1. I’d rather read a poem than write one

    I’d rather read a poem than write one.
    Instead of feeding off the crumbs on my own plate
    I’d rather go foraging into the woods
    and see what new exotic mushroom I can taste
    Or plump summer fruits hanging alluringly from a branch.
    Rather than tread again the familiar pathways of my street
    The mind I grew up in,
    and finding different ways to say what I know,
    I would rather walk the streets of some foriegn city
    furrowing my way through unknown avenues
    striding wide-eyed down the pavements
    and through unfamiliar shopping malls.

    I would rather look upon a new face
    and get to know the pattern of the freckles
    than stare again at the mirror at the inverted image of my own
    changed barely from the last time I gazed there
    just a few hours ago.
    Perhaps a few hairs out of place,
    which I could write a few paragraphs on.

    More interesting to peer inside the pages of a book
    and look at faces I’ve never seen before.
    To sit among the sentences and listen,
    like sitting at the tables outside a crowded café,
    at the conversations going on around me
    (of what will become of Lennie
    and what’s so curious about that painting)
    than talk to myself about my day
    or what theory I’ve come up with lately.

    I already know what I know
    I already think what I think
    I want to know what you know
    I want to read what I couldn’t write.

    4 days ago

  2. There are too many writers.

    1 week ago

  3. SOON

    SOON

    1 week ago

  4. I’m an artist at heart but I’m no good at painting

    1 month ago

  5. Sometimes at night I sit in my room with the curtains open and the lights off and let the darkness stream in

    1 month ago

  6. Pointless P-prefixed parable

    Pete’s post-prandial peregrinations proved perverted. Passing playgrounds, passing parks, private parts protruding, people panicked. People picketed Pete’s place, producing printed posters proclaiming “Punish Paedo Pete!”. People’s protests proved popular, proved powerful. People posited Pete possessed P.I.E. pals (previously popular pro-paedophile party). People presumed Pete’s pederasatic pals praised Pete, proclaiming “Pete’s perfect! Promote Pete’s perving!”.

    Pause. Ponder Pete’s precise practice: prancing, post-pudding, past places people’s precious poppets populated. Potty? Possibly. Predatory? Pfft! Postulating Pete’s protruding penis predicates Pete’s particular penalty. Pete plodded placidly post particularly packed picnics (prodigious portions; plates presenting pasta, peeled potatoes, pickles, pork). Pete’s packed picnics produced particularly podgy paunches. Pete’s post-picnic paunches pressure pants. Pete’s pants perish. Perished pants produce protruding penises! Pete’s paunch prevents perception! Poor Pete! Pete plodded past parks, past playgrounds pleasantly, proper penis placement precluded. People’s protests possessed precious proof! Pete’s practices? Positively pristine.

    1 month ago

  7. "The 80s" is not a genre of music

    1 month ago

  8. Give away your favourite things

    1 month ago

  9. My epitaph will read: “Quite bright”.

    1 month ago

  10. There’ll always be something.

    1 month ago