Clementine portraits.

Bleach blond horse manes.

An epitaph for our lost leaders?

Or just the gallows? For it is they who are treasonous.

Eco-promises and political paralysis,

Where the strangled successes taste like bitter-sweet molasses.

Will the levee ever break?

Will the swamp ever drain?

Where is our Atlas to hold up our sphere of mistakes?

Or will we simply crumble under the strain?

Chronicling the sieges that our tribes love to wager.

Will the colossal blow give us a silent blissful danger?

Have you ever seen something so serene?

Purged and purified till nothingness is a coherent reality.

A place where beauty and darkness can no longer reside?

It feels so quiet now, like a thick gloopy silence that rings in the ears of a flu ridden child.

The seven deadly sins do not reside here.

Nothing to hope for, nothing to dream of, nothing to fear.

Will this be the fruition of our resistance?

A friction so epic, that the sparks will engulf us whole?

The human life. Ruled by stories. Condemned by nature. Remembered by the few.

They say that free will is the manifestation of the mind.

That oblivion is embedded in to the nucleus of our being.

But where is the freedom from this strife?

The get-out card that gives us liberty and order?

The delicate fingertips of serenity strokes us with their dignity.

But we take pride in our demented cemented cracks.

Where the space is finite and fraught with division.

We are not defined by our struggle, but consumed by it.

The wails are so common now. How do we drown them out?

How do we find peace?

In a land where there is nought.


Journey to the Infinite.

Frosted confusion.

A promise of a revolution.

My pursuit begins in this forest.

My enchanted path resides with those who are purist.


The depth of these nights.

Full of austere patience.

Resenting the spirit.

Retaining the hope.

Withholding the haste.


They Say Rome was not built in a day.

But that portal is….is beyond our creativity.

I’ve seen Architects pause and ponder.

Watched Engineers argue over such a wonder.

And the Physicists? Well this is their realm, but of an entirely different matter.


This century of progress has sewn the seeds of distrust.

Evicting , so we can build.

Killing, so we can expand.

Polluting, so we can shine.

Starved, so we can grow.


But heck, Dickens cant save our destiny.

Our prophecy resides in a world that can’t flinch from its broken glory.

The Portal shows that our failure is preordained.

But I must seek a way to fight our fate; to thrust ourselves from this puddle of doom.


We will not survive a world of bitter republics and shattered nations.

Where skeletal chrome towers are worshipped instead of congregations.

When, sovereignty means ‘Mine’!

And the collective doesn’t shine.

Nobody can sit here and tell me that this future is God’s design.


This portal offers grand omniscience.

Chronicling our mortality.

Revealing our third eye.

And with this blessed vision,

we can foresee our dark inhibitions.


So with this rusty Claymore and my leather satchel,

I will crush that window of modernity, that promises a world of peril.


The circus floats from Dublin to London,

Like a snowflake swimming amongst the air.

Searching for its white froth.

But eventually, all must melt.

Its intricate beauty shall not be allowed to disturb the minds of good men.

Its rotten purveyor will be seized, exposed and caged.


Our future?


My Purpose?



Glitzy (Glitchy) Paradise. Part 1.

The transcendence of love.

It’s evasion of our bodily constraints.

It resides in depths both dark and murky, pleasant and bright.

How far would one travel to feel it, see it or simply understand it?

The seer had foreseen my moment in the distant future.

“The chance for a John Doe to find his other crescent heart!”

His tone was riddled with that crusty croak of a man who always had the last laugh.

But there was a comic truth to his pitch.

A sarcastic sound lingers, seasoned with the age of an oracle that has seen too much.

But his voice touches you, invites you in with a defiant sincerity that could promise you the universe.


“Step Right Up, Step Riiight Up!”

Venture forth into mankind’s eternal portal!

Your grand destiny awaits but beware of the deep abyss.

Your future of pleasure and modernity exists, a destiny so bright..you’ll forget to reminisce!”

Imagine a world where the English yoke does not swing from your charred necks”

A world where you are known not as the Fenian monkey but as the Chrome jungle king who issues cheques!


His tongue seem chiselled with such enchanting sounds.

A bystander’s momentary lapse was his easiest prey.

But the secret of his cause remained hidden in darkness under a robe of such rich fabric, only he would say.

