In the silent shadows of the night I sit, huddled down between the stone walls of the house I grew up in. So much time, so much love and pain and history has reared up and shown me such sights, such sounds as to carve the experience deep down into my heart, which throbs and pounds in the loneliness of the moment.


Right now I want to write the rawness from within, to shift my thoughts from the inside to out, to lay them down, side by side, without any right or ready clue as to where they’ll take me. All I know is that in the fragments of my life words burnt so bright and passionately inside my soul, that they smelt away in intense heat before I poured them out in any shape or form that came to mind. But all I seem to think now, in a creative sense, is the want to show my raw emotional state; to take what I feel inside in those crazy, fleeting moments of panic, anxiety and terror and to capture them all in paint; a thick and oily paint that is thrown and then hacked out into a big and empty old canvas so that all of my raw energy will overwhelm a viewer and give them a glance of what its like to be underneath a wave of horror, a horror which exists in the psyche of each and every one who walks the world.


For in all my years of living, of life, I can seem to find no middle ground in existence, just a great shift from ecstasy to terror, those two great and towering poles that is real in every sense of the word. And when I say ‘real’ I mean that they’re real enough to make one know, in the absolute, that they’re alive, and deliriously so. Alive and away from the blind as we weep within with joy or sadness (or both even, at the same time) at the great and shaking dualities that shows in Technicolor to all who look in its direction.

The air is thick, the earth is scorched A naked man staggers, his self stripped to the bare flesh. The sharp rocks shred his feet with each step. The naked man wraps his arms around his body. He shakes. There are no signs where he walks, nor anything that is familiar for him to find.

It is dark now in this hostile place.

Every minute is an hour, a terror-stricken stretch of time. Things flash, and burst; a blur of colour and shape, all form streaking into a scream. The naked man looks up, searching for a moon in an endless sky.

Thunder makes the naked man afraid; its loud sounds make his heart race. No curse or begging makes any of it go away. No amount of tears or pleading can steer him into daylight either. He is alone, without a god or love or hope.

His wounds still bleed as his steps become heavier. Rain falls thickly as the thunder roars around the rock. There is a dull thump as the naked man crumbles to the floor. His body curls up. He holds himself tightly and feels his heart creak beneath its weight.

I have felt quiet moments when the blue sky can be glimpsed.

Where is this cave I've fallen into, where does it lead?

I have not seen daylight for so long now, just the cold walls of darkness as I stagger blindly over the cuts of my making.

Because it is hard to see I can only feel, and I have felt a pain that bleeds under the blade of memory. But the blood is not as painful as the night. It never is. At night even the moon hides. I remember a time when the moon seemed so close that I could reach out and touch it, that I could pull it to my chest and weep within its wonder.

I feel the enormity of chaos. I can feel its weight; immense. I knew I had created it, that my self had shaped it into existence.


Everything went black, and again I could not see beyond the reach of my arm.