Here are some random images of my random artwork.

This year's number one Christmas present... for me!

The child inside me (who is way bigger than the adult inside me) wants to wake up Christmas morning to find that Santa has left these beneath the tree. Santa, are you listening? I will be leaving you the biggest bad-arse plate of cookies you ever did see.

aarting: Where The Wild Things Are x Medicom Toy Figure Collection.

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Feed the Fire

I want to go back to the trees
Where my art was born...

Sweet Tides

Not a new track by any means but just it heard for the first time today. It was very early morning and I was so tired and miserable then this track comes on the radio from nowhere and my heart is ablaze once more with memories. Funny how your heart can give you that sudden rush and pull you back to those certain moments that live for an eternity.

Three Memories

I was going through my computer files and found some video footage of a visit to my parents and found my old piano had been relegated to the garage...

Ten Haiku

Well, my current Haiku obsession doesn't seem to be showing any signs of waning just yet. I hope that my plan of feeding my addictive personality something safe and soul enriching like writing Haiku is going to pay off. I am too old for the whiskey and cigarettes.
Music is by the wonderful Ken Bonfield.

Humble Haiku

Here are some more Haiku that I have written in the last couple of days. I am going to try and write at least one a day as part of my daily routine. I am finding that the process is great food for the soul. I am deciding for the moment to stick with the three lined 5-7-5 syllable counting form as I am enjoying trying to find freedom within these tight boundaries. However, after recently reading about Gary Snyder's views on the topic, I imagine that I will soon change all that. (Here is a great interview you can read if the desire is yours: Gary Snyder talks with Udo Wenzel )

But for now, here are my four latest humble Haiku attempts.

A flag, a symbol
of man drawing boundaries
on that which is free

Death is stalking us
so I celebrate the day;
it could be our last.

All about is still
while up above, clouds move fast.
Summer starts to wane.

The little kitten
cuddles me with her sharp claws.
It is true, love hurts.

Haiku

I wrote a few more Haiku last night during a moment of procrastination. I should try to write them daily as I find it such a meditative experience that really helps me to reconnect with the 'here and now'.


The candle flickers
releasing scent from the wax;
my ears and nose smile


Fingers kissing keys
tippity-tip-tap-tip-tap...
a poem is born


Rumble of traffic
beneath the orange street lamps
where moths learn to dance

Where We Belong

I am loving this remix of a Sia song called "Where We Belong".



Without truth
We lose
Yet we want to spare the feelings of those we love
Don't cry
We've all lied
But there is always room for forgiveness my friend

So don't treat me bad just be glad I am strong
I know where I belong
And soon you will see we are blessed and complete
There's a place here for you with me

Shine
You're fine
See I will always have a smile for you my love
And still
We will
Be ok and along the way we'll learn a thing or two

So don't treat me bad just be glad I am strong
I know where I belong
And soon you will see we are blessed and complete
There's a place here for you with me

So don't treat me bad just be glad I am strong
I know where I belong
And soon you will see we are blessed and complete
There's a place here for you with me

Don't treat me bad just be glad I am strong
I know where I belong
So soon you will see we are blessed and complete
There's a place here for you with me

Under the Pink

Anti-teenager “pink lights to show up acne”

I can't believe this is true, it looks like a bogus news report, yet apparently it is true.

(Click on Title to read the full article).

Little Girl

This is so bizarre and creative and maybe a little bit scary...

Hello Haiku

I have recently become interested in Haiku; it is a form of poetry that really appeals to my minimalistic sensibilities. For the uninitiated, there are many great websites that can explain what Haiku is and learning about it's origins is a pure delight.
Haiku is usually written in three lines consisting of five syllables on the first line, seven on the second line then five on the third line. (5-7-5) A Haiku should also be written in the present tense, it should encapsulate a raw experience that is very much in the 'here and now'. Traditionally, Haiku were composed in reverence or respect of nature. Here are several I have written today (I have also taken inspiration from some of my previous pieces of writing and reworked them into the Haiku form).

