She became my boiler, me her leaky tap. We passed daily, reminding each other that we each existed with small moments of mutual irritation. Attention beyond that was limited to the bare necessities that we imagined were maintenance enough.

In the end she had me replaced. I just stopped trying – cold showers aren’t so bad.

I Confess

Lady Justice Licensed for modification and use

I confess.

I admit to it all. No excuses, no explanations, no defence. I killed them. I walked down the line, I put my gun to their heads, I pulled the trigger, they died. No one else was involved, no one needed to be, I took it on myself to do it.

It wasn’t self-defence, not in the moment, not as an abstract, not at all. It was murder.

No. It was execution. Cold and hard and violent. No passion, that’d make it something else I suppose.

Is that a guilty plea? Sure. I’m guilty. Guilty of everything I’m accused of. More even, because there are no charges for thinking the thoughts I thought, or walking away like I did. Maybe there don’t need to be though, I guess that part’s not for you to judge. Someone will though.

I see you. Sitting up there, in the gallery. It’s hard for you, I guess. Sorry but I’m sane and sorry but I can’t make a show of remorse. I might feel it though, if that helps, but I’m not ready to think about that. I am guilty though, I can offer you that. I’m guilty and I deserve everything I’m going to get. I deserve justice and I want it and don’t worry, if you were, I’m not expecting any redemption from it. It just needs to be done, because I’m guilty.

I killed them, I confess. I walked down the line, I put my gun to their heads, I pulled the trigger, they died.

While the writing piles up in a dark corner (one novel, one novella – both good to go sooner or later) I’ve been getting distracted by other, shiny objects. T-shirts especially as I’ve started releasing some of my own, original, hand drawn work on them.

You can grab yourself one over at as well as doing all of the social media following and whatnot that’s supposed to be important. It’s a long way from my usual work, what with being pictures and not words and all, but it’s something I’ve come to love. It’s a refreshing change, really, to be able to present an image which is immediately ingested by the observer. It’s a bit more performative than writing and in a way a lot more gratifying. My original love is still words though and you can expect more on that front soon enough. This last year or so has been a fairly quiet one as far as what I’ve put out goes but there’s been a lot going on in the background and it’s gradually emerging into the light.

Anyway, check out the shirts and design/art stuff. And the books. And everything.

Breaking the Silence

Two Tone the Cat - Post Apocalyptic Bastard

Been a while since I posted anything up here. Been a while since I wrote anything in fact, anything worth sharing at any rate.

Just over a year ago now I was in Nepal finishing up a novel. A novel which is currently squatting malignantly in the basement levels of my mind, either done or completely undone, depending on what day of the week I think about it. I also have a novella finished, a sequel to Laikanist Times and the second part of what I hope to make a trilogy. But again, I’m doing nothing with it beyond skirting my thoughts around it.

It’s an odd variation of writers block I guess. With the visual art I’ve felt liberated into perpetual procrastination. I draw something, I get that hit of expression and all is well, even if I know that there’s nothing of any real weight contained in that expression. Not that it’s not good, I don’t mean that for an instant, but it’s not the same sort of creativity as writing offers. It asks less, rewards more and comes easier. I’m not a visual artist after all, I’m not under any obligation to create something of value when I draw, it’s enough just to create something.

Over the summer I wrote some poetry, a tiny concession to the written word as I travelled around again looking at and drawing pictures. None of it was particularly good, or particularly bad for that matter. Now though, my hiatus dragging on into a barely defined retreat, I’m finding myself struggling. I want to get back to my words but I’m not sure how to approach them. I want to face up to the novel again, but I’m lacking the courage. I want to write something new, but I don’t feel the old immersion into doing it.

It’s a tricky one, for me.

Anyway, this update is really just a mind fart to let those thoughts out. In truth I know what I need and want to do. Confront that novel and put it out there, do the same with the novella, get them into the world and out of the basement of my mind. They’re taking up too much space and avoiding them is exhausting, plus I know the passion and love that went into them. They’re not nothing, they’re just jaded in my eyes by familiarity.

I’ll be putting both of them and all of my content out on a free/pick your price digital basis with paid paperbacks. I’ll also be removing all of my work from Amazon because, frankly, fuck them. The drawing has taught me that much, to love the sort of work I want to do it needs to be detached from the narrow focus of commercialism. Which might sound twattishly arrogant, as if I’m well off enough not to need a living – I’m definitely not. But frankly I prefer working in a mundane job to trying to sell what I love and besides, I’ve already made more from the visual art, without really intending to, than I do from the writing. Not caring has been good to me and I’d like to take it up as a lifestyle choice wherever possible.

So, 2018, although it’s been quiet so far, will be a busy one. Two books, maybe three, maybe a collection too as I purge the system of dormant work. More art too, lots of it.

We do what we do because we love what we’re doing, after all.