“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”.
This is the space where I grapple with life’s profound existential questions.
- Only Mortal
- Nothing From Nothing
- Make Good Art
- Review: The View From The Cheap Seats
- What do you see?
- Have you seen him?
- Just a little longer?
- I miss the quiet moments
- Some things last
- Darkness stares back
- I’m aging like milk
- It’s almost always fangs
- He left a mark
- How did I get here?
- Sometimes I’m walking alone
- Curse my sweet tooth
- Right through my fingers
- You can run on for a long time