baby blue petals
awoken by the morning
illumination

the sun on my tongue
while I carry these flowers
to my mother's grave

stepping cautiously
lest I awaken daisies
that sleep underfoot

the moon loves the earth
caught in a gravity dance
around and around

the morning laughter
gently ushers me from sleep
hello dawn chorus

watch the bumble bee
as it flies across my grave
it will not sting you

Lost and Abandoned

Town was fun. I sat in the mall eating food cooked by kids and enjoyed my chemical tasting coffee and watched the world go about its daily duties. Mice on the wheel. As I sat there taking it all in, I noticed that a big lost and abandoned bag lay at my feet. I pondered on the obvious, 'Was it a bomb?' I considered my choices:
(a) inform the kiddie cooks
(b) move away to somewhere safe and out of range
(c) take the bag somewhere quiet to see if it contained any treasures.

I decided in the end to just finish my meal in peace, figuring that if it was a bomb, I would at least make front page news as the guy who was sat nearest when it went off; the guy whose blood, guts and arse-hole flew through his brain along with a half eaten bean burger.

On my way out of the mall I decided to inform the zombie clerk at the information desk about the abandoned bag. Her brain fired into action and her eyes flared like a red light. I could almost hear a siren go off inside her. Without even a thank you she got straight on her phone and spoke with urgency to some other zombie mall robot who obviously knew what to do in just such a life threatening situation.

I didn't bother to stick around to watch the anti-climax unfold. That bag just contained a whole load of worthless shit that teenagers haul from one place to the next. No wonder it was abandoned.

Attack of the Shadows - a Cluster Headache experience.

Thank God I do not own a gun. Thank God I do not live in a high rise apartment. Thank God my oven is electric and not gas. Thank God I do not have any rope or razor blades in the house.

I hate God.

I am laying on the kitchen floor in a quivering heap staring at the dirt. I had no idea how dirty the floor is. It is amazing what you can see when you are down on your knees. My fingers have been clawing at whatever is in reach and must be covered in germs. Fingers that I have had inside my mouth trying to pull my back teeth out. Germs have been the last thing on my mind. I had also been pulling at the hair on the back and side of my head trying to lift the skin from my scalp. Tears stream from my right eye, a tissue covered in mucus is clutched in my fist, a tissue I had moments before tried blowing my brains into.

My nose begins to clear, my breathing is returning to normal, my teeth stop screaming and my right eye is no longer under attack from an invisible ice-pick that was trying to dislodge it from it's socket. The storm is passing, the shadows have evaporated, all is quiet, all is calm.

For now.

Lifting myself from the kitchen floor I pull myself a glass of water and drink with an almost insatiable thirst. I am always left so thirsty after an attack. I look around the room and assess the damage; drawers are open, their contents strewn everywhere. My medicine cupboard is also open and half empty packets of pills are all over the kitchen work-top. I had been feverishly searching for something to relieve the pain. There is even a bowl of steaming hot water that I poured lavender oil into, hoping that by breathing in the vapour, it might enter deep inside my skull and ease the pain. Nothing relieves the pain. Yes, it is funny the things we do when desperate.

I have just suffered from a Cluster Headache attack. The pain is something that is not easy to describe. All I can say is that the pain drags me through hell and into insanity. It is a pain that has me begging out loud for mercy to God one moment then has me making deals with the Devil the next. If the cure to relieve the pain was to hack one of my fingers off with a blunt knife, I would do it. If the cure was to give up every possession, to trade a decade of my life, to drink the devil's piss, I would do it. It is no coincidence that Cluster Headaches carry the nickname of Suicide Headaches. People often get them confused with migraines. When you tell people you suffer from Cluster Headaches, they sometimes say, "Oh, I know, I get migraines too, they're awful". Or worse, "Yeah, I get nasty headaches too mate".

