Constitution Hill

There was a dog whining, the sound up here, relatively free from any trace refraction or reflection, no hint of the beauty of vagueness, was most peculiar, as it evidently sat quite naturally within its morphology. He could tell most people thought the dog was scared, or wanted to investigate the scents of other animals in the vicinity, but it was obvious, the dog was bored, and was probably thinking the same thing he was, why do people actually come up here? As he had walked up the hill he could hear, in his right ear, his heart beating as if there was something inside him desperate, but everytime an attempt at escape was made it simultaneously, in an all too frequent moment of lucidity, realised its self wasn't, and fell back, inert. However, such familiarity, induced by the reaction of misaligned realisation, lasting a mere millisecond, supposedly, once again inducing a desire of flight.


As he continued to walk, keeping his mouth shut for the sake of vanity, such undeveloped thoughts were caught and discarded, occasionally they entertained him, and he had been known to entertain them. A pervading melancholy dominated their persistence, but this was not his own sadness, but now he was still, immersed in the view of the town and the voices up there with him. It escaped, and his face was cold, perhaps nauseous. If left alone would these thoughts be found again, were they particular to this space away from home, if found again would they be recognisable? Did he actually care that much.


He thought. There are so many things I have read, seen, heard, and at this moment all I can focus on is a man who looks as if he is about to die. The man got up and moved away.

Intimate immensity

I do not often remember my dreams, or perhaps I just dont dream very often, either way, recently, upon waking, my ability to recollect what has been taking place inside my head whilst I sleep has much improved. A dream I had four nights ago when sleeping on a friends floor in Nottingham has stuck with me and I feel compelled to document it in some way, and since I've been meaning to write something or other on this blog, said dream seems like a good place to start.

The horizon was as beautiful as I have ever seen it, reminding me of some of the sunsets when I was in Goa, full of purples and oranges, it was one of those rare sights that did not instil within me a longing for more, for something else past that distant point. A horizon that could only be created in the mind.

I was living in a house that overlooked the sea, perhaps the Arabian Sea, and as I walked out onto the decking I was greeted by the overwhelming visual spectacle of hundreds upon hundreds of jet skies all just sat there on the water, their engines running.

You may think the auditory counterpart of this phenomenon would be distinctly unpleasant and contradict such a peaceful scene as I had described up until the discovery of the jet skies, and usually I would be in full agreement with you, but it seems that the vibration, the sonority of these hundreds of machines in the Arabian Sea, had somehow created a vacuum around the house, and I could not hear anything. The vibrations moving through the water and the air made the house shake in such a resonant and utterly relaxing manner. Upon realising I was 'stuck' inside this utopian vacancy, I awoke.

(Pictures: Ynyslas, Ceredigion, 5:30am)