13-12-2018
In between worlds they ride and they ride never look back, not to set down for an instance like a gyroscope caught in mid-air their voices leading the way but to where In between worlds she stares me down I do not follow, or at least I intend not to but I can’t help it, intrepid fox beautiful shiny fur, I run my fingers through Never has he asked me this before and now I stand here different than before and yet what's changed the air is thinner up here not sweeter not sweeter In between...
06-08-2018
A lot of endeavour goes into the smoking of things. I like smoke. I like the unpredictability of it. You really have too much choice when it comes to defining smoke formations. Is it a cushion or a horse, a bottle of red or an understatement? You always guess and you’ll probably never quite put a name on it. I don’t know what to make of the smoke formations ahead. In fact, some excite me so much I scare myself and annoy people around me with jabbering or dancing. Or both. So I tend to turn...

14-07-2018
Agatha is a grumpy little thing. She is fluffy and round and would be quite cute if only she weren’t so unsettlingly upset all the time. Agatha can be upset with anything. The tiniest little glitch in her plan and she starts emitting complaints in a high-pitched voice or a low hum depending on which will agitate me more at the time. Agatha also likes to be wide awake in the middle of the night telling me about all the wonderful people she met recently. On such occasion she is, in fact, less...
07-01-2018
Sean has not been home to Ireland in eight years. His back is bent whilst clasping the microphone. If only it was attached to a stand. The screen before him starts to boot, music sets in. A little Santa Clause denotes this to be the ''instrumental intro''. The circular room is filled to the brim with middle-aged women and men. Sean realizes that still he might be the oldest among them. Lyrics flash on the screen: ''In Napoli where love is king when boy meets girl ...'' Lesley from across the...

22-10-2017
My friend the flamingo ruffles his feathers every day. He counts them and puts them in order. Then he gears up to face the music. Strutting around has taken its toll. He appears older than he is. His feathers have lost their pearly shine. I can no longer bear to look at him. One last time I try to brush my neck against his. I feel him close his eyes in our embrace. This time he lets go first. His heart beats too fast so I take a step back. He avoids my gaze and I quackingly strut away, beak...
14-09-2017
Accumulation. Of bits and bobs throughout life. Some of us resist the urge to collect more than others. I have been trying to be extra good – now that I am what I always wanted to be: ''creatively active.'' So I collected one pile of useless papers with very important information on them, like personal stuff, and put them in a disorganised array of piles in various corners of my apartment. And tonight I went outside and set fire to them. Not before stuffing them into an Ikea tin bin. I struck...

12-06-2017
When did you last watch your lover undress before you? Was she aware you were watching her? When she caught your gaze she responded with her cheekiest smile. A total show-off because she knew how the all-revealing sight of her aroused you. I am cramped into a tiny cabin. The darkly painted wooden walls are closing in around me and I begin to wonder if the plate carrying the copulating couple is indeed revolving or if instead the ring of cabins is revolving around its centre. My gaze wanders to...
27-05-2017
When I was twenty lurching out of a bar at six in the morning the act usually coincided with first onsets of hungover and a general dislike for anything bright. I would be proud of myself having made it through the night celebrating life with the wickedly beautiful. Bravely still on my hellishly sore feet rather kicking those gorgeous high heels and walking on shattered glass than taking another shod step. Copious amounts of alcohol had just been consumed in an attempt to push boundaries of...

16-05-2017
Once there was a boy who cut the lawn in front of a house. Up on the first floor there worked a girl who did not notice him. One day the boy cut the girl's name into the lawn. She did not begin to love him anyhow. This was many years ago. Today two Belgians, an Icelandic and I stand in front of the house. This is an old people's home now. Stéfan, the Icelandic, closes with a faint smile. He has grown into a handsome man. The sun is shining so thoroughly that I forget how far North I actually...
05-05-2017
It's all about sparks. There are an innumerable amount of sparks. Everyday. Sparks are the currency by which we can confirm the possibility of love. Sometimes sparks is all you get. Sometimes they accumulate into full-blown fireworks. The expensive kind above a castle pond. I recently felt sparks. A very bold kind. In fact, they hit me in the guts and on my way home I started to cry coz I felt happy. What can I say, I am an emotional one. Also I was not expecting to find them where I did. I...

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