The Collector. 

The collector is aware of everything they do, it is their aim to infatuate you. Their eyes move over you, slowly bringing you into their harmonic tune. They want you to play, to chase your tongue over their mountains and their caves. 

They want you to push them into the sea. Your mouth filled with the endless hydration of everything you want to be, tied and gagged to their infinity. 

Do you want more? 

I am full. 

I can not be bewitched. 

I am a collector of things that do not exist. 

I like their skin, their giggles remind me of summer days, when all I could do was play and fall into dunes made of an essence that only they can create. 

I touch them once more, before I go. 

The collector takes me home. 

I leave my shedded skin over their clothes and wait for them to realize that I am a tomb full of ghosts, they can not collect. They take my skin and place it on a shelf. 

It fades away before they remember my smell.


I want to fall in love


A person 

Who know how to love, 

Broken toes and hearts

Who knows 

Loud sounds 

Are not always screams

I want to fall in love, 

With movement, 

That feels 

falling leaves

are changing possibilities. 

Poetry Uncategorized

a thousand deaths. 

I was born from a thousand deaths. 

I was born from a thousand dreams. 

My possibilities, 

Tied to a garden

Where nothing existed. 

Angels know my screams. 

I was born from a thousand deaths. 

I was born from a thousand dreams. 

None of them are mine. 

None of them  guide. 

As we wait for paradise. 


For the ones I love

What is the pain in your heart that tells you not to speak?

Does it burn you as much as it burns me?

You seem weak.

Do you not love me?

Your pain takes over your needs.

Do you do as you please?

It feels unsatisfactory. 

I ask the heavens to speak. 

Anticipating the gods roar

You find the door-

You learn the way.

You deserve pleasure.

You deserve play.

As much as you know pain. 

You deserve a loving exchange. 

Perhaps you will see one day. 


Death is Freedom

A ramble and reflection on acceptance

Death is Freedom

Forgotten and chewed

Never swallowed,

Never bloomed.

Death is Freedom-

Death is new

A lonely beast-

Singing a lonely tune

Fuelled by whimsical delight,

And the fears you cannot keep,

They wonder towards you-

Seeking to bring you peace.

You see a dark street,

You try and walk away-

Hiding from the ghouls that ask you to stay-

Angels don’t wear white,

Wrapped in dark linen and lavender cloth

They play on the fears- you create.

You walk away,

From transformation-

Scared of the breeze

Frightened of the light-

Numbed by your temporal sight.

You are scared of what you will see.

You open your eyes.

You see eternity.

You cannot walk away.

You cannot hide-

Death is freedom

Death wears no disguise.  

Death is where I hide.

Stories Uncategorized

Want to look?

What lives on your heart, wounds your soul. 

What lives on your heart, can turn to gold.

Sensitive touches from the unknown. 

Be careful, many lose their way, making mines they see as courageous play. 

I have valleys I need to attend too. I have homes I want to adorn. 

I will not return to the battlefield. 

I will not look for you. 

I will pray. 

Battlefields become palaces. 

My heart has changed. 

Enfolded on itself, once again. 

Belief dies slow. 

Soon, only the heart knows.

Photography by Daniela Florez

Characters Stories Uncategorized

The knowledge of a good man

There once was a good man that valued himself on the good things he did.

This good man walked down the street, smiling, laughing, and applauding all his good deeds.

One day, the man did an untrue deed. He lied and stole money.

He did not need the money.

He did it, because he could.

From that day onwards, he saw himself as a good man that did an untrue deed.

The person who he stole from, saw him as a faithless man.

As they walked past each other, they both knew the other had seen something true.

Neither could point the finger because they knew no good would come too.

Photography by Caleb Jack

Stories Uncategorized

Soul Talk

Our death signified the beginning of our world. Our death was the birth of a new one. What does this mean? It means that sometimes you must believe and move towards the element you can not control. You move towards what scares you- I know it may be unknown and debilitating to witness but you deserve a space of change, so beautiful you learn to grasp it in new ways. 

Artwork by ASTRO



Your plant died in my hands

Placed in unfarmilar spaces, 

I left them, 

For safekeeping in places I did not feel safe.

I crawled into any well 

That  would have me

None of them could hold your plant. 

None of them could hold me. 

A plant needs connection, light and water, 

Our connection too. 

Your plant died in my hands

Placed in unfarmilar spaces, 

I left them, 

For safekeeping in places I did not feel safe.

I remember you as death remembers roots 

I remember you, 

The way you smiled when we took it home

I remember you because when they died I took them back home 

Refusing to see the death that covered their leaves. 

I wanted them to be safe 

I was not ready to say goodbye 

I could still see life. 

I was not ready to see,  

It belonged in memory.  

A summer joy 

Like your voice and our shared dreams 

Until I realised, you had never been honest with me.   

Our plant died in my hands

Placed in unfarmilar spaces, 

I left them, 

For safekeeping in places I did not feel safe.

Did you ever feel safe with me? 

Or was it like your plant in my hands, 

Placed in unfarmilar spaces

Or was it like our plant in our hands, 

Placed in changes.

Photography by Darius Iromlou

Stories Uncategorized

Simple Subtraction.

It is very simple. 1+1= 2 but what does life+ memory=

This problem had upset, the small majority of persons who could and would bother to ask this simple equation.

One day an unsuspecting girl dared to ask the unspeakable. Her dark skin gleamed in the raging light of the campfire.

Memory – Life =

Memory the child concluded was a matter of molecule. Water has memory and thus it was not a matter of form but remembrance.

The child was from a people who knew that the elements were quintessential. They were not tools but Gods in their own right.

Thus we move to life.

Life is the act of making communion with those you are called too.

An inability to do such, can equate to a life but is it a life well lived?

A person with no community or no friends is a lonely soul, I know a hermit and he is my friend although often he is often alone.

This memory equates to a beautiful intangible florescent glow in the heart when one feel lonely. Thus the child solved the simple equation by subtraction and was left with


Artwork by ASTRO


What did the voice do?

Mother told me,

They would not understand.

The slivering desire

Overwhelming each sensation.


Tell me.

Why they do not hear,

The commanding call

I obey.

The cries you speak,

Salting oceans and lakes.


Becomes meat

You leave me.

I wake,

I pray.

Overwhelmed with change.

Once again.

My friends cry with open wounds.

I asked for a closed tomb.

I want mystery.


My friends cry with open wounds,

I want them to hear the voice too.

Then they will understand why I did

The unspeakable.

Why I did what you asked me to.

I came too early,

I left too soon.

Artwork by ASTRO

Stories Uncategorized


HERE is dangerous. It requires everything. All of your tools must be gathered and laid at your feet.  Your perception must expand to each galaxy in your perimeter.  Thus each galaxy needs to be at your feet.

This space is open to all but very few, are willing to lay their body, spirit and soul on the ground- for the ants, the snakes and the plants to do as they wish.

I did. I did not know any better. I did not know there was a space for people with broken bones and lonely songs. I later found them, we danced till the sun exploded and the night was born again.

I later found out that my brother did the same but he had confused HERE with NOW and found the realm he had given himself too to be a reflection of the world he was running from. The wind whispered but he only heard the vibrations of his fears.

The soil did not eat him and neither did the snakes, but he laid down, waiting for the change.

Thus HERE and NOW are kin. HERE lives everywhere with no distinction in time or form. NOW is bound to the body and to the silence that fills space. Both are beautiful and both require sacrifice.

H.E.R.E= Harmonies Express Reflected Energies

N.O.W= Noise Over Wind