To quote from Wikipedia, Dr. Peter Goadsby, Professor of Clinical Neurology at University College, London, a leading researcher on the condition has commented, “Cluster headache is probably the worst pain that humans experience. I know that’s quite a strong remark to make, but if you ask a cluster headache patient if they’ve had a worse experience, they’ll universally say they haven’t. Women with cluster headache will tell you that an attack is worse than giving birth. So you can imagine that these people give birth without anaesthetic once or twice a day, for six, eight or ten weeks at a time, and then have a break. It’s just awful.”

The thoughts that flash through your mind during an attack are interesting to look back on. It is funny what thoughts come into your mind when you can think of nothing but the pain. I remember thinking about the attack on the World Trade Centre. All the trapped office workers at the window begging for a rescue that would never come. Choking on fumes and consumed by intolerable heat, they leapt. I remember feeling envious of them during their moments of dissent. Although an unimaginable fear must have consumed them, my envy was for their momentary relief from physical pain as the cool fresh wind blew through them all the way down. Such thoughts can leave a person feeling ashamed once the Cluster attack has gone. At least I am still alive. The pain has gone as quickly as it came. The Beast has left no mark. If a person were to walk in the room and see me now they would just see a man in a messy apartment. A man a little dishevelled clutching a snotty tissue with a look of defeat on his face.

I have become an expert at noticing when the attacks are about to hit. It is as though my perception has developed 'sentinels' to keep watch on the periphery of my senses. They alert me immediately the moment they notice the 'Shadows'. They sound the alarm and I begin to prepare myself for the attack, although there is little that can be done in way of preparation except to psyche myself up. I turn off the phones, draw the curtains, take a deep breath, throw a penny in the well and make a mother fuckin wish.

Night time is the worst. I find myself scared to go to sleep, proper Freddy Krueger style. It is during sleep that most of the attacks come. They wake me like a perverted alarm clock. There is little warning, for when I sleep, the 'sentinels' sleep. Although they are getting better and are learning to wake me up as the 'Shadows' come in through my bedroom window, out from beneath my bed, down through the ceiling and I have at least a moment to gasp before the 'Shadows' enter me and begin their cruel torture. I say enter me, but the worst of it is that I know they are always within me. They lay dormant for much of the time, like a creature in the earth until something triggers their awake. They sleep for typically eighteen months at a time. Then something brings them out of hibernation and they begin the incessant attack for about a month. The attacks range from between fifteen minutes to two hours, although I have had one last three hours. They come almost everyday during an episode and attack one to five times in a twenty-four hour period. I take Verapamil daily during a cycle and I have Sumatriptan nasal sprays although it is questionable whether these drugs alleviate any of the pain. Perhaps it reduces the pain marginally. Mind you, any relief is welcome with the sweetest humility. I have tried the wackiest things to abort an attack. I have heard that very strong coffee can help, so when the 'sentinels' sound the alarm, I rush to the coffee machine and make a cup of coffee so strong it could raise the dead. I have heard that doing press-ups can help, as it releases endorphins. I should look like Hercules by now. Chocolate and alcohol are known triggers during a cycle so I avoid both like the plague. It has even been suggested that masturbation can help abort an impending attack by relieving built up tension. I think this has been suggested by someone who has no idea what the fuck they are talking about. You try knocking one off when you know you are about to get raped in the head.

Red

How strange this day today, that has everyone running for the train. I pass a lady in red. Red dress, red hair, red cheeks. In between short bursts of running she stops to look at her watch. I do not need to hear her to know her language is also red. Should I stop the car and offer her a lift? I decide not to at the last minute imagining an awkward journey of small talk, over sleep? Gosh isn't it hot? Anyway, I am not the driver of this vehicle. Beside me at the wheel sits my dear Mother. Two and a half decades of her chauffeur services spill out behind us as we speed on down the hill. I look at her and wonder where the women who has woken me since childhood has gone. Beauty Queen has become Drag Queen. Twenty-five summers ago, with an unexpected beach birth, we met for the first time. First love?

I have heard the story a thousand times before of course. The whole family on holiday at the beach. A low tide and three children demanding to see the sea. A hard working father desperate to please them, a heavily pregnant Mother wanting only to appease them. I'll wait here on the dunes, you all go but don't be long. So she watches them go, her family four. She touches her stomach, her family five. Six, if she counts herself but since when did she count? It must be this heat that makes her so full of self pity. But really, what sort of husband makes his wife go on holiday when eight months pregnant? A husband who works seven days a week perhaps?

