The Wordless Black

From the abyss I swell up like the blossom of a spring morning

From where I grow is a riddle worth abandoning

I see the light but it does not touch me, for I am blacker than carbon, and this too is revealed as a lie

I visit a thousand hues, yet I go nowhere

Stumble across crevices that hold no substance for me

And as I walk the glacial tops of glorious heights, this too crumbles to delight


Le Noir Sans Mots

De l’abîme j’enfle comme la fleuraison d’un matin de printemps

D’où je grandis est une énigme qui vaut d’être abandonné

Je vois la lumière mais elle ne me touche pas,

Car je suis noir comme le carbone,

Et ceci se révèle aussi être un mensonge

Je visite mille teintes, pourtant je ne vais nulle part

Trébuche au travers de crevasses qui ne contiennent aucune substance pour moi

Et en traversant les cimes glaciales de hauteur glorieuse

Ceci aussi s’effondre en délice


Stranger than fiction… ; or the hemogoblin dance.

Stranger than fiction,

a call from the wild,

time to return to cliches,

through to the camera obscura,

and with that the umbilical chord that penetrated it.

The embrace,

the collapse,




mein wanderers.

We have become mass consumers of our own minds,

in cerebrum malls,

a distant, subtle yet burning self loathing permeating the substances,

in the canals of our subtlest bodies.

Pirates in gondolas.

The neurotic throb,

subterranean in jolly tourists.

Yet we skip, chorus like,

miss the nomad.

That gracefully receives the refusal,

time and time again,

the snub,

the chronic snubbing.

To take a look,

a look,

just one,

which might suffice to bring down the glacial palaces of suspended scintillants,

forever recharging the transparent pipe of hard anaemia inducing rocks.

And the irony is,

if perceived,

and our times are for that seeing,

as always reinforced with the solid concrete blocks of a hypocrisy,

so crisp it has turned white with thresholds surpassed…

silicon to plasma.

And again love finds me,

on this conquering waxing gibous night,


yes, peace,



a middle so gentle,

so finely balanced.

That even the demons are suffused to a surrender, oh so molecular,

swaying at the hips.

Slow motion,

white rock’n roll,

beige rock an roll,



10 thousand frames a second,



a second,

gushing duplication, a retina can’t fathom,

and this it’s bliss,

and peace again.

Thank you.

Copyright, 2014.

Becoming Intense

The molecular is the dynamic motion of a given event or moment, the life force or the atomic direction. If one was to imagine a dog in a park, or more precisely a dog in relation to a squirrel up a tree, at this point focused solely on the physical behaviour of the dog, its dance or gesture, its intense crisp muscular tension, as it stares like a frozen image in the direction of the squirrel up a tree, then we might envisage its incredible slow fluid movement as it advances in slow motion closer to the tree like a lioness in the jungle observing its prey. The dog’s, then sudden, and immediate barking excitement, running round the tree only to pause again like an inanimate object, the perfect work of a taxidermist, or without wanting to spark any irony, a ‘molar’ entity. If one was to focus only on the movement of this encounter or coming into ‘proximity’ with a squirrel and tree, if one could look at this intense dance and somehow remove all the recognisable references of the event, such as fur, teeth, barking, bark, leaves, grass, muscle, organs, then what would be left would be the molecular, and the encounter in between the dog and the squirrel a becoming molecular, a becoming intense.


A Biography

Born in London, 1979, to an English father and French mother.

First time I was taken to a restaurant I started to cover the window with spaghetti. 

Went to a bilingual school from the age of five. On the weekends I would always go to the countryside. 

One time I was climbing a tree, which was not unusual. I was almost at the top – I remember this tree being very high up – and as I reached for the next branch my foot slipped and I fell. As I fell backwards out of this tree my speed was slowed and my fall cushioned every half a metre by a branch, continuously until I reached the ground, softly. Although I fell about five or six metres onto my back it felt like just one, and the ground was soft. It was as if the tree had guided me down with its many hands and I almost wanted to do it again. 

When I was 11 or 12, I was reading Terry Pratchett and burst into uncontrollable laughter on my bed. 

When I was 14 I went to live in the country in France with my family. A year later we moved again. One night, I sat in my new empty room of white walls and I cried. 

