons change with the weather and still nothing has been found but lies. The words take wing to pierce like daggers at the nape of the neck, while the back is turned. This was supposed to be trust, supposed to be for us. Now it all belongs to the few, and only cutthroat tactics and walking over others gets us respect in the eyes of our "god". As the web grows tighter (yet larger) we are all caught. And those that don’t see it coming are turned even more twisted than before, without knowing. "Yes we now will even take the sky away and leave your life as dark as ours." Taken away and destroyed before our eyes. No voices were heard and none were memorable. We were left to our own destiny, failed at that and sought solace in the coldest arms imaginable. We are the makers of our own fate and we failed. We all have blood on our hands.

1009 listens

4th April, FridayReblog

I somewhat apologise for the purge of 8 months worth of drafts that I long to complete or say in person to the people therein. There is no order, decipher it as you will, i hope it makes up for my silence.
Someone please fucking help.

2nd April, WednesdayReblog
The Good Ships Aurora and Borealis

The Aurora Class was the science vessel, a squat, vaguely cube shaped, ugly looking ship, its unweildy hull buried in cables and strangled by thick wires that led to unknown caches and mysterious metres that sampled the texture of space and read matter as if a book in a foreign tongue. To the front a faceted viewing dome protruded outwards, as if ready to blossom somehow, though you could not see through into the cockpit or at the cosmonauts inside. The panels that were visible were a matte off white, often dusty with comet trails or spaceport grime, while docked children would often playfully tap or rattle at the aerofoils that jutted abruptly perpendicular to the sides of the craft for the sound the made, although this was only on planets during peace time, and only ones where the breeding population could afford to be so lax with childrens security and where the other humanoid lifeforms were by and large peaceful and preferably powered by some form of photosynthesis.

A teal flash along the side marked the class and designation, though these ships were never gaudily covered in pinup girls as the flightboys in the Warrior Class Spitfires were so keen on doing they often had affectionate Earth Creature nicknames based on a visual bastardisation of the Galatic Standard Text that was written there and occasionally a science officer of an Aurora Class would have a memento embedded in his skin circuitry, a tentacle for “the Octopus” or a feather for “the Crow” and so on, but largely the only adornments on the Aurora’s hull were whatever new tech the science officer could get his hands on on the rare soujourns on surface.

Aurora Class vessels were all meta-sentient and any scanners or new form of diagnostic equipment that was attached to them were largely buried out of sight but occasionally the tip of an ether cleanser would be visible further giving the impression that the ships were overgrown.

Above the wings were balanced a bulky, cylindrical dark matter engine o either side, shadowy and pitted with micro comets, due to the nature of dark matter flight they were vodon-phased out of existence in flight to prevent paradoxes but provided the necessary propulsion to acheive great distances, above these folded up like wings were the golden solar sails that acted as solar wind brakes or allowed the ships to drift near indefinitely should the power be diverted from the engines to life support.

Not that these sails were much more than decoration in practise, the ship could sustain life almost indefinitely and due the meta materials that made up the majority of the hull and the basic continium shielding that the engines required as a basis to function, the Aurora class was near on impervious and could follow the Ion trails of a meteor for light years should it be required, most ships were able to pass by the surface of local stars without its sole inhabitant feeling much more than a light sweat.

Despite this they had little or no defensive capabilities, some science officers with an over cautious bio-navigation brother would often mount simple laser cannons for peace of mind but this was by no means a regular occurence and when a science officer is keen to gather information they are more often than not suicidally keen to do so and will rarely think of anything but the amount of instruments that can be mounted to gather said information and safety requirements so often fall by the way side.

As war was still considered the most pressing requirement for research and development in those times, despite all its protection, various factions had found ways to disable Aurora Class Vessels even with something so simple as a bio or physcic attack against the pilot themselves. As knowledge was power was credits was influence in those times it was a very high prioriy to protect these gatherers of information and thus was the Borealis class bought into production before the Mark I Aurora class even considered close to obsolete.

By the time the Mark II Aurora was put into large scale production almost a hundred standard years had passed, which was an unheard amount of time for any one class to be in use galaxywide, let alone the first iteration. But that was the inherent simplicity of the ships, though it might not seem that way to an outsider, they were capable of long flights for extended periods of time and though they could be rendered as near to immobile as sentient beings can percieve, they were also nearly indestructible and the only upgrades the Mark II really recieved were docking plates.

That and an almost religous belief that went into the creation of them. As has been noted, religions start far too easily and human beings are especially susceptible to the notion of “something else” [please note to date evidence of a higher life form are still being tested for veracity before a conclusion is relased to the galactic public] However the rituals that evolved over the standard century were followed with more dediction than even the most Obamist of Obamians would follow their didacts. Each fragment of ore that was mined was taken from whichever planet would yeild it with blessings and holy songs or technical manuals being read over the mine droids, each pivot, hinge and joint anointed and serviced with holy oil and each pot of molten slag either baptising a new initiate or watched for hours in a ghastly reverie. Not much information is left beyond a few early and amateurish vidscreens which show very little of the process and highly ritualised, one would assume biased, illuminated Data Codexs detailing each miniscule process required in construction.

To be continued. 2nd April, WednesdayReblog

Picking dead skin from scars left over from fights I considered beneath me and behind the arrogance of closed bars that I set too damn high anyway.
Never knowing how to pick my fights and picking my way clear of paths of decisons based on circumstance and chance.
We grew far too gnarled and close together you and I
,twisted and somewhat cruel…rooted in each other, feeding off one another but dying all the same
I rooted for you but sometimes I believe we woulda just outgrew it in the end.
I’ve since grown for you but stunted and cold and nowhere near enough and that scares me more than how far and fast away I threw it.

