Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Excerpt from an old notebook.

Writing is like staring at a wall for hours upon hours, trying to decide what to paint it, then suddenly realising you can just knock the whole thing down and extend the room.

Friday, 26 April 2013

The Bold Fantastic

Sweetest dreams of the bold fantastic
Deepest breaths of the purest air
Longest strides 'pon the sidewalk asphalt
Clearest view of the path ahead
Strongest love for the daring cosmic
Freest laugh of the human fare
Mine's a hunger for the wildest beauty
Mine is joy for the living rare