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July 17, 2025

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Down here...

Her name was Lyla.

And she did not want us.

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Komorebi No. 1 - The Insatiable

There was wind in my rib-cage. An analytical force of chaos roaming in the empty spaces that held me together. In all honesty I am to blame. I've chosen to be stubborn despite the concrete facts. Same old, same old. Once, in a wonderful day time fortune, I will balance the dark and the light. Maybe then the weight of the past won't be do obviously mounted. I am learning to write from a place of honesty instead of desperation. The light that filters through. The light that past. Straight lines confused for direction. Dust adorning the path. - Clementine Anne Strachan

Komorebi No. 6 - The Retrospective Glare

The one thing they don't tell you about grief is the amount of resentment you flocculate. Mourning both the living and the dead is an amassed weight of recounting, recalculating and revisiting every encounter you had with them. In doing this you rediscover the creases in their hands and stories. You unveil the subtle jokes and meanings to the arrangement of playlists and ways that coffee was prepared, presented and pondered upon. You remember the colour of transcendent hand me downs and cigarette stained smiles. The smell of innocence and a blindness to the incense ever burning. But in mourning there is a slight tension of the neck in the realisations made. Dry tongue flattened with wrath for understanding that being an adult means removing the veil of naivety that concealed so neatly that your dead father - a young man who suffered mental illness at a severity I feel guilty for not understanding sooner - was not the hero you thought he was. Just confusion encaps...

Saint Vingt Sept - No. 07 - A day at the Museum

I have an affinity for boys who stand like museums. I like the long standing history that lies behind renovated walls and new attractions. Walking in with wonder, I am more inclined to listen to the older gentleman muttering to himself in the background. The young and motivated guide, bless his heart, doesn't have the information I am looking for. He lacks a poetic approach and; broken and experiential approach. 32 heartbeats a second time around. The dust lifts from the lesser read books And the abandoned questions. The crease on your forehead unveils the lack of connoisseurs in your life. You're plagued with tourists who come to see the inside and leave. You've never seen the girl who breaks her trip in four, then three, then two, then adds one more week. You're so used to people taking pictures Never people putting the chairs back where they found them. Leaving litter beneath the seats. Leaving bruises of amusement to mark t...

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Brief Commercial Break - Excelius the Broken

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