I think a lot about the world we have created How we have severed our ability to listen to ourselves And how instead We put all our faith and trust in professionals We completely rely on them And insist that must know better than us They must We have become so afraid of death Afraid of injury Of upset And so determined to prevent it Prevent anything that might change


Traversing the subconscious Feels kind of like dreaming While your awake Like being half submerged In about ten memories at once And at the same time feeling as if you are in some post-apocalyptic world dry heat frying up all comfort And nothing is familiar The world is ending And the truth is that it is Because you are transforming Transitioning into someone else You are inside the chrysalis Your


What a funny thing identity is who we are who we believe we are the illusion of self of separateness of individuality I am aware that each human, is a cell functioning as a part of an enormous organism that is human consciousness. I know that truly, all we are doing when we love when we hurt or destroy each other is just holding little mirrors up to each others

Baby Rats, Baby Rabbits

Impermanence. We think we have hold of it’s concept, we understand it intellectually and then, as if to adhere to its own law, we don’t. We are forever chasing something that is momentary, and then fighting its absence. Recently I cleaned out one of my sheds and inevitably found a whole lot of baby rats. three nests. Nineteen babies. Despite my dad’s voice in my ear, ‘Kill them, they will


My entire life has been filled with dreams of being a writer. What do these dreams look like? Doing exactly what I’m doing right now. Simply being heard on a page, on a screen. I used to have much less trouble exposing my deeper thoughts, being vulnerable here on a page, where I can’t see peoples eyes to correct their judgements of me. Recently I had my worst fears as


What does it mean to be authentic? I’ve known for a long time in theory that it’s what is needed for me to move forward. But how do you actually be authentic? I only recently really grasped with my whole body what this concept means. I always assumed authenticity came when you were doing something that made you feel worthy, but that is only really a small part of it.

The swallows on his hands

He had appeared from nowhere Alone I was ‘Are you waiting for da bus?’ a frail old man was standing above me wailing in Irish The first thing I noticed was rosary beads gripped tightly around two hands like chains on the soft wrinkly curve between thumb and forefinger on each was a small tattoo of a faded swallow I watched the dip and dive of rosary beads sliding frantically

Anger is great

I recently broke up with my mum. It turns out we were in an unhealthy relationship. I was so busy feeling guilty about being a dick teenager that I let her tell me the rules of the relationship, even though I gradually grew out of those rules and how they sat with me. I kept forgetting to re-negotiate until it was too late and then I did that thing that


Every so often I come up with a brilliant creative idea, I pretend to fully commit to it and then I invite a whole lot of chaos into my life and it falls by the wayside. It leads me to feel often that I am someone that just has a whole lot of brilliant creative ideas and nothing to show for it. Nothing consistent, I have all these fears about