I don’t lie adrift or lie to myself anymore
I don’t run to catch up nor let it pass me by
I can’t hold my drink no more, no more than I can hold my own or look myself in the eye
I don’t think of us anymore you know but just of  “you” and sometimes of “I”
Which, grammatically speaking, and all semantics aside is not so much different from “she and him” but the margin of error
Is a distance too great to shake anymore
And so no, I don’t think of “me and her”
Not ever.

I’ve been known to hang on, like barnacle strong
Stubborn and callous like we knew it was wrong but couldn’t shake it
And bury deep,deep into skin  a tenous link so damn thin
And where did it all start to end or when did the end begin?

I see hardships ahead and I keelhauled myself on hardwoods
And dead woods, and dead man’s hand two aces two hearts
Its a game played to lose but I’m placing the biggest money on black and theres no going back.
My luck run out, bezier curve like stepped aside from winning the prize
I covetted but didn’t know I had won.
I learned how luck wouldn’t hold out
I learned how heavy hearts can weight us down

And if luck and love have nothing to do with one another then what is time and chance and cirumstance and how do you circumvent failure
How do you prevent change, how do you stop yourself cos I just wanna know

I would give anything to know how the hell I’m supposed to live
Costing me those memories of how not to do it
If this is the morning after my life before
There is plenty I would give up
Costing me the purpose from the edges of my finger tips
Crossed my heart crossed my mind a coupla times
But no, I don’t see you in my head anymore.

I don’t lie adrift or lie to myself anymore I do lie long and alone
I don’t run to catch up nor let it pass me by
I can’t hold my drink no more, no more than I can hold my own or look myself in the eye
I don’t think of us anymore you know but just of  “you” and sometimes of “I”
Which, grammatically speaking, and all semantics aside is not so much different from “she and him” but the margin of error
Is a distance too great to shake anymore
And so no, I don’t think of “me and her”
Not ever.

2nd April, WednesdayReblog
Message to an Earth Bound Astro Boy…(recorded as Tales of Nautical…somethings)

Boy I’ve heard tales of your exploits, the legends grew an grew in your absence and I wonder if you knew
I wonder if you heard what was said
You’ve been gone much too long now
Sea faring on inbound oceans, holding hope and heart in hand
I know your ships bound to internal water but I can’t find you still
I know your sailing broken bllodvessel coastlines and I envy your will
My compass is set to compassion and I feel for you friend really I do

But as epic as this voyage may be, you are still so intent on traversing old lines and ghosting the doubt of your coast
you’re drifting through the motions resailing Old journeys and following charts you know like the barnacles of the back of your hand
And I can see the temptation and intent really I can boy,
But you’re still tacking against the wind and I can see you struggling not to give up.

I know your weighed down most by that most damnable hope and you can’t give that up cos hope’s the fresh breeze at your back too.
you know your sunsets on the horizon and the ruddy red glow is your destination
but just because night falls doesnt mean you must too
just because the darkness rises doesnt mean it will rise within you
Storm’s a brewin’ lad and i can sense the shifting tides
Your mind is a malestrom of drowned dreams and plenty more besides
if sinking or shipwrecked will this captain go down with this ship I can’t decide

But this journeys not the thing you should be working on,
it’s this ship of yours you need to take care of, focus on the timbers
Woodwork wrought wrong you’re relying on old ship bones to carry you this far from home. Gunwhales ridden with woodworm and sea spray of dismay,
Your ship is held together with little more than a hope and not much of a prayer.
Your helm is backspinning and the bearings won’t hold you’ve lost your bearings you are lost and broken boy
Your mast won’t last and the boom comes before the bust
however many knots you reach you have tied each one into each rope so you can remember it just.
Ready about your taking on doubt. Your stowaways are throwaways you thought you left at shore but it has’t changed since before.

Watch the fibres of the sail unravel beneath your unwary fingertips
watch the threads of your story come undone as soon as this storm is done

Soon you may see what I mean and I hear your hearts true destination
echoed in the shanty’s of sailors roaring against the gale and behind blown glass window panes a jug of grog and a jug of ale

your heart to the wind and their best wishes and my sentiments to you
I know your weighted by anchors of indifference and apathy and struggling against everything holding you back.

Amongst bitter reefs of past regret, chances shot and better yet
Of every salt ridden corpse of once lovers that bloat the swells
I can hear these riptides pull angrily but you have your story to tell

I hope you the best on your sails dear friend don’t let that anchor drop till the end.
This is your journey and star charts and unknown waters won’t start
to forgive your love lost at sea, your cause lost in the depths
Our keelhauled hull caulks drip water rust ridden and forbidden

And if your hull doesn’t hold
and our heads go beneath the waves
Stay strong and stay bold
I know there tides within us both
can you feel the pull because I feel the pull
we’re not drowning neither are we swimming it’s a pull against the ocean floor
lets not sink too far from land, I feel the tides within in us pull us down
And the abyss is waiting, the abysal plain what’s more.

As the water fills your ears and saltwater burns your lungs just know this much
I heard an echo in squid ink and baleen, strung out through the saltwater pitch and yaw perfect this sirens call lost none of its allure
Across each cold pressured depth you’re still far enough away from the oceanic trench
Oh but on top the waves we sail against the wind and against the worst

From each pole to each pole frost ridden ice cap, sinking ship death trap and each cyclone filled bermuda triangle lost all hope
Each crest and peak and trough, forgotten gods but I know it’s rough
but still I find my way home.

And you need to too boy.

2nd April, WednesdayReblog