Once I got stuck in the dark with two friends. We thought we saw a boar’s eyes so we all ran up a tree. The tree started to sway more and more, it was going to break so we legged in the darkness towards the light. Halfway I fell into a metre-deep puddle. 

At school I studied Fine Art and French literature. 

When I was 19 I came back to do a foundation course at Chelsea. 

Years later I was skint and waiting at a bus stop about 12 at night. The red ticket machine swallowed my pound but didn’t give me a ticket. I started kicking the shit out of the machine with excessive clumsy Karate Kid-esque movements swearing out loud. Wether or not this provided entertainment to the 25 or so people also waiting I don’t know. I thought after, that in that instant I had become the ‘type’ of person I had been warned about as a child.

I make audio-visual performance pieces. Some of the concerns behind my work are the repression and expression of emotion within our social masquerade and the possibilities of movement between fixed generic codification.


Nerve Harness

Something’s got to give
This cerebral prison is a nuisance on the soul and the body
The short circuit of a particular pain,
circles don’t exist, at least they shouldn’t …
Is the
idea to be held responsible, is the idea to blame, is wanting something that doesn’t exist to blame, ’s’a madness specific to humans ……… 

But they sell it to us ……………
I was a child, will be a child again, in moments … moments to come … 

I want that shiny vision to return, the one that’s now stripped of gloss and scraping at the neurons of my inner being ……… 

They sell it to us at a young age … Tie it up, pull it back …
But who is to blame ……… 

Clear Barren Signs
Concrete Bleached Surfaces
Caucasian Bibliographies Suffuse
Creepy Blood transfusions Sold
Organs for dollars, dollars for organs, organs for organs, dollars for dollars……… 

Silent voice, rhythmically like a record that’s reached its end
I just slip by, we just slip by, I just slip by, we just slip by, I just slip by, we just slip by, I just slip by, we just slip by … 

Who’s to blame …
Rarer … scarcer … scarcer and scarcerer are the times when I can see ……… 

scare sir
scar sir
car sir …
in car sir
in car sirer incarcerer incarcerate incarce rate
rate … rate … rate… 

But who’s to blame ……… 

All this language, all this talk, the mother-tongue … to rid myself of this papa-mama, famille, family, familiar, familiar deadened blocks, molar cadavers, of a language, longguage, language … langue, langue, an over- production of tongues, an over-production of tongues, an over-production of tongues in the sperm banks … 

Artaud cries … America! … 


Americaa, ameericaaa, america, america, america … 

Laurie smiles … The States … the states … the State … 

the state … 

Pours water onto floor from can 

Too many tongues,
too many tongues,
too many tongues in the sperm banks … do soldiers speak
do soldiers speak
a limb for a limb
do soldiers speak
a limb for a limb
a coin for a coin
a word for a word
an order for an order
an eye for an eye
an I for an I …………. 

But who’s to blame ………………….. 


That’s it! … strap it up! strap it back up, strap it in, anchor the cunt, tie a hard tight knot, don’t want the bastard to drift too far now!!…
Angry in low voice

But who’s to blame 


Over To You


L’ombre d’un doute


Shadow of a doubt


A shadow of a doubt

Process a shadow of a doubt

Cesse le procès

Cesse le pro

Et le procès

Et le pro sait

Laisse parler le Tao

Process the shadow

Laisse parler le Tao

Process the shadow

Laisse parler le Tao

Process the shadow

Shadow the process

Cesse le procès

Stop the trial

Cesse le procès

Stop the trial

Cesse le procès

There is no sound

Il n’y a pas de son

There is no sound

Il n’y a pas deux sons

Mais il y a un bruit

Le bruit de la perturbation des nerfs,

Offert à travers la rétine

The clatter of disturbed nerves,

Offered through the retina

One noise

Qu’un bruit

Et l’envie … deux

Et l’envie de

Envy … no, he is not my friend

Too easy


Trop facile … procès

Et l’envie

And the desire

Et l’envie de

And the desire to

Doubt doubt


The prosecution

L’ accusation

The prosecution

All of you, all of me

All of you, all of me

All of me

All of me

Why not take all of me


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