I'm 22, I've been working on poetry since an early age, all sorts of things really, at the moment I'm working on a new poetry book which I haven't a name for and attempting to stage a play which I've also yet to complete, seems to be coming together somehow, piece by piece. I perform occasionally in my hometown of Brighton, I used to a lot more but probably still never enough. It's a small enough to run around in circles probably a little to frequently.I tend to write about anything I think about, or anything that may or may not be happening, fairly textured, glossy sunstroke, bad apple refridgirators, with little regard for punctuation or spelling, not particularly by choice though. My favourite kind of poem is a toss up between the saddest introspection imaginable, a harrowing crush or witty observational stories with lots of made-up words.not sure.
Low Down Liars and Pop Corn Tires - 28/1/08 sticky buck toothed plastic cap 'a face like a reign' oh dear, we've only just begun to become meaker in the weak laine. paralell pursuits, drivelling drive, eagerness, shut down as i whither alive. ' next week were playing live!' i was dead before i tried. a forgotten bargain, sculpting millers nose...'the length of the upper drive?' sombre sythe. mid-winters bleak spectacles stauesque spectacle. every inch, cleavouring, respectable. I was used to being used. strolled vertically and surgically removed, my tin whistle approved, next to conciense lilted spring time muse lifting blotched bleakness and trembling timber tubes, heroic cubes, crunching key board hoards who always dissaproved, blurting something or other while I sprouted un-identical tentacles, raising quite a stir, the room was enlarged as I charged for her, and him, singing ridicolous rhythms toward an untoward coward cowering in Christmas is coming! leaves dangling uncomfortable features teach us things we already knew, cradling crimson virtue, haggle ended hunchback suspended, ogling over the others, unspeakable acts, under our covers.
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