To refer to me as an abstract writer would be quite on the button. However, what is abstract for one is simply a stepping-stone to the truth for another….

A pianist, the author, and one want-away artist gather to gain, incredulous levels of unofficial artistry midst dripping, written, keynote creation

One man’s occasional thought is…

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is no joke. Saying “I’m a little bit OCD” is like saying that a homeless man is a little bit strapped for cash, like saying that…

The encourageable improvisation artfully abounds and a million thundering moments swell inordinately against the shape of his mental asphyxiation – hell upon empathetic earth

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Outlandish art matters the most – a way in for the paralysed secondary mind finally unearths a stellar purpose. Finally finely tuned and toned to the brim…

While the submerged canvas sets itself against the sweet settled rays of the splaying sun, here an overemotive artist stands to cuss the standard nature of his…

The locomotive intelligence that caused the weight of the train-wreck

When the might of one mind matches the demons inside – with a forensic examination all…

A mind too expansive for this life, simply depicting what is enviously incredible

And the wailing baby piano plays her in, vivaciously and willing to make…

Precisely, wilt away some day so soon like all of the damn dastardly constrained greats – they wanna be that shining star but inevitably flailing at failing
Walking…

The humongous level of uttermost over-emotion, the constant feeling of under met with over – whelmed to touch and carelessly caress
The unofficial face of his next blank…

Taking some of his pill paint, he neatly nestles it at the suffering surface – softly, slow and absolute nurture, please. Simply amply apply and gently ease…

A constant cacophony of unerring make-believe – the bold embittered comatose cold shoulder given over

To a piece of pure under-the-skin art

Attract the abstract…

A conscientious blockade and that’ll have to have been the obsessive taste – a racing, hot-wiring of the beautiful brain

All before it could ever hold…

And the die has been cast. A pretty process and back past the point of no return.

All of it earned. That sip of sweet sacrilege…

Her pretty lithe pen with the dancing dragons pressed dutifully right by the shape of the screaming inside

Losing the cognitive lottery – what…

There has to have been something amazing amidst this

Waiting on a whisper from somewhere succinct and special – sink or swim, he sinks with the…