predecessor

or reacts against it,

Baroque became the embellished

version of Renaissance –

It kept its fundaments of symmetry,

logic and order but the focus

was on the design elements, these

elements evoked emotion,

                                              energy,

                                                              excitement,

Rococo saw what Baroque did,

swapped its deeper tones to lighter, ethereal

curves and stones

but kept Baroque’s logic,

Art Nouveau became the new

Rococo, materials were twisted

into more loco curves,

its emphasis placed on nature

and craftsmanship,

Art Deco held on to Art

Nouveau’s craftsmanship but

loosen curves’ grip

and dipped into geometric

luxe lines,

But Deco became distressed in

its depression,

which turned into the Great depression,

Its flash faded away,

became Modernism –

Modernism only cared about

practicality and being minimal –

its ethos was survival.

It quickly birthed Post- modernism,

This era tried to be expressive

and decorative, but couldn’t

quite break free of its parents’

struggling hold.

It constantly criticised

Modernism’s rigid doctrines,

but realised all its values

were a reaction against

Modernism, it didn’t have its

own identity. In its anguish,

Post- modernism gave birth

to Contemporary

which brings me back to you.

Sweet Contemporary…

You don’t have one design

that’s prevalent,

You’re a mix of all the above,

But you don’t have a clue about

your history –

You don’t know why you

think the way you do,

why you feel the way you do,

why you act accordingly –

You don’t know the

thoughts,

habits,

trauma

transferred

from

one generation to eventually you

Contemporary,

By understanding the paths that

lead to these trauma replications,

you can start to disrupt this cycle.

Let’s start –

oppression imposed on Deco

lead to

depression in Modernism,

which lead to

aggression in Post-modernism.

So, how does that trauma show up in you,

Contemporary?

What are you attracted to?

What do you run away from?

Are you vulnerable to revictimisation?

What emotions do you to use to

avoid feeling overwhelmed?

Does it help?

Do you miss key danger cues?

Is your focus on the relief rather

the trauma?

I advocate understanding its patterns,

how it manifests and the form it takes –

From there, you can

start the healing process and

disrupt the cycle for

Post-contemporary,

so this little design isn’t

defined or buried

by the family’s history.

I suck on his hardened crystal

and start to work on it.

I submerge it in this bourbon,

spit on it, gargle on it, choke on it,

until it dissolves into a sucrose syrup.

I add three dashes of Angostura bitters

to balance this sweetness,

garnish with mandarin peels to excite his palate,

add ice to impede the melting process.

It calms my spicy caramel notes.

His sweetness becomes pronounced;

my temperature drops rapidly

but I continue to stir.

inhale the main blueprint

memorise and study its notes

trace the pink pepper on the print 

search for the creamy white florals 

that settle within the crevices,

pay attention to the blueberries

that spoil with each sniff 

and the bitter bergamot blotches

that linger as you reach into 

your shallow pockets

If you want a whore

make sure you pay her, darlin’

It’s important 

She told me 

you forgot last time 

You fucked up

We fucked

I’m gonna fuck him up

For fuck’s sake

Fuck her

But they all mean the same thing

Because once you’re in that state of fuck

Your mind isn’t functioning in this realm

Of normality

As you’ve been transported to a

Construct that your mind can’t

Comprehend;

Can’t ascertain

A place where decorum bows down

To emotions; that the mere thought

Of translating these emotions

To an acceptable form is

Laughable and inconceivable

Where extremities bare all

Feelings penetrate the surface

It draws you deeper

As it rotates around you

Grabbing its hands around

Your waist

Your arms

Your throat

And the only thing you can do is

To fuck the fuck

you don’t know crazy

if crazy isn’t pouring cyanide

on your open cuts

if its calloused claw isn’t gripping 

your collar

if steel shavings aren’t squeezing 

your spine 

if crazy isn’t skinning you like a cheetah

ripping your carcass open;

freeing your intestines

so, call me crazy again 

and 

see what will happen 

‘crazy’ poem reading video – CLICK ME 

Brain, philosophise the concept of sparse firing

Love to speculate some neurons are in fact silent

perpetually drift into an inactive state

neurons defiling their main function turns them on

the glossy lustre is enough for them

They claim to love the science, love the whole brain

But seem to always find themselves

debating and thinking only about the dark matter

they dream about dreaming about dark matter

til they become the dark matter

Then they realise they didn’t want to be dark matter

in the first place

The conservation of love governed every part of my past life

It was simply the most important law

When I witnessed love’s death, I didn’t become suspicious

I didn’t question it against my own law,

The law that states love can never be destroyed,

I didn’t question its death against this law

Was this a vital error? I should have known

my love for this girl is forever constant

But here, I lie, think, wallow

And continue to turn the cogs in my brain,

I must have considered the wider universe around us

We were constantly travelling in different directions;

Our love was stretched, strained and redshifted

Thus I ask when our love was redshifted, was it conserved?

With that I ponder, did our love varnish?

And if completely lost, isn’t that in violation of my law?

I spend each day challenging fallacies and fables

Against proven and tested laws in my arsenal but

How am I even sure that the conversation of love is not

Just a whimsical idea?

A perfect ovoid, powder grey with specks of brown

As it cracked, a newfound spring emerged

A tiny caterpillar sleepily opened her eyes

Pouring rain sang down to the primulas 

the colours of the wind painted the cosmos.

This caterpillar was in awe

She wobbled,

She crawled

She crept on these primulas and started her work

She ate these leaves and moved on to the cosmos

This caterpillar grew quickly;

The more the caterpillar ate, the stronger she became;

The wiser she became

The caterpillar burrowed and climbed into trees

Navigated through complex terrain;

She was untouchable to all predators

The caterpillar sighed and looked at the tumultuous sky

‘It’s time to go back home and rest’

So, the caterpillar travelled south to her origin

and abruptly stopped when she saw her fellow caterpillars.

She hugged these caterpillars tightly

She weaved into her silken chrysalis with determination

She was trapped;

Trapped in the walls she built herself

The others wailed and sobbed

They were simply inconsolable.

The caterpillar waited patiently inside her cocoon and smiled.

Once she had disintegrated

Enzymes were released in the chrysalis.

These enzymes dissolved all her tissues into a thick soup;

except her imaginal discs.

These discs used the soup to fuel rapid cell division

She formed wings

She formed legs

She formed antennae

Blood began to pump into her wings

It was time.

She emerged from the cocoon like a pulsating dream

floating on the breeze

She danced as her crumpled wings straightened;

Wings brightly coloured, crimson like a fiery sunset;

Yellow like golden silk; blue like electric current

With white polka dots and coal edges

She floated on the primulas and cosmos

She drank their sweet nectar;

Her proboscis stretched deeply like a delicate straw

Then, the butterfly flew to my grave.

She placed soft kisses on my tombstone

And wiped my tomb with her gaily wings

She rose higher in the sky.

She flew to heaven,

Curling into the sweetest of swirls;

a hypnotic rhythm in every flutter,

my soul was in that butterfly.