I know your face
Your smile
Your lips.

I know your tongue, and the inside surface of your cheeks.

I know your eyes - that thoughtless, perfect gaze..

In every detail.

I know your body -
From your neck, through your chest hair
Below.

I know your nipples,
And your perfect mole.

I know your smell.
And sometimes I can close my eyes and
feel my hands run through your hair

As if you’re there
In front of me
I look into your perfect eyes
I think
Who the fuck are you?

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I started this blog a couple of years ago now as a place to post my occasionally writings of poetry, lyrics and fiction. I’ve decided to start using it now as more of a central place for me on the internet - with more blog-like diary posts, my writings, thoughts, projects I am working on, and links to me and my work on other websites.

I’ve also finally got round to updating to WordPress 2.7, and with that also have this shiny new (and rather cool) theme. This site is a work-in-progress but I’m going to be updating this far more often now and have big plans :).

Rob x

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Riding on a train and
It’s tearing through the morning air and
I’m looking out at the sea
As we roll along the coast
It feels like we’re riding through
the water
And it’s white with light
Shining into my eyes
Half-open
I’m smiling as some folk-music plays
right in my ears.

This girl sings of clouds and love and life
Of which I’d only claim to know the one
And then I’m in the city again.
Occasionally eyes meet
Then divert
And I walk on.

Clouds? I know
I know nothing at all.

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I think of you every day
Not all day, but for a few moments a day
And I wonder if you think of me too
For a moment.

And sometimes you have a different face
And sometimes you don’t have one
And sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever see your face
While knowing you’ve never had one

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We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we’re frustrated that the kids aren’t old enough and we’ll be more content when they are. After that, we’re frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We’ll certainly be happy when they’re out of that stage.

We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, when we retire..

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And I pray
that God is real.
And real in the sense that
makes sense to me.
Or I would pray that.
If I believed in a God
that answers prayers
That matter.

If that matters at all.

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From a distance the colours of my
face merge to one.

The imperfections of a
self-consciously imperfect whole
fade to grey.

Ironic? I want everyone to
see me from a distance,

In my hope that I might
find someone to hold me
up close.

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The clinical sense of despair.

That look - the silent, reserved pity.

Nurses smiling -
Why?

Feeling guilty just for being OK
When he’s there, in that bed. Dead.
Except his chest still moves up and down
If you’d notice that.
Cause he’s jerking and he’s
fighting to get back on his feet.
And his eyes are opening and
shutting as he’s trying to see
the light.

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The following is my Advanced Higher English dissertation. For anyone who is interested it is 4,499 words in length. The maximum limit being 4,500

In the books Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell and Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, how effectively do the writers present convincing dystopias, extrapolating our current behaviour in order to warn of how this behaviour could lead to an inauspicious future?

These novels are two of the most famous examples of literary dystopias, each providing their own varying, yet equally undesirable predictions of the future. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, published in 1949 in the aftermath of the Second World War, looks to the then future 1984, and predicts a society of complete government control in the absence of any personal liberty – a society where everyone is under constant surveillance and scrutiny, not just of their actions but crucially also of their thoughts. The world he presents, though extreme for having predicted it in such a relatively close future, is realistically terrifying and warns more vividly than perhaps any other book: change, or else this is how the world may end up.

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I desire your time.
Your concentration.
Alright, please. Just a little attention.

It’s easy to just let me in,
Although someone else
usually turns the handle.

I’m here
to stay.
Could be for a while.
But you know that
anyway.

I have your time,
your concentration.
A majority of your attention,
a majority of the time.

Hey, it’s gonna be tough
to get me out on
your own.
Who’ll help though
If no one knows I’m here.

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