sketch pad

meine umwelt

avec moi, sans moi,

par moi

Ahh… and the tales I shall unfold

May blast comprehension if the truth be told

An ode to the masters, martyrs and whims

A satyr on life and sullied daydreams


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The clock chimed in a silent room. It marked the passing of another hour of the twenty four. "You are not misbehaving," crackled out.

She was now confident she had heard correctly but too tired to respond with surprise, or anything really. "No, I am not misbehaving," she stated.


She would have found him, looked in his eyes, tried to smooth over any misunderstandings; but it wasn't allowed. Like dialogue. Her hands glided along invisible rules and invisible walls noting their asperity and discrepancy. They chanted history, were flavoured with people and the lines of tension left by negotiations won and lost for things long forgotten: listening intrigued her but was forbidden, like touch. Only what you couldn't help. Strength, discipline, application, restraint honed at every step. Spartan. Samurai.


She smiled and headed out to the flower garden, picking up a Kirspy Kreme from the table on the way out. She didn't mind that it was raining in the least. Peace.


She would have taken his hands and danced badly with him but he disapproved. She wasn't sure why she was there.

For him. For herself, she loved him and thought it might all work itself out, though she was no longer sure why or how. And she hadn't noticed an exit.


(6th Oct ‘12)

Said the walrus to the platypus

After a bottle of Prosecco

Drunk happily in entirety

Rose s up the wall observed plat y

Bub les to the brain said plat y p

My extractor came on said walrus

Sucked the whole lot from here nothing left

Delft help appreciated aft' all

With language barriers plein o day

Character formation lit the torch

I felt the walls roughly blindly cut

A back as rigid as smiling I s

The nausea sickening to mid-road

Play a nother game she begged of him

Get over you self again he said

I did already back to check s

(11th Jan ‘15)

My sons’ burthen

tabula rasa

a blank tablet


I hate you as deeply as only a wo man can