darkness

 

 

 

Beneath the humping bedclothes of another drunken Saturday night we are conceived in the dark. 

 

Born from black we gulp for our first breath and are blinded by the light. We are addicted to it. We cannot rest. The darkness must not enfold us.

 

We scurry into another neon night, searching in the windows for meaning. Scanned like a bar-code. Framed by the light. Anything to avoid the eternal darkness.

 

 

 

lost and found - the sack of potatoes

Hidden away in the darkest recesses of the garage. Forgotten, neglected. And yet something stirs within.

The first etiolated stem reaches out, hungry for light. And another, and another. They grow in silence, draining the wrinkled skin once firm and smooth. The aging mother is all but spent now. Her form disappears beneath the writhing mass as the stems climb ever higher.

the new arrivals!