Hello, this is just a little notification to say that I’ve started a collaboration blog with my good friend Jack Hudson ie. WasterSpace. Together, we are the Jolly Llamas and in the coming weeks and months we hope to be posting our own pieces of writing, our writing collaborations and if we ever get round to it, our spoken word videos. Definitely worth a look in, and definitely worth following just to make sure you’re kept up to date with all of our latest bits of work.

We welcome all feedback and constructive criticism and we will also be trying to do the same as we work our way through your own blogs.

Cheers! P.


The Snake and the Sloth

Ink-black lines snake left and right
and enigmatic curls bulge
and fight like a torrid sea of glinting knives.
Yet with the fleeting glimmer of soft azure,
the vision becomes human; an illustration of life.
Thought and feeling exist behind the statue-like skin of one who has felt pain
and witnessed hurt.
The undeniable union of both weakness and strength
bound to life and in that moment, immune to death.
No hiss is heard and no teeth are seen yet danger entices the mind,
and excitement. Oh the excitement!

‘Let no action be pre-meditated!
Let no word be held back for fear of repercussion!
Speak what you feel and do as you please.
Society created you and
it is now time to un-create society.
Take these minds that for so many years adhered
and feared
the nurturing sphere that suckles the teat of politics and lies.
Take these minds
and draw outside the lines, erase the lines
snort the lines, fuck the lines.
Leave your fingerprints on the still-wet clay of history
and let no moment in life, or death, slip by.’

And I recoil, the fusion of fear and poetic lust clutching at my buckled skin
begging me to open my mind and heart and let it breathe in.
In that moment, I know I am already lost
and by I, I mean the old I, the old me.
For at the birth of those words, the world I knew burnt and was forgotten.
I looked out upon life through new eyes and
I touched the crackled leaves of fall with new hands
and I kissed the lips of my soft statue with lips that felt unlike my own.

An Ode to Acceptance

What you have to remember is that everyday we’re faced with this illusion of tranquillity in terms of the constant and unrelenting thought streams that permeate our own minds, contrasting with the complete and utter lack of insight into another persons mind. And seeing as we’re confronted with hundreds of people on a daily basis it can get pretty daunting. And what it ultimately comes down to is trust, we have to trust that we are not alone in our thoughts, that other people are going through exactly the same thought patterns as us at exactly the same time. “Does this person have any interest in my words or do they just think I’m a dick” “what impression am I giving?” “Do they feel the same sense of connection, be it intellectual, love-based or anything else, that I feel towards them?”

And then it moves on from trust, to the almost sub-category of acceptance. We have to accept that when it all boils down, we will never truly know, but that’s fine. We can only know, what we ourselves know and anything else is merely an illusion.

But accepting that illusion I think, is what it means to be truly happy.

I think it takes extreme patience, or extreme ignorance to realise that level of acceptance.

And not ignorance in a bad way, not at all. In a way, I admire the trait of ‘ignorance’ and sometimes I feel myself craving it. But ultimately, I’m happy in my messy ways, I’m happy that most of the time I feel fairly awful because I know that, when the good times hit, they hit hard.

Road Bump

The wheels will tremor,
And the dash will shake,
And the hardened plastic blue will scrape,
And will shred, as sparks fly.
And nearby,
The dead grass will burn,
And fire will be made.
Engulfing all, cremating a life barely tasted.
And what a life,
that life could have been,
Would have been.

But alas, no amount of water can quench these flames,
For they are not real. Mere holograms of an ember,
Projected and reflected,
To strike fear into the mind, and eradicate hope.

Yet, for some time,
Love remains intact.
An idiotic tribute to a crash long past.
But soon, When memories die,
And the flowers once laid,
Lay rotten and broken
Consumed by decay.
My eyes will open,
And I will smile upon that new day.


Sleep. A yawning void.

Uninhabited emptiness,
Brimming with nothingness.
The separate separation
Of dream state segregation.

Yet comfort comes; As days suspend
And night descends,
Darkness of time
Congeals with darkness of mind.

Thoughts filter, simmer and boil
And then end.

The Holy Moment

Too concerned with past,
Indebted to future,
Present often goes unseen.

Too often are we concerned with the past. Too often does the future occupy our mind. Present is noted but never probed, accepted yet never recognised.

It is a rare and holy moment when one truly lives in the present. Instantaneous, unprovoked and lasting but a snapshot of time; lasting only long enough to give a fleeting glimpse of an occasion.

With foundations lying solely in matters of happiness, a holy moment lives pure from ugly emotions and self judgement. Hard to describe to those unfeeling, it exists only in self recognition.

Only through the holy moment, can we truly feel life.