For the Sake of it: Piss Off Inhibitions


Blind continuous contour line drawing is a hardcore inhibition buster. According to schnick-winky-face Wikipedia:

Blind contour drawing is a drawing exercise, where an artist draws the contour of a subject without looking at the paper

…in this case, continuously without lifting the pencil off the surface.


 Obviously, we aren’t attempting masterpieces here, and the results are somewhat hilarious. Surely it’s to be expected when you’re sketching something in one line without looking.

Still, there’s no point being overly fussy about how to fill blank pages. Careless activities like these strip away petty inhibitions.

They chip away at creative block and awaken the creative mind. They surprise us because we witness a natural artist emerge.


It feels weird at first, but then kind of exciting, and really funny. These odd drawings help us stop taking ourselves so seriously and stop being so self-critical – essential inspiration.


A Metaphysical Without a View


I emerge from the darkness of sleep and I am standing in the infinite hallway of the subconscious mind.

Hundreds of white doorways line long white walls; all are closed and some are locked. The fluorescent lights cover the ceiling like a buzzing, glowing mosaic.

This place makes me feel weirdly relaxed; a strange dimension where I can never stay long. This is the safe house – a sub-conscious waiting room.

The rule is: I have to open a door and walk through it. There are no clues in this place suggesting what could be on the other side. I might find a garden path leading to future nostalgia, or face to face with the glowing eyes of the lingering fears.

Choose now, don’t think too hard about it or the material world will invade the meditating mind. Time doesn’t stop in any realm and soon I’ll wake up, hurtling back into a frenzy of distractions and mortal shortcomings.

I count seven steady breaths as I walk quickly down the corridor, face the door on my left and turn the handle, then walk into the light.


Peaceful Ramblings


Words are flowing freely, cascading across the page like the river. It’s as though the pen scribbled out the blockage in it’s’ quest to fill notebooks with squiggly handwriting, and maybe one day point to something meaningful.

So, while I plot the story of two people who, so far, only exist in my head, comrades bring their magnifying glass to the attention of neo-Nazis, their compass to the influx of new/old misinformation, and plot the next chapters in the story of Revolution.

Reality and satire have merged, in bizarre seriousness, and there are rumblings of dissent as both sides approach the breaking points of desperation.

The times are always changing, yet hauntingly familiar. Out of somewhere came the words history never repeats, but I reject that concept based on my understanding of the past millennia.

So why not get what we came here for, and wield our collective power now, flex the muscles of “The People” so to speak?

Maybe we aren’t ready…a lack of solidarity would certainly suggest so. The social media platform is a toxic realm, bleeding fictions and misprints. Jerks, trolls and fascist hacks thrive on the regression of human intelligence with endless webs of bullshit that confuse and derail movements time and time again.

Cast aside the fiction trip to avoid cold doubt, it lacks the warmth of realisation. Nobody wants to catch themselves in the midst of battles they weren’t born for, but an individual can only ever find their own truth. Remember, an attractive sheep is still a sheep. If you surround yourself with livestock, you too will join their ranks.

New Threads

Arts, Photos

On a trip to Melbourne last week, Mum found this beautiful handmade journal and brought it home for me.


Wrapped neatly in a brown paper bag, I grinned as I held the fresh journal in my hands. I was totally surprised, even though beautiful notebooks and journals are a traditional gift from her to me.


I love the vibrant and earthy colours, the texture of the cotton pages, the curvy weight.

More than that, I love that my mum believes in my passion for writing about life. I love that she sees a beautiful handmade journal, and thinks of me.