Copper and Black…

We all try to define
Our sensibilities in some ways
Though poorly designed
Our sensibilities are ours to paint
And SiO2,
plus MgO, Fe3O4
And conchoidal fracturing
Lessens parten betwixt
Cold black lungs copper sulphate
Veins extrude
Between structure of sembelance
Your ebony obsidian hair
And vein like eyes obey
Where I’m just in my element.
Dont you know
Im a

Fragments of purity
Like rust and regret
Fractal poetry
Like lets all try to forget

I’ve mind your seam
Or so it seems
Like we hold depth as a distance
And not an embrace

Constituent parts of fallibility
And the whole human race
I am not charcoal so i can’t draw right
But I am carbon based

Like haunted mineshafts
Theres a hole to stop digging yourself into
But obsidian and Cu
Well leadline my.
Coffin stripes.

18th October, SaturdayReblog
I Liked Those Shoes, They Were Particularly Good Shoes…

As part of a generation that was raised
Under intense scrutiny
Of pre-emptive disapproval
And reticience
I feel we scarcely gauged our potential
Before we were damned by it.
The Generation X-ers were defined by their apathy
And the Merchant bankers and the new romantics by their greed
The ones who destroyed all hope for us
As we were just being born
Seen as caricatures not villians
And you complain we’re self obsessed
I write no apologies for documenting
And diarising each stage of my life
In cryptic statuses and obtuse meanderings
In pictures of each goddamn meal I eat
And photographs in a lazy haze of rose
Tinted lenses or whatever filters afford
The right sense of sentimentality
Of each passing fling or potential lover
No I will not be sorry for that.
Dont you wish you had a chance to remember and reminisce?
I appreciate that
We may through caution to the winds
When it comes to privacy
But lest we forget
Though young and reckless and careless
We were the ones who demanded transparency
In the lies continued to be displaced by our forefathers
We demanded clarity of the bullshit
Of politicians
Economic systems
Third world problems
Abusive cases
Intolerable sanctions
And we’re not there yet
But we ain’t theirs yet
It’s a long road but we laid the first paving stones
So yeah though we choose our best angle
To appreciate life from
And pick and choose moments to best depict how we want to be remembered
Don’t you do the same
On rainy days in a romantic haze
Depicting life at going at a sedate place
And hey with no hope for the future
Is it any wonder we’re so temporarly displaced?
I may record and document any simple shit that springs to mind
But im diarising this feeling in lieu of times decline
Lets not forget our acheivements so far
Though the overarching principle appears to be of vanity
Its much larger steps that have been taken
And i remember each years and each passing seasons fleeting changing point of view
And ill look back in pride
But also think damn…those were a really great pair of shoes.

18th October, SaturdayReblog
Anonymous asked: Did you move halfway across the fucking country and not tell me?

I didn’t tell anyone.

17th October, FridayReblog

Truly I don’t care what you do as long as it’s good for you. All I want is that you love me the most.

Ernest Hemingway, from True At First Light (via mcqueencat)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

16th October, ThursdayReblog

Home has always been a person not a place to me.

Perhaps that’s why miles away from my own I don’t feel any more alone.

16th October, ThursdayReblog

Can we not just all admit that we’re all fucking lonely as hell and that even the relationships we have that we kid ourselves matter, don’t fulfill?
That our past times are aptly named and they don’t satisfy?
That our friend’s don’t make us feel better?
Can we all just admit that the world is too much?
That we tried feeling….and that hurt.
That we tried loving and only (eventually) found pain and hate.
That we tried living and all we found was our own mortality.
Can we not fucking admit that we tried

And it didn’t fucking work.

Can we not just stop trying and just fucking be?

15th October, WednesdayReblog

Shoutout to Googlemaps and Kent County Council
For directing me to walk
A mile along the motorway,
For my morning commute
10/10 would not recommend.
A detour beckons for my walk back.

14th October, TuesdayReblog

Sitting on my old bed
the dog and cooking
And warmth smells of home permeate
Cups of tea from chipped mugs
Older than me
Reading the Observer magazine
Then Bukowski
About to embark on another
Life venture
Not adventure
And I’m thinking is this me?
Is this really me?
My wild child dreams percolate
In a haze of dreary days
First train out tomorrow
To a place I don’t know
Picturing the cold platform
And suited passengers
That will make up my commute
And I’m thinking are they me?
Do they dream?
15 year old me would be disgusted
With this state of affairs
Truth be told 25 year old me still
Wants to adventure
But nothing ventured nothing gained
This sorry state of affairs
I remember it’s October
And once my dreams used to mean something
But now I guess I’m just trying to live
Call it a mid youth crisis I suppose.

12th October, SundayReblog
The truth is, before I even broke up with my first love, I was thinkin’ about the next one.

The truth is, before I was even finished with my first fight, whether winning or losing, I wondered about my next one

The worst truth is, even before I finish my drink; I’m always thinking of my next one.

— Nate Reeves - Revisionist Tactics

10th October, FridayReblog



Let the Good Kaz light up your life. Or your living room, or bedside table….or bookery-nook.

Kaz-lite - healthier for you than full Kaz yet just as nourishing. 10th October, FridayReblog

8th October, WednesdayReblog

Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us.

— Charles Bukowski, Post Office  (via larmoyante)

7th October, TuesdayReblog
Look ma, I’m an artist.

Look ma, I’m an artist.

5th October, SundayReblog
Artists! Storytellers! Liars! Poets! Email me your words and lets make a storybook together!

Questions both answered and raised.

Artists! Storytellers! Liars! Poets! Email me your words and lets make a storybook together!

Questions both answered and raised.

2nd October, ThursdayReblog

I am literally very little more than a conduit.

1st October, WednesdayReblog