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


Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share via e-mail Print Share on Delicious Share on Digg Share on Google Bookmarks Share on LinkedIn Share on LiveJournal Share on Newsvine Share on Reddit Share on Stumble Upon Share on Tumblr

London © 2016 Designing Futures

Made With Serif WebPlus. All Rights Reserved | Terms of Use



I can see you;

I know you for what you are:

I feel your pulse through me,

Throbbing at my neck,

Gushing through my wrist;

I know your thoughts

As they pass through your mind;

I feel your reactions

As they reverberate through your body.

Do you not know me?

You are not of me,

But am I of you?

For we are intimately connected.

Do you see me in the shadows,

In the wilderness of the woods,

In the shape of wolves as they prowl?

Do you feel me in the night,

As you squint into the dark,

Confronted by enveloping, obscuring blackness?

Do you hear me in the deafening silence,

In the light tread behind you,

In the rustling of the undergrowth?

Do you smell my aura in others,

In death and destruction,

In the unseen corners of your soul?

Do you taste me,

Bitter and rancid,

In all that you see

And all that you do?

You cannot forget me,

But I forget you,

You forget yourself.

(7-8th May ‘94)

She was beautiful, like the night

Yet her beauty was not that of the darkness.

She was vulnerable,

Yet her vulnerability was not that of naivety.

She was strong, yet not powerful;

Though a power resided in her

It had not yet been awoken:

The mists of youth shrouded her

And her clay was kept moist,

Still to take shape through

The experience gained in time.

But the mind was awake, and stretching

Forming dreams in the fires of her desire

And fumbling blindly to interpret the

Wealth of knowledge her senses brought her.

And her spirit wandered free, unshackled,

But she could make little use of it:

A wild creature, untamable

And not understood, nor yet made an ally.

And her soul was deep, fathomless,

Not readily explored.

And in her heart, so soft, pulsating with life

And love, she had not yet found residence,

For she feared too much the pain

It rendered her to stay there too long.

And yet all shone with brilliance

But the brilliance was clouded with fear

And in each was its own wisdom

As yet uncharted.

And she feared herself, for she was still young

Yet aware enough to feel what she was.

Life there was in her, vital and growing

And she glowed,

Glowed with beauty she did not know

For she had not yet been taught.

She sought a teacher, but none could be found.

And already she was scarred

And her eyes were knowing

Yet she did not feel she knew enough.

Her fear and insecurity held her

From venturing forth.

(Summer ‘94)