wine and uppers

thats my poison


its such a crutch

I lean on it when

i’m feeling blue

or need to sparkle



We used to do coke, drink pinot noir, talk about punk music and paint all night long. We talked so much and we painted so much and it was such a joy that we didn’t even find time for sex.

Our work:

The moment purpose and brush combined was the moment it started to be art.

While you were applying big blocks of colour to the top right and I was doing something more gestural to the left, at that point it was art.

When it was complete and propped up against the wall in yr bedroom it was STILL art.

But when we broke up and you left it propped against a wheelie bin, then it became trash, instantly. From art to trash in one gesture, and maybe thats more common than we care to admit. Art is trash, museums are cathedrals of trash. Maybe true art can only be found in the gutter.


I have been awake for many hours

and I can’t get that fuzzy buzz going

despite all of the benzos and wine

I’d like to sleep but the zopiclone failed

i’m looking at a solid twelve hours of nothing

until I return home to move nothing and be nothing