Archive for August, 2011

does your chin have a hole in it?

sometimes my lips abandon me
and liquid flows
in twin streams
from the corners of my mouth
around the corner of my chin
and over my throat.


granular [poem]

Putting faith in fragments
half remembered crumbs
and landfill icons.

’tis strange, this state of affairs,
where demigods fight for facetime with a diaspora
of numbness.

I felt something once,
it was like falling
down a flight of stairs made of fractal semantics,
interstitial, intertextual impositions
on the fabric of this so called reality.

This point of view is infectuous,
takes you unawares from the shadows of your doubt.
I need to lie down until
these dark thoughts stop nibbling on my toes.

skavi11e ::: Chris Ab Alun :::: [music]

dear diary….

Why Matt Dalby should never keep a journal

Let’s make the morning time our bitch

listening to this. Good Morning Music.


what’s wrong with your eyes?
they do not contain, cannot hold back
– leaking, outside the visible spectrum,
all those things you say you have never seen.

misread on a glowing sign [poem]

got stranded in Glasgow the night before last after they cancelled my train. Crashed at friend and workmates house who we shall call merely ‘Shaman’.

Anyway, have a poem.


Anouncements will be made irrelevent
by the casual movement of your hips
gently swaying in the desolate wind
of the tommorrow that refuses to come.

look at that, you sunnavabitch!

voices from the rain

Work is destroying my brain and my legs, causing serious diminishment in my webreading and tweeting. Go and read Dan Hancox blog. Pay special attention to links to stuff he has written in the sidebar.

fucked if i know [poem]

your pretty face is going to hell –
it is a matter of public record, those things
you do beneath crooked window frames when you think
no-one is looking.

The nights get lonesome in the street
light, great sadness to be found
in those bruises.
You push against them with your fingers
just to feel something.

Those empty cans whispering behind
your back and whilst you sleep
the insects that live behind the walls enact
your bad dreams on the kitchen floor.

open your eyes, time to wake up…

Cat Hepburn

scriptwriter | spoken word & voice over artist | arts facilitator


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Helen Shanahan

Visual Artist


Artists and Free Thinkers Ignite!

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