This is me again.

As one mechanical creature lays dormant,
Collecting dust in a darkened space,
I fight against unknown shoppers.

Restlessly endeavouring to strike up a bargain,
And constantly stumbling at the last hurdle.

These inferior models are a better match,
And mine, unused, will fetch a fair price.

Magazine Horror.

Autumn Morning.

Why does the sun,
Choose to shine now,
And yet it eluded us,
Over the summer?

The limping leaves,
Cling to green,
Like a parent clings,
To a small child,
At a road side.

The sun shines through,
Their last stand,
And blood speckled berries,
Shrivel to the ground,
Adding to the building mulch,
Under foot.

Echo Gold.

The grey and dank smell,
Of a night time room,
Come clean and unlocked,
In a fogged bright morning.

Old and tattered junk,
Becomes gold in,
These situations.

An echo perhaps to,
The treasures of,
Dead societies.

This Face

Banger.

You Only Move Twice

These words are lyrics to You Only Move Twice by Jeniferever. A band I am becoming obsessive over. The image is an attempt on a self portrait, an attempt on my life. Pretty poorly composed.

Indistinct years of you.
The one thing I ever saw:
A scrap of paper I've kept,
You wrote as much for yourself as for me.

First out of a few,
Conversations, we've ever had.

These indistinct years of you,
You were never around when I was.

I can't even remember your lines,
Oh these indistinct years of you.

How time goes slower than it used to do.
When, where and how come did it break?

Were they just one or two,
them indistinct years of you.

Will the third be shorter?
Will the third be shorter?

If we leave it like this,
To pick it up when I come home?

Leave it like it is.
If we leave it like this,
To pick it up when I come home.

Leave it like it is.
If we leave it like this,
To pick it up when I come home.

I am none the wiser.

I’m not sure where I’ve been.
I’m not sure where I’ve gone,
Or where I’m coming from,
Or what has happened,
In these few summer months.

And how did the saving sun,
Ruin me?
How have I let you in,
My inner core?
Which is rotten now.

And lies sink deeper still.
This is the powder from my soul,
Kept in a glass jar,
On my window sill.

Images of my past,
Hang warped and torn,
On my wall.
And your feet,
So quiet, so small.

Apprehension has the best of me,
And I have challenge with,
Shat I see.

Just the evocation of my head,
And the truth found in my bed.
My heart has always been a liar,
And my mind cannot think for itself.

I am none the wiser.

Ephemeral #3

Ephemeral #2

Ephemeral #1

I have always been fanatical about the ephemeral. Over a period of time to follow I shall share with you some items and images I have collected. I have had them stored away in a box, and now soon they shall be set in digital stone.