Him: You'll be alright. The sea air will do you good. We won't be able to afford another holiday after he's born.
Her: How do you know it's going to be a 'he'.
Him: Figure of speech. Everything is a 'he'.
Her: And me?
Him: You're my wife. Hee, hee, hee!

So she went. A women who was deserted by her father, bought up by her mother and aunts, had now surrounded herself with men. Or at least males. And her husband who on running straight from the parental home and into the marital home, had now found himself a surrogate mother. Or at least pacifier.

She swallows her rage and waves to them as they shrink into the heat. Don't go far, don't be long. A vandalised sign, now pointing in the wrong direction out to sea, reads: SHELLFISH>
It doesn't even feel ironic that the letter 'H' has all but worn away.
Hot and thirsty, she reaches for a drink. They've taken the bag with the drinks in. What heat is the hottest, that on the outside or that on the inside? Her inner voice asks, Is this fair? Inside, her child kicks. This voice within her voice says, Do something about it.

Voice: I can't
Voice Within Voice: You can
Voice: I can't
Voice Within Voice: Why?
Voice: Because I want everyone to be happy
Voice Within Voice: I want you to be happy
Voice: I am happy
Voice Within Voice:
Voice: I am!
Voice Within Voice: ?
Voice: I am!!
Voice Within Voice: !

Upset now, she calls to her family four to return. The wind blows her words right back in her mouth. Beyond her prison, just within vision, four little men dance. A trick of the heat of course. Laying at this angel, looking down the beach to where water melts into sky, she can see them through the thermals. Something like hot wet rage runs down her legs and her heat meets a sudden cold panic. Pushing herself up onto two legs (why does it suddenly feel so unnatural to be bipedal?) she screams and waves for help.

Ankle deep in cool water her youngest son watches as his mummy wiggles. She looks so funny that he giggles. His father turns around to see what he is laughing at, then tells his other sons to also wave back at her. Hello! Hello! Oh.

We pull into the station. Men with wet hair and ties hanging loose around their necks jump from cars driven by their wives. What is it with today? The whole world is late. I calmly get out the car and say goodbye to my Mother. I decide that the train is probably late too. It is. I walk to the back carriage where it is less crowded then find a seat with a window view. Staring out the window at tress heavy with leaf I watch them as the train pulls out of the station. I watch the trees grow big, then small, big then small. I feel someone sit beside me and turn to see a women all dressed in red. Gosh, it's hot! gasps she.

This story was originally written on the 21st August 1997

The Past is Forever Present.

I was going through my things just now, when I came across an old love letter from my ex. I used to find them everywhere, under the pillow, in my wallet, in my pocket, beside a cup of tea...

I keep them all in a little box of dusty memories. I sometimes wish I was the sort of person that burned their bridges and moved on without ever looking back. I never let go. Some would say that you can not let go of love. There is a line in the English Patient that goes something like: Every night I rip my heart out, but in the morning it is full again. How true. I think it best to try and leave your heart where it is and acknowledge the fact that you are a prisoner of sorts. All the more reason to hope that you find a kind jailer. One day, you may be given the key.

I thought I would post this note because that which is loved is never really lost. In memory, love lasts forever.



The message inside the star: Please, let us be forever, I don't know if I'd like the world without you xxx

Sun on my Tongue

Walking down the road that my Daddy laid,
Picking flowers for Mumma in the old fashioned way.
I have only known happiness by the sun on my face
And the kindness of strangers so full of grace.

So sing to me darling sweet baby,
Rock-a-bye my troubles and my cares away
Wrap me up in a lullaby
And I'll try, oh I'll try not to cry

When I'm

Walking down the road that my Daddy laid,
Picking flowers for Mumma 'cos she has gone away.
The hardest task to be sent from above,
Is to dig the grave of someone you love.