Not very good at this. . . keeping up to date with things, it's been months. don't know what to add really? hmm. . . no bad anecdotes yet I'm afraid. I think I'll stop and get back to you in a bit when I do have something to say as it's turning into that poem by Poe. . . .

Bad Reception

Whats it all about? working late until about three in the morning, numerous gallons of coffee poured down my neck. I kind of like it, the pressure I mean, there's an element of excitement involved, as if I'm on auto pilot constantly. Just me, myself and my own world with different versions of me talking to one another and listening to bad reception on Radio 2.

Sitting in the staring sun, the rays pour from the gods. I lay on the dewed grass, inside memories stir with emotions (not a good mix), I feel banal, I feel awkward. . . . . I feel nothing.

All I can hear is self indulgent nonsense, twittering twitter on a real life, vain, bane of my life facefuck.

I don't feel like moving one inch, I want to stay here for eternity or until I feel bored or hungry.

I hear everyone around me, white noise, dragging your nails down a blackboard, a constant sore.

Thinking, thinking, always bloody thinking. Doing, doing, always bloody doing. Its all bollocks, not the dogs bollocks, just bollocks.

I can't get my head round it, I think I've been close, not close enough though. This blanket, smothering me, weighing me down, comfortably uncomfortable. I'm never going to know, my negativity tells me, maybe I don't want to know, maybe, okay, maybe it would be an anti climax to know, a disappointment to know, or maybe there's nothing to know....

In my mind, my clenched fist descends upon the table before me, I'm burning with rage that spreads like wild fire. My exterior is opposite; tranquil with few muscle movements noticeable to the naked eye, This temple of torment is ready to erupt.....

Some random drawings to christen my new blog. The top and bottom sketches are caricatures of people I remember seeing in the street, probably looks nothing like them! The middle drawing is a loose copy of Max Beckmann's "Depression" based on the horrific memories he had from World War One.