puncture kit
daily travails a word to the wise an eye on the prize and a pocketful of lies a punctured lung sighs hold him under the water a puncture kit and a desire to baptise all of the things you oughtta not be…
Keep It Regular
daily travails a word to the wise an eye on the prize and a pocketful of lies a punctured lung sighs hold him under the water a puncture kit and a desire to baptise all of the things you oughtta not be…
building an expansive space to grow into i’m not a garden i’m a weed idea a runner, a windfall traveller, just another dandelion clock depending on what? a raindrop destroying a rock by letting the memory lock into a pattern that tells…
i would erase myself thinking 2b no inking for me simple sketches biting thumbnails where writing fails maybe i can pick up the art again you didn’t like the turn my art took tried to push me in a nook tried make…
i was my father’s remote control i’d get up to change the channel it was a much smaller panel i think we had three a long time before four and many years before more when they launched sky and everything was digitised…
suck it down you slurping lover of a consumer you devourer of a rumour you mediated tumour neither millennial or boomer like what the fuck does any of that mean? i am having a dream about a primal scream and it says…
old cancers aren’t my story i am putting them away i have to heal even if that’s not real for you what do you expect me to do? sorry, but i won’t die too i have been packing away these mistakes and…
it’s a map full of traps cheats to game the system a systematic game sometimes you can list them they’ve always been the same the prison of class the half full glass the know it all the biblical fall all the things…
hatred is the speech deflated is the reach negated is the teach on the platform talking the melt a thaw brings the lesson as laws sting you the disenfranchised you the disappointed you the badly aprised you the half-arsed anointed you’d have…
finding those who have disavowed hate turned away the plate and happily said they’d rather not be fed than led down the garden path in the direction of wrath we see those and their unwelcoming pose and the soured grapes distilled into…
the things you watch distracted dreams in lazy chains what remains when you boil it for a year? just the salt of tears no more handkerchieves fire in an oil drum kick it for a tone like a jamaican dream we want…