With a violent swish and flick, his mystery was upon us.

“Behold! The Portal to your wonderful desires”


The invasion of my psyche.

The mimicking rhyme of my words.

The seer had foreseen my future, my wish to see other worlds.



A grand and smooth mirror stood before us.

Its hard and shiny exterior glistened against the dim moonlight.

 Proud and solid it stood , but deep within its powerful reflection lay a ripple.

It was minuscule.

Almost indistinct.

But it existed.

To be ignorant of this feature was to play the royal jester in front of his bloody majesty.

For only God could have created just majestic beauty within these frames.

Casting a blind eye to this fine specimen is to reject the Lords work.

I will not be privy that.


We approached the Portal with a dark but eager curiosity.

The pitter patter of our footsteps crunched against the white slushy grass.

Like a distorted heaven, the murky and foamy snow acted as clouds to the gates of greatness.

I stretched out a hand just to skim over the reflective surface.. The seer snapped, ” it’ll be 9 shillings if you want to escape this circus!”

Was a week’s wages of toiling in the factory worth leap in to the unknown?


Logic might have prevailed, but I felt compelled to believe.

 The crowd eagerly awaited my decision.

I handed him a plentiful sack of coins.

A grin beamed upon his face with a dastardly cheek, that should have made me check the amount twice.


I anticipated two sets of corrosive and rotten teeth.

But instead, they gleamed with a lunar whiteness unseen in this land.

It was as if if they were sculptured and polished by a Venetian artist himself.

He uttered the words, “Do not fear the awe that radiates from that world”

I reached further once more, my fingers were mere inches from the land of St elsewhere.




Euphoria swept my mind as my fingertips scratched its surface.

A blanket of blur blocked my eyes, but the sounds were ever so crisp.

Sharps clanks filled the air, as if huge metallic elephants were all at battle.

A great murmur lurked behind those deafening sounds.

An assortment of voices simmered across this new horizon.

Their dialects echoed viciously throughout my body.

 A mass of tall silhouettes dashed back and forth.

 The focus was restored to my vision, but only to witness their faces consumed by constant distractions.

 Their eyes darted at every angle like children spinning a model globe on its axis.




The fibres of my soul were transported to realm of a different dimension.

 I felt overcome by a fleeting sense of loss and discovery, the circus had vanished but a new horizo had emerged.

 A thick smog descended from the heavens.

Its stench was reminiscent of the biblical plagues and biological wastelands I read about during Sunday mass.

 But a fiery hail did not descend upon the skulls of these humanoid drones.

 For they prospered under the protection of Gothic machines that seemed to scrape the clouds.




As I peered through one of its windows a familiar figure emerged.

 I choked on my saliva as my legs stumbled in astonishment.

 “A Doppelganger!?”

 His (my) glare struck me with an unrecognisable awe.

The hair on my back shivered uncontrollably.

I clutched on to an onlooker, desperately seeking solace.

As I pleadingly questioned him to reveal that familiar figure’s identity,

a transfixed grin was stretched across his face whilst his hazel eyes began to quiver and tremble mechanically.




“Why good fellow, he is the new Mayor for the glorious People’s Republic of London!

 He may be a grandson to that IRA fool but its a true rags to riches story, they even say he was born in a dungeon!

 The Onlooker began to depart from the scene, but he took one final glance at me.

 “Ha! You do have a likeness to that crazy old Dublin man,

 I wonder if the Mayor thinks the same, you could pass for his clansman!”




I began to sprint for the window.

My legs had been energised with a resounding purpose.

He was the crescent moon that I would soon give birth to.

My future. His past. Both hanged delicately in the precious but fleeting moment.

 I began to witness the environment crumbling away.


The enormous Gothic machines began to fade in to obscurity.

The grim silhouettes seem to crack and fizzle out in to the atmosphere. 

The misty glass of the window seemed to merge in with the Mirror that I had once entered.

 My legs lost their faith as the circus suddenly reappeared.

That world had vanished into oblivion. But my purpose remained.


The crowd had dispersed, the only sound that could be heard was my awe-stricken panting.

The seer stared at me with an arrogant and spellbinding smile.

He knew my fate.

“I have to go back”.