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juicy plateau












juicy plateau











Juicy Plateau

The preliminary overture gently rises,
like the sunrise on a barren landscape.
A shallow ascend, then decend.
Succinctly bare, barely gradiented.
The finale is a crescendo of brisk chaotic strokes,
unwaveringly wavering welteringly,
in every whhhich whhherever way.
The breeze feels like an ant running along this molehill.
No one wants to reach this weepy crescendo,
but the pores have been irritated for far too long.
Now pink, inflamed and broken.
Broken too, the willpower to stead the steady drops.

Like a gradual pan from an unidentifiable object,
the blurry edges start to form a vague metaphor.
Decend, crescend, lament.
A fresh spritely midge bite has formed.
An army of ants is sprinting along this juicy plateau...
It's time to adjust into another seat,
I can now see Arthur's Seat through the semi-opaque curtains.
But perhaps all this adjusting and re-evaluating is the same as scratching that midge bite.
An unattainable relief, instead granted a dead eyed limbo.
Keep scratching, keep re-adjusting, keep prolonging the inevitable,
wait for your jobseekers allowance to come through.
























Is The Replication of a Truth better than a Sincere Fabrication?

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A Collection of interlocking poetry using 'the stage' as a casting point. /steɪdʒ/ The stage or to stage?

'I stage a scene, the stage a scenic location substantiated in metaphor, meta-language coded, encrypted. I am running, so to speak, so as to speak.'

Poems reminisce poems, moments become increasingly fragmentary and the real is numbed to the point of disillusionment. 

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These placid traces, brashfully abrasive. Cold Cofee. Water-Lilly.















These placid traces, brashfully abrasive. Cold Cofee. Water-Lilly.















^ These placid traces, brashfully abrasive. Cold Coffee. Water-Lilly.

Video created for GORETEX, a micro-residency on the Isle of Mull.

Trance states follow to unhinge the clichéd clichés. Overbaked scepticism, the real has become unreal, hyper-real, then real again in the fluttering of a tiny butterfly’s wings.

Foolhardy foolishness. Reserved reservedness, reserving the right to tighten the shoulders, unsubmitting underbearingly to feeling.

Weirdfish, arsefish, salmonfish – the brain has turned to jelly AND I LET IT. These now overbearing connections bearing the massy weight of my three-ton culpability.

Meaning is splattered, sprayed as a bewilderingly bitter aftertaste in the mouth, illogically accompanying the monotone sweetness. Unwillingly revealing its ambivalent nuances to the troughing ingesters, consuming all in their path.

A blurring of the mind in exchange for an opening of the eyes. My jellied-eel consciousness comatosed to the prods and knocks that constitute its serenefull wobbliness.
































A flaky wafered crisped off gloss paint corner to this notebook. The interior thread webbed spinal column showing through like a shard of bone bedded into an arm gash. I slowly tear off the outer layer to this mild annoyance, a persistenter perturbance droning in like an 8am hangover, spinning coloured fragments in the corner of the room. The remaining sentence is 2 hours 58 minutes, but it's usually all dried before then. This remaining sentence is very short. I think my run will break this monotony.


Lavoro Come Traduttore

















Lavoro Come Traduttore

















^ Lavoro Come Traduttore

Mural produced during 'Il Muro d'Europa', Urban Art Workshop, San Sperate, Sardinia.

A synthesis of language and image creating new connotations falsely interpreted.
That is, if we perceive false to mean incorrect

or erroneously misleading
or deceptively ambiguous
or deceitfully untrue
or fallaciously fictitious.

I’m interested by the almost naive, imbecilic nature of jargon and how new words pepper our dialect and force their way into popular usage.

The artist works as a translator but are his ideas always interpreted as originally intended? Culture, language and class barriers can obstruct communication and perception but this is not necessarily a bad thing.

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^ Subtracted, Distracted, Refracted, Distressed

(text from video)

Focus… Why so bogged down in focus? This functional format of a fucking studio is only a formal necessity. Pervasive Internet pervasive lunch pervasive friends. An article in the New York Times 'The Art of Distraction' converging my good willed intentions and labour away from any authentic focus. Where is authentic focus when the subject matter is distraction? Distracted distractions or concentrated distractions? Is the subject matter distraction or have I simply distracted myself to such an indescribable degree that this seems appropriate? Scribable indescribability, subtracted distracted refracted distressed. Indescribable scribable scribbable bibble. Is bibble a real British snack? …

My desk, a squeaky nonchalant* disclaimer disclaiming squeakiness nonchalantly. Noncy nonsensical negligence, *indifference - unconcerned - careless (of a person or manner) Feeling or appearing casually calm and relaxed. Internet synonyms, cinnamon synonyms, synonym cinnamon cinnamon synonym sibilance synonym, cinnamon cinnamon cinnamon synonym sibilance cinnamon. Related questions - Cinnamon buns recipe?

The abyss of perpetual frustrated reinvention. The vicious (yet seemingly more appropriately - lackadaisical) circle, revolving at a speed set to SCHIZOPHRENIC MANIAC ON ACID. At a glance its pointless floundering towards a purpose appears as a masterful display of obsolescence. Axis set into concrete, the intention of this once archaic device cannot be deciphered by modern means.

Rationalisation – ‘a mathematic simplification of an equation by eliminating radicals without changing the values of the expression.’
Or is it a cognitive process of justifying one’s actions and ideas based on a set of predetermined boundaries? For example, IS THIS SHIT? By triangulating the actions and achievements of others along with maybe the skill or execution of such actions (if that’s important to you), add into this some sort of moral code and anything else you want to throw into this already clichéd bag of balls, or marbles. And you can get some sort of answer. Although unlike mathematics there is no universally accepted outcome and is even possible that you conform to the third definition of rationalisation – ‘a defense mechanism by which your true motivation is concealed by explaining your actions and feelings in a way that is not threatening’.

Our glance lingers over a fresh cream slice outlined by maybe twenty equally cream pages on either side, cuffed by a supposedly black (actually dark grey) scratched matte, slightly pinked card exterior. The page, painterly in itself, defouled by the scrawly spider notes and shit drawings.

The page denotes: The corridor space will be used. The walls are black, the protagonist is lit from behind -The protagonist anxiously walks over the uneven surface and gets distracted by a side room –– switch camera angle ––