I find myself , once again, after nealy a year, above the peckham rye,
pondering for a moment the journey awaiting me,
two hours time il be off
Bournemouth way.
The year before,
so fresh
and so innocent to what awaited me,
a new town,
new life,
i come to realise the fullness of the circle i have completed
an underlying connection which keeps me
within my own place.

I havent stopped traveling
still meeting
with possibilities and influences.
These breaks bring a cetain revelation,
slow burning
in theyre conclusion accompaneyed now as i write
by the Arcade Fire's 'FuneraL'.

It almost seems to encapsulate,
the drive of the drums and the stride of Win's words,
speak to what my distrascted tougne
can only agree with,
the tunnels of connection,
Ive gone underground for three days and nights,
when your bellow the surface of your own
reality you belong to
a nivety which is at the same...

refreshing .

Still the glow of the lighting,
which occupies the imagery of eyes
perceptional perspectives
wash those inhibiting my timlessness and expieriences.

Funeral,
how apt i feel
my journey has been tinted with loss
great and affecting.

I'm rarley this disregarding in spontinaety,
dropped plans for fullfilment and longing,
Time is so fleeting
I want to be living
I grabbed my bags
and i snatched the moments i could,
these eyes were ready to make
such contact

Despite silences bettween spoken words
I could hear such loudness in this instance
As we read eachother
the muted expressions,
behind the surface,
Intesified
And distracting...

downers

You dont realy wake-up anymore, 

the light just breaks in, 

like the constant state of indifferent hibernation your in,

you dont own the room where you seleep,

the belongings never take their place,

they crash and stir like waves in the space around you.

Its times when the tide becomes swelled up and

high with disinterested tones,

that the nocternal mind is at once haunted and haunting,

tills beep,

the doors slam,

and the vehicles reverse all the same without.

You could make so much noise just this state dictastes,

an empty tounge,

confuse,

blind,

dea'th',

before those promted to converse distracted impulse electricity with.

Meanwhilst you miss a connection,

not emotionaly,

'just-emotion' requires a definate eye.

Passive agressive,

Agressively mis-lit,

adopted expression,

and manipulated by music,

to feel requires a rythum.

Artist

Id say that 'artist' isn't entirely true as to the traditional view, the closest thing to me, witnessed first hand, is the revelation of absolute constant, however inapropriative it may levy to me, the punch-line is the comedian, its the point of recognition of a previously inafforded realisation,

The weight of an argument

building a house up to a home to any given resipratory.

"loves a doing word"

besides any pre-determined etichet.

three years

realised within this long passing, 

figured for what it is...

just what it was

exercise in freedom

first posts

begguining words

what to say

who knows

'and who can say'

 this seems a perfect time then ever to start  

 inspired by the few

 but guided by the masses

within the ecastsy driven

 so sure of ones impulses

like a haribo packet on the first page of a sketch book

an excercise in freedom

from now on, doesn't restrict

reverberations

resultantly free,

a time to observe

off-photographs

times of the nitche

encompassed,

to laura