Category Archives: Art

Of Nice And Me

My right forearm feels sore, as though an inked needle had repetitively been thrust under the skin in order to leave a permanent design etched upon it. Wait a moment. Well bless my tiny dancer’s shoes and call them loaves … Continue reading

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Do The Barthes, Man

Observation: the UK and the USA are currently governed by figures who clearly don’t give a flying fuck about the lives of the citizens they are meant to represent yet the majority of those citizens seem content to lie back … Continue reading

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I Am Not A Beautiful And Unique Snowflake

A week ago I was arriving in London for my mini adventures in friendship and photography. Physically I’m still recovering from the exertion, emotionally I’m still trying to make sense of the complexity of reactions my time in the capital … Continue reading

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Inko Pinko

It’s a Thursday. A kind of not breathing great and ouchy day but some of the ouchy was by choice, not just because my body isn’t enjoying the not breathing great stuff. A part of me now feels like a … Continue reading

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And So Peaceful Until

Quiety quiety not much ado about nothing or naught. That’s been most of my weekend. I’m connected to the world I want to be connected to, am content in my semi-withdrawal (papal approved) and the only sadness comes from the … Continue reading

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Smoke And Goldeness

My sore throaty voice place continues to make me sound like I’m having my larynx scraped by tiny oesophageal dredgers, all made of razors and thorn. Allegedly this means I am emitting sexy sounds. Personally I think I couldn’t be … Continue reading

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No Direction Home

Wanderlust: the desire to hike, if you want to get all Middle High German on the motion, which too few people do these days. It’s a word that came up in conversation with my son during our travels last week. … Continue reading

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