Read a Poem

Read a poem advising me to practice losing things.


I started with my watch (shoved it good and proper down the back of my bed), moved onto the lighter for the cooker (put that sucker somewhere safe), my black and white scarf (I left in a pub), an umberella (in a shop), a telephone number (was kept in my lost phone left on a bus on the way to a meeting held at the 'Seven Wounds of Jesus') and finally I let some friends drift away.

Now I must go, and this blog will lose me in its own efficient way. I will be superseded by a new thought, a picture, a creative work. My writings will shift down and off the page in a day and into the archive where they will remain buried, everything must change.

Welcome guest blogger Luke Warren

Welcome guest blogger Luke Warren. A few days after he's started... A writer and animator you can see more of his work here and read more here.

ARC and a hippo

To entertain myself in the grey days in Berlin I went to the zoo with Dorothee last weekend, the hippo was not so amuzed, and therefore we got to see his giant teeth! massive. So that was a good day. Apart from that I have been meaning to tell you about the journey I made to Paris two weeks ago, but that has to wait a little bit as I am too tired tonight. But! what I really wanted to share is that Joachim, Timo and Toni finally have their webpage together, hurray, so for a trio of fine Leipzig/Berlin based graphic designers have a look here.
And hello Luke!

Under-the-ground commuter

I'm a commuter.

I move in step with the person in front of me.

I walk up the stairs bending my leg when I see the person in front of me bend theirs. I take their cue to lift my trousered leg up. I am a commuter. The people I touch I will never see again, women in all their beauty stand within a hair's breadth and I look through them, they are ghosts like me. We are not here but stowed away somewhere in our thoughts.

Reality does not help here under the ground.

I have a mask that fits the bill and does the job of covering my scream. It is flat and its polythene expression has a flat seam that rubs on the inside of my emotions like a badly made shoe.

I am searching for distraction, filled with the need to consume, like a gumball machine I have been twisted and I spit out treats to those who love me and I love.

I have a soul but it is within four walls in croydon kept there by crayfish guards that will not let you pass unless you have my permission or they are bribed by gold fish food. Can muslims eat crayfish? the chat rooms are full of rumor and I cant find a definitive answer. Well these crayfish are ten foot tall and have golden claws. They are a national treasure and eating them would be a crime because they are a national treasure and will not let me down.

So why do I hide my soul? Because of the danger of exposure to the world of course, because of the last time.

She didn't doubt I loved her it was not about love it was about compatibility it was about: cornish pasties and corned beef, salad cream and tomato sauce, socks and iceburg lettuces, fantasy novels and TV; verses: skin, smell, looks, sweat, the way I gripped the sheets, the hand, the hair, the eyes, the eye, the humor, the warmth the company the laughter and the forgetting.

Pulled in different directions at equal force and in the end … well I am a commuter now parting ways with everyone at every stop.

I like this world it is close but has no meaning the contact with others is unmeant and unmet. A biological father gets on with his biological son, going to private school, his back is straight and his son is to young to realize but he mimics his dad, long live the sharp elbowed middle class. Slowly moving towards their death in an orderly fashion, moving in step with the person in front.

What would happen if saving the planet from environmental disaster replaced football?

All those crowds cheering for solutions, the airplay and debates about strategies and mistakes.

The Wags all being papped as their men build self sustaining environments, get drunk, have tattoos and sleep with other women.

The difficult conversations in pubs about; penalties and fouls, sending offs, the type of shoes their team should have used to create an ergonomic cityscape which would decrease traffic congestion.

And on the national stage who would the manager choose to be worthy to play against the greats like brazil with their strong reforestation play, or china with its notoriously weak defense when it comes to coal emissions.

misunderstood physiotherapist

Proselytizing, she was proselytizing about my knees.

She stood there her hair athunder, her glasses crooked with passion.

I was taken aback to hear such words spoken about my knees. The disciple bent and admitted her mistakes begging for forgiveness.

I rose in fear and obeyed her instructions. Answered questions honestly. Gave secret information freely.

She stripped my knees down to their bone, muscle and sinew, reaching their very soul, their very being.

Then she asked me to stand with my heel on the edge of a tiny piece of paper and the pain vanished.

I left with just one question. Could Jesus, Moses and all the Hindu gods have been misunderstood physiotherapists?

The Giving Tree

Just rediscovered this story and the original animation. here.

Echolalia

I saw this series and was really awestruck. I had to share. Timothy Archibald collaborated on these photos with his son who has autism spectrum disorder.

They are so ethereal and quiet... they seem to prick the surface of the feel of autism and childhood. Have a look at the rest of the series.

Guerilla Gardening

Check out Becca's lovely mural for the gardeners that are taking over the Heygate Estate gardens and using them in a brilliant DIY community project. This week a full feature of the project and the future of the estate can be seen in London's TimeOut. When something so positive can be born out of a near derelict estate, it is a wonder that Southwark council is trying to ban the 'illegal gardening' and claims that the site is too dangerous for the public to be in ( - and they did not mean the safety of buildings structure). I once met two councillors from Southwark and their views on how they see the Elephant and Castle development going were frighteningly sterile, with Starbucks and high end flats, turning the Elephant into just another boring, homogenous part of the city. Jeez. So it is great to see creativity and common sense giving the council two (green) fingers. Visit the Elephant and Castle Urban Forest website to see how you can get involved.