Words wrenched like teeth from fractured mind
I flail to find those appropriate or right
twisting in the wind of the silent storm
I still shine love and fear
in equal portion and egalitarian balance

Words are difficult as weapons or solace
today I struggle more than usual to find
the ones that belong and those that don’t
the mind fighting to find the ones
that reflect what the heart reveals

Words are small as atoms, yet reach across
the widest chasms in some strange entanglement
words are massive as stars, yet light
only on some chosen few
or the terrifying reaches of empty space

Words cut deep as sharpened blades
almost as deep as the lack of them
words explode from my fingertips in voiceless terror
while my mind struggles for sentences and coherence
words are muscle memory writ deep

Words are pictograms of love and savagery
words are the taste of tears or triumph in measure
words are my legacy, my only remains
words etched on tablets, parchment, paper, or pixels
words written in shifting sands

It’s difficult to write in the aftermath of the stroke. I always gave thought to each word I wrote but I am currently struggling to find them. It has improved somewhat and I hope it will continue to do so. I was going to finish a painting as well but my hands won’t yet obey my brain. Typing is difficult and slow (at least by my standards). The slur is leaving my voice at least. But even with all that the urge to create is strong. Undeniable. Please forgive me where I get it wrong.

Fragments 0.9

I’ve turned off the heat and the cooker
just made another hole in my belt
the 4th since that day
I’ve given away so many things
but kept your pictures on the wall
and the declaration you made
pinned to the fridge
with magnets and despair
cancer comes on fast and I wonder
if I can hasten it

My dog has sad eyes
as he looks at me
with understanding and empathy

I kept all the things I bought
for your birthday
an unexpected interruption
or a final heave to heaven

You’ll inherit all this, the mess and the random
with some surprise I suppose

Kisses and wishes and all of your lies
memories of breast and of thigh
forgotten with my welcomed demise

Condemning yourself to the romance of
a sodden paper bag
seems a strange way to live

I no longer have fresh flowers
that were always there for you
flowers die, decay is life’s revenge

If there were gods or mercy I would be
long gone from this and from your thoughts
if I was ever there

I’m kicking everyone out of my life
with disregard or callousness
I’m sure you remember how that works
you’re a master at it

Finally alone, unloved, unwanted
the forgetfulness I craved
the emptiness of sorrow
the raven scream of relinquished blood

We start and end in loneliness
and everything in between is lies and deception

Making Music

Please excuse my relative absence here for now. I’m working on writing and recording a number of songs (and I will be sharing here). It’s a mix of electro-industrial, futurepop (thank you VNV Nation for coining that name), and oddball pop with a bit of hiphop and punk/metal crossover thrown in – not all genres in the same work though. It all takes time as most of what I am doing involves multiple tracks which then need mixing. Making music is a time consuming process, writing lyrics can be quite emotionally draining. It’s been a lot of years since I last did this seriously, and things have changed a bit so I value your patience.

And unfortunately work (the day job) is also taking up a fair portion of my waking hours right now. On the other hand my studio is now in good enough shape to at least begin the process. New Les Paul guitar, effects, good quality midi controller (and DAW software), decent vocal mic etc are in place. Eventually I would like to add a bass guitar, an electric violin (you should hear some of the awesome things you can do with these run through guitar effects), more VST plugins etc.., It all costs money and I’m not a rich man. But I’m hoping that it turns out well with what I have now and that I will be able to help provide you with both entertainment and some food for thought.

The creation process itself is fraught with ups and downs. I rely heavily on inspiration and years of training as a classical musician — not to mention quite a few as a working musician but it’s been a while. If I’m not feeling it I simply cannot write at that time. All that can add up pretty quickly when you’re working a day job and not sleeping. But it’s a work in progress and I do expect to be able to post a few things soon. My influences run the gamut of almost everything (although I’m sadly incapable of writing reggae). From Bach to Behemoth, from Carcass to the Cure, from Peter and the Test Tube Babies to Pink. You get the picture. The one thing I really struggle with is writing drum tracks. ISO drum programmer (not entirely kidding about that)?

All in all it’s coming along and I’m holding back a lot of poetry/lyrics so as to introduce them as fully fledged songs. Lyrically they run the range from deeply personal to working class activism, with a fair bit of reference to varying mythologies as well. So again, thank you for your patience as I go through this creative process. I truly hope you will enjoy the results.


The fog rolls in the first sunrise dawn, bathing the world in misty silence. I meet Jesus, he’s sleeping on a bench at creekside, his head pillowed by a backpack and an old blanket wrapped around his form. He wakes and tells me it’s his own damn fault. I nod in silent agreement, it’s always my fault too. I empty my wallet and give him money. For coffee, for food, to feed an addiction. Whatever he needs to get through the day. We pass words back and forth between us like a flask of rare whisky. Jesus needs a bath and a hot meal. Jesus needs a friendly voice and finds one dressed in studs and ripped jeans and wearing compassion like a shroud. Jesus looks worn and faded and deep into a meth bender. He may need more but we settle on this; a few spoken words and the cold comfort of empathy. I walk on now, touched by his plight, and Jesus fades into the distance behind me.