Playing around with a new desk light and microphone and, my God, it's unnatural to see and hear yourself as others do, with brutal accuracy. It takes a solid ego to withstand it.

When there is something I can do, I try to do it. If not, I focus on my life and the people around me. It’s easy to get lost. The fog comes, and the ones without faces speak, with names like Fgnothurep and Cthworgh, and I fall… but then I wake up lying in a shop doorway, cold, but at least I wake up

Caught in the great loop.

Where shall we go from here?

My other half.

Rutger Hauer January 23, 1944 – July 19, 2019 Rutger Hauer, 1982. Photographed as Roy Batty on the set of Blade Runner

Lost in a land of puzzles.

Most ideas should stay that way.

Increasingly comfortable with my aesthetic. Could do with a touch more lust for power.

New notebook, new colour. Had to tilt it to catch the green properly. Still an A4+ plain Leuchtturm1917. Best paper quality I’ve found. It takes my weird pen ink and Pritt stick for pictures.

Seeking alignment.

Everyone has at least one forest inside them they are afraid to explore.

Trying to remember how I got here.

Memories of being blissed out together.

Into the morning with a flourish.

"Any work of art has its reasons which reason does not wholly understand." Ursula Le Guin.

Dreams are nuggets of interpretable truth.

Enjoy the light while it’s here.

We have electricity back. Quite stressful having two electricians search your house for a fault. Wires under plasterboard. Old alarm systems. The kitchen renovation fourteen years ago. That one time I drilled a hole that tripped a fuse. It felt like the end of The Conversation.

A day to survive.

Can we not just sit quietly for a minute?

I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life. ~Virginia Woolf

On campus today. Expect an energy shift. The camera might shake. The lights flicker.

Wrote some random rude words, then expanded them into rude sentences that barely make sense, and I feel much better, like I made something true.

Old school Art Deco brasseries are the best.

Some mornings there's nothing to say.

Today’s #bookpost.

a shy cyclops a shyclops, if you will

Nightfall, Battersea, South London - March 2022

George Nelson Associates Ball Wall Clock (model 4755). c.1952

Dreamed three women were quizzing me pointedly at some sort of therapy singles club.

I got to chapter 12 and gave up on Withering Heights. I'm still marking it as read though because it took its pound of flesh. Is it great? Of course. Do I need to read it? No.

Dreamed I was lost in the Barbican on the way to meet Werner Herzog & my thumbs & tongue were made of wax & kept melting & when I finally found him he took one look at me, eyes filled with pity, disgust & a deep intimacy with the void & said “Rose, the furnace of your vanity is destroying you”

I was taught that feeling deeply, particularly crying, was shameful. This lesson was hammered home daily in an otherwise loving family. I am a son born in the 70s. The restrictions of scar tissue can be loosened through daily use. All of which is to say, tonight I’m seeing Hamnet.

The shape emerges organically. It’s the only interesting way.

Perhaps we need a European version of everything tech. The ‘cloud’ is just computers in buildings owned by American companies. Protocols and diversity over surveillance and homogeneity.

I don’t want another coffee, but I want another coffee shop.

#Watercolor #Illustrations by Steeven Salvat Cloak Natural Specimens with Elaborate Metallic Motifs Link for more information and to see more of hos amazing #art: www.thisiscolossal.com/2021/08/stee...

Sentimental Value. I am alone. Bliss.

To share the sweet frost.

One used person: coffee stained; frayed at the edges; notes in margins.

Barbara Hepworth (1903-75), sculptor and artist, was born on this day in Wakefield. One of the foremost modernists of the 20th century.

I always thought I was a tenor because my dad was a tenor, but now I’m beginning to think I’m a goddamn bass.

Slow start to the year in films. Of these #LastFourWatched 📽️🍿 only two are in 2026. Too busy reading books.

How to pick out what you don’t know you need.

Getting some routine blood work done

Creative power is magical – time stops when in the throes of writing a poem. Afterwards I stop and glance at the clock – an hour passed in a frozen second. What does the process do to the mind? Are there pockets of eternity in its fabric?