..dear reader..

Turn the page And it's covered up with a white sheet. Dont read between the lines that exist but are never represented that are seen but never documented.  Lines like scars that trace the boundaries between what we will and will not remember. I want to draw a curvy landscape and a rectangular city but I trace my little foot and the line from the bus stop to my therapist's office. Over the rainbow isn't that much different. They just don't pretend as much and leave their corpses out to rot in the sun instead of deep in the bracken. I told my therapist when I was 22.  It was ongoing.  I took the bus buzzing with pain and hope.  He would tell the police.  I would be listened to, I would be cared for.  He called me delusional. I told a man at the hospital he wasn't involved in all that so much I thought he might be a good man.  He told me there was nothing he could do, that trying to stop it would makes things worse for me.  He said he...

I'm a long term student of art and history and I history has shown art and politics as interdependant. Something to do with words, images, sounds and the things they symbolise that I can no longer articulate, means I'd rather read the work of modern African poets than try and decipher T.S. Eliot as beautiful as his work is. Eliot may has opened up my ideas about good writing but studying Okigbo and reading the poets in my The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry have changed my ideas about humans, culture and oppression. I want my Poems to have messages aimed at changing the readers understanding of something but I also want it to wow, to be considered 'good' art as well as having a voice that needs to be heard. I have 4-5 of them and its taken over a year. One of them is long though so that counts for something. I am getting so impatient waiting for replies from people waiting to see if work is accepted, I just want to get them out. I've had parts of ...

I'm just practicing at staying up late at the keyboard for the late shift I'm going to have to pull of tomorrow as I'm helping mum flit on Friday. Both things momentous in there own way. The essay should help me catch up enough to make a proper attempt at the next module and not just tap something together at the end. The move, well no more Christmases up there. No more listening to that house rot as the graveyards on either side stretch to reach each other. The only thing getting in their way is a rat run. It was difficult to end a poem their but I think I did it. Maybe I should just put them up here, but I don't know it is a kind of publishing which can mean disqualification from some competitions. I think 'Anti Matter' is almost there, in a way. There was a specific mention to the Arab Spring that I've worked in better by taking it out but still haven't replaced it with the right sense of revolution in the air sentiment. It might go back...