Kick Out The Jams

Side by side they went down the road, the hedgerows crowding in as if eavesdropping on a private conversation. Clouds the colour of curdled milk sat threateningly over the heads of the man and the boy, the rain within contained by a thin membrane like the skin on cold porridge. When do we get there?

The cheering had stopped, all sound sucked out of the bowl that seemed to turn slowly on a potters wheel. The tension inside matched by the suspense of the moment as the world watched, motionless. The shaping of a base medal into a symbol began with the crack of the starter’s gun that echoed down [.

Sitting in the cave with Plato who comes to mind as you look at the flames? Is it Nietzsche’s Superman, staring at the abyss? Or is Descartes recalled as he thinks therefore he is? Do you live by philosophy and die by the thought? Who knows how many battles Sun Tzu actually fought? And when [...]

These words, some well-formed some ill come from a lattice of lumpen black plastic daubed with white symbols scattered randomly. I try to shape and order its chaotic structure and make sense of an insentient polymer that can transform words into images, tabbing across the screen like a crab skirting

The words clitter clatter in a dissonant, discordant, clashing, bashing fashion falling in disordered, dilapidated heaps in need of a broom to sweep them into some familiar shape, to batter them into submission or failing that to hide them in a dank, dark corner out of sight, sound, hope. They can l

“There are no words…” “Language is inadequate…” And yet, and yet there are words. The sounds we make to remember you form a cushion to ease the blow, somewhere soft to rest our heads as we reconcile ourselves to loss and regret. The words that you gave; encouragement, advice, aspiration, engagement

Sunset, like a razor blade on tight white skin bleeds down slowly before the moon’s hacked face. Blue-veined sky, bruised by the evenings assault the dying light leaches out like a slow-ebbing pulse. A starprick punctures the membrane of the night lancing with its laser light; a pinhead sealing the

With low grey clouds slowly sinking under a leaden weight the wan sun wraps itself in its own heat reluctant to share as each day dims while it watches the ice build as its rays retreat. Each night the moon gathers the stars close and casts a baleful eye on emerging frost its weak light [...]