Sunday, July 31, 2011

desperate men poetry

welcome desperate men
men who cannot love
men who love despite
whose stomachs curl around
fish in troubled water
for shallow bites
men who hunger
yet who crave
no more than to hear
a word
men whose lips
are without a kiss
men who sink
who do not float
dark minds
with a pure heart
who take the spite
of guilt and innocence
of man
in discolored resignation
welcome men
who passed this gate
men with simple thoughts
simple tables
their guts done
and men
whom no one love
men in spite

Saturday, July 30, 2011

black raven king

into ruffling fragments
the trunk breaks
and out of the bush of leaves
the flapping of wings escapes
slowly the body majestic
of a raven carries up
and drifts off
into the gray sky
out of the shadow cover
i elevate
yet thrown down
i drop like a stone
even if my limbs stretch
my suffering is joy
like the wild wind against the trunk
the torment beats
a spirit ravishing
broken plates
in this body, this trunk
i follow the pair of wings
that fly toward the sun
my heart wants to follow
but everything breaks into pieces
i see myself, i hear myself
but i don't want to loose it out of sight
by wanting to possess it
i cannot know
by not knowing
i possess it
the raven paradox
of torment
my loving raven

Les Pensées (31)

Artaud deeply moved by every breeze of air swirling around him, felt the radiance of equal beauty glistering, yet everything was a distant glance, everyone observed from afar, every thought a remote reflection that kept him from grasping the beauty around him and the glance was replaced by a dull sadness.

Faces (31)

(31) Her lips were modestly thin, she bit her mouth bashfully, as she breathed in the cold evening air. A gentle white light fell on her face, I could just see the thick red curling line that ran across the soft pink flesh of her inner underlip, showing the imprint from the rim of her glass from which she had drunk a dark Italian red wine.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Les Pensées (30)

Artaud stared at the orange hoops formed by the folds in her knee high skirt, which ran around her waist, and realized that she could decide his course of life and that she never would, and he resigned willfully to the destructive indifference of the waves of emotions.

Faces (29-30)

(29) The curly wave of her lips that encircled her smile and her gay glance dancing on the motion of her words, softly spoken, gave her face a certain roundedness that softened me. (30) She pressed her hand to her forehead straight above her brow ridge, though she sat in a shadowed corner. Her eyes flickered from the sting of inner light, the surface of her eyeballs lay elevated above her broad cheeks, her swollen lips were tightly pressed together, radiating her inner agony.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Day Poem 072611

12.14pm - The Kitchen
Through the bleak ocean of day an aircraft begins its final plunge kettle-whistling from beyond the cloth damp clouds. In the near distance you hear lorries brake-hissing, wheezing at the lights. And a train rushes its body at the length of track - each shivering sharp clackity-clack curlicued by the creak of an ancient stair. And the clock rattles off the time till 12.15pm.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Faces (28)

(28) As he smiled, the creases in his fleshy cheeks split into carved cuts, and his eyes sank deep into the remaining cracks until only a distant pitch-dark pit was still visible, while drawing large circular lines across his face that sparkled by the rosy light and the dark curls of his beard and hair.

Les Pensées (29)

Artaud walked down Park Avenue as he did almost every morning, until the light hit his eyes as it had done yesterday and the day before on the corner of 34th street, and realizing so, he unlikely turned east along 32nd street, unlike yesterday.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Friday, July 15, 2011

Night Poem 062211

Here at the edge of
Highbury Fields
I hear machines
gasping in
the night
soft lost voices
rising in hushed questioning
tones and flowing out
into the night


Turn from thr type writer clack
of the banker wife's
high-click heels
turn from the hurling
and from the sirens
and from the plunging
that seeps inkily through
the hours until the
wide bright world of morning
Flow gentle on
the night's river
be still
and greet the sea of morning as a

Night Poem 071511

The window shakes
and a train passes and
the night boils with the sound of voices and with the
whip crack laughter of strangers and
with the ghosts of sunken nights
of murder and of
anxiety and of
loneliness and of
and of the calm of sleep
and confusion

The Holloway road creaks under the weight
of so many welcomed bodies
and carries each calmly into the
waves of the sea of night

Flipbook Story (2): Cafe Noir (2)

Monday, July 11, 2011

Faces (27)

(27) The root of her nose lay well ahead of her eyebrow. Her fleshy neck softly rounded her jaw line. Yet, these notable features did not define her face harshly, as the rest of her face was so full of gentle form that she tremendously appealed to me with the kindest beauty.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Les Pensées (27)

Artaud looked down at the street through the cracks of the white blinds in the window, and only saw the flickering spots of head lights that jumped from one to the other black line like a child dancing over the crosswalk, and realized that from the outside in, a view through his window on his life must look not much different.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

About You

About you

This role requires a high level of disillusionment. Candidates must demonstrate a keen sense of feeling disconnected from their work and be able to demonstrate distaste for working with others under fast paced and trivial conditions. You must have at least 3 years experience of corporate disenchantment to apply.

About the Position

You will be required to carry out a series of tasks using a computer beneath strip lighting. Normal hours, which do not apply, will be from 9am - 6pm.

Knowledge of MS office is preferable.

Please note that due to the high number of applications we expect to receive, we will not be able to contact candidates directly regardless of whether their application has been successful or not.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Les Pensées (26)

Artaud decided not to undertake anything today and let himself be simply carried down the stream of his emotions without action until finally the evening would come and he could go to sleep and forget about the uneventful happenings of the day.

devil's day

Lo Tech - Matchbox Pinhole Camera Photography

Photos of photos taken with a matchbox pinhole camera.  We took the instructions to make this little guy from here:

Sweets balanced on the windowsill

Self portrait.  Tried a 5 minute exposure in a bathroom mirror.

Argentinean Soda Bottle. (Looking up)


Our Apartment (This was once Walter Sickert's Studio)

Letter Box.

Phone Box

Tree in Highbury Fields

Bottle of Essential Oil

Double Exposure of a pond on Hamstead Heath