Children of Men is still haunting. Every pixel of every frame in this film is pregnant with detail. From the newspaper trimmings screaming of migratory murder, to the gestures of the people trapped in cages, Cuarón's Britain of 2027 is oversaturated with its own self. But the propaganda of the future isn't Kitchener and the Queen. In … Continue reading Children of Men
on compassion fatigue It starts with many days spent running on a brain running on a heart running on high octane, with too much fuel in its rusty stores - now too much dust in its worn out antique drawers, hiding all which lies in there - the vaulted chambers of its locked share. Mildew … Continue reading behind the blind(spot)
Resurfacing is a windswept thing. Coming up from the stuffed up darkness of, well, a bout of depression. But I don't want to go into that. I think I traversed enough in my last post. Inner states are truly tumultuous places. Terrible and terrific - my favourite pair of words. They're sensitive, the two of … Continue reading The In-Between
We will never forget you, soldiers of world one and two. Brave, valiant, all the tommies on the ground. We will keep remembering you, and all you did, for us. correspondence Hello, soldier. There are a hundred years, and a slab of stone, Between the pair of us. A lot more too, All those miles, … Continue reading correspondence
I can't express things properly at the moment. I've been living life in some sorta crack recently. A trench of mind, dark and spiralling down and down and down. The light is struggling to get through, electronic crackle flitters all around here, and crags are the only things for the hands to hold. It's a … Continue reading a rough old place
Constrained poetry. Palindromes, and the like.
Some simple heartflow. Unedited something or other. My first ode. Ode, now that's Romantic. Ode to the Moor Your barrenness scares the stuck ones away, your torn patches of rush and grass - and your lakes cut from the vein of the Earth. Your brown is more than brown, Your skin rubs our skin raw, … Continue reading ode to the moor
Last night, my workplace threw away around ten bags full of packaged food. I write this in a state of anger, unfiltered, weird rhetoric included - it’s best to get this done before I forget.
A quick little film review I had to write for class I thought I'd share. It is a truly lovely film.
Slight dew spots line up along the edge, a second frame, leaving their own trail of mould. But I don't mind, it is early in the morning at the end of the week. This is a time when refreshment and reflection carry the air - where things unspool and the frost catches them, locks them in the cool space so they can be properly seen.