Now Deeply rooted in my grey matter, emotions stem from a flower that never leaves. I lay there, mired in thought, wondering how different my plot would be, if her seeds were never sown… If she had never grown on me…

Her petals shine like gold medals, on my podium of pandemonium, cropping up ever more awesome with each blossom…implanted in my dreams, almost magically…

Tragically, She radically soils my clarity…
I work tirelessly to harvest reality, supersede her from train of thought, weed her from my memories…an endless lobotomy, aimed at this enigmatic botany… My efforts are fruitless…

But the truth is, she is not to blame for this matter, It was I who plowed my grey matter, till it was conducive, exclusively for… my flower

Shock therapy 

Distorted echoes bounce around your walls more and more frequently… you inevitably tune into the frequency, just to see, if you find any truth at all…

You soon become entangled in the cables of fables…now no longer able, to tune out, eternally blinded by the noise. permanently haunted by hysteric images , which you can’t stand not to understand…

logic remains elusive, the chaos becomes delusive, you begin to feel violated as the pitch becomes intrusive, tsunami sized radio waves wash what’s left of your hope away.

Reoccurring Visions of manic men exploding, leave your frame of mind in panic mode. Your eyes overflow, as you feel you’re soul erode. gradually losing your Senses to a sensory overload…

now even with your ears shut and your eyes closed. you can still make out the menacing melody that kidnapped you back to the worst days… you signal SOS, no ones receiving, your pleas are silent phrases…

your sense of direction evaporates into a maze, your days diffuse into a daze, ever more awestruck and amazed, as your  ideals are quickly bewildered in a wilderness of satellite signals beaming…holding out for a sign that an Editor erased.

The negative nostalgia inflicts intense headaches. you seek brief moments of  refuge while you try to get ahead of it, Like a medic, mid epidemic, trying to find the antidote, yet destined to get infected, by a plague they once rejected as a threat….

Symbols of peace turn to rubble, you feel your heart burst with your bubble, while watching structures you trust turn to dust…Your future steeled in the rust,  soon you accept that disaster is your fate, although not one you deserve.

The virtual torture you’ve rapidly grown to hate, integrates with your mental traits… The strength you tried to demonstrate only decorates the hot plate as an hors-d’oeuvre…

Political predators swarm in, to capitalise on your vegetative state…


The mission 

I embark on a mission comprising the daily repetition of seemingly pointless acts, that might attract the formation of beautiful facts, and maybe allow me to extract, information from within. A natural selection, I force, in my chosen direction. My evolution, from a problem to a solution.
As I feel this change begin, I spare no expense to escape the pretence that is ignorance. I Live to enhance the remembrance, of wealth acquired through experience, so I may one day advance from the trance that was yesterday. Leaving as little to chance as I possibly can.
As I become more Lust in this lostful romance, I give myself no choice but to dance, adopting the systematic steps pre prescribed. In the hope that one day, my own choreography is described, by those who saw my vision. The ones who followed me on my mission.


An inert volcano, on the brink of eruption. A righteous man’s morals, plugged into a system of intrinsic corruption. A lustful virgin, experiencing an unwanted  seduction.
The mind in a mine field. Striving to Turn a blind eye, for fear of the explosions exposure might yield.

The snow flake under the Suns radiation. The high IQ, in a bad education. The comfortless courter, perceiving their own infatuation. A heart on a fish hook, straining to overcome times own temptation.



Dreams down the drain. Wasted away

Play down the pain. Bleed everyday

Move down the lane. Into the grey

Cry out for help. Hope and then pray.

Break down the chains. Cast them away

Dreams down the drain. it’s a new day

Play down the pain. smile for a change

Move down the lane. Connect with the strange

Cry out for help. I’ll be on my way

We can break down the chains


Oblivious in their attempts to guide us, what they fail to realise is, the advice provided on our vices, only demises the life inside us, dims the brightness of light inside us. Until there is only ice where warmth once resided, until they loose their voices and tend to grow violent…. and vice versa.

We all break free from Inertia, and act out. rapidly illuminating all the negativity we both blacked out. We feel we can never back down, and let them turn our suffering to stats, how? Bright colours so we never fade back into the background, we live through the drama waiting for karma to come back round.

Presented only with what they perceive to be shallow adolescents, desperate to circumvent actuality. They have no prescience of what our impertinence actually represents.

For all our openness judgement is the penalty . As they attempt to suppress our individuality. Their perspective is now stained by the pursuit of position and vanity, their promises fill us with doubt, because their clarity is clouded by clout

 So we no longer see where their intentions lie , actually…we see only lies

Still we strive to survive, working towards unity, giving back to our communities, empowering our sisters, uplifting our brothers, protecting our environment and spreading love to one another, intellectual debating, spiritual meditating, raising our consciousness to new levels

and still they see… only rebels


Queen mother 

She rises before the sun, wiser and older. Each passing day adds weight onto her already burdened shoulders. Even as her knights grow colder, she stands in the front line with her soldiers, waging a never ending war against the harsh realities of life.

She represses all the pain she posses.  In attempts to adorn the ones under her dominion, yet they scorn her with their misplaced opinions, and although they occasionally trigger her wrath, they do not deter her from the path, she was always destined to be on.

An anomaly in her colony. Both the junta and the labour force of her economy. With an open heart and an iron fist, through whatever anarchy afflicts her monarchy, she persists.

Unconditionally kind, not only to her kind, graceful in humility, adept at the art of empathy, and undeterred in her loyalty. These are the elements of her eminence and royalty.

Although she is not perfect by any means, she is and always will be a queen.



A vacation of fabrication, seen with inner vision, a place where Inhibitions, get left behind, an escape to find, landscapes pre-designed, yet untainted my mankind. Liberation redefined, unaffected by time, an uncontrolled state of mind.

Populated by lines, but no order, spaces with no borders, a nation which trades inspiration. Where subjects of no sovereign morph through metaphors, created by the natural force of assertion. A festival of adjectival perversions. Where fact is no different from fiction, and diction is the only jurisdiction.

That’s where I go when I’m quiet…