This has happened to my eyes about 2-3 times a week or the past 6 or so years.
Usually a little after midnight, when I start to get tired.

Various opticians and doctors have told me not to worry about it. Its nothing.

Google tells me I probably have a brain tumour.

new york

So this is all I can currently muster of my recent trip to The Americas, despite there being way much more to muster.

Coney Island was my favourite. More on that later. Perhaps.

My sleep pattern has screwed itself up in the opposite direction from before. The time is currently 6.20am and I have yet to sleep.

I have however now managed to make sense of those essay topics. Feeling marginally well put together now.

I plan to make good use of studio time in a couple of hours (perhaps post-nap).

I'm craving canvas and wood.
The process and repetition of constructing a stretcher.
Then the ever-enduring aroma of turpentine.
Having horrible, grubby fingernails for weeks.

Its been too long.


double vision

I spent the morning fucking up Jen's childhood memories.

Photoshop the old fashioned way; photocopier, scissors, pritt stick and crayola colouring pencils.


good morning

Porridge with cinnamon and hot berry tea. The only way to start the day when the view from your bedroom looks like this.
I've been awake since 5am this morning due to having a screwed up sleep pattern. I think I may try keeping things this way. Going to bed at 10 and rising at 5 does seem a lot healthier than going to bed at 4 and trying in vain to get to uni for 9.

I've been trying my darnedest to get my head around essay topics for uni, its not going very well (instead I am taking photos of my breakfast). I'll just keep checking my e-mails every 20 minutes hoping the lecture will be cancelled due to adverse weather conditions.



When I was about six years old I came to the realisation that someday I would die. I was absolutely crippled with fear. I believed in God and hell. I was sure that God was screening my every thought. He saw that sometimes I thought about what it would be like if I set fire to the curtains or pushed my brother down the stairs. I never did these things, but merely thinking them proved that I was evil. I was sure God would punish me by sending me to hell.
I remember one new year sitting under the stairs crying and crying until I made myself sick because I couldn't get the image of my agonizing, fiery fate out of my head.

Somewhere along the line I learned how to soothe myself by thinking that it isn't happening yet and that when it happens there won't be anything I can do to stop it. So there is no point in worrying about it.

I need to remember how to do that.

you and i.

It was your birthday last week.
I couldn't visit so I painted you instead.


Autumn on the 3rd floor.

Nostalgia in the form of stationary.

Stolen Ikea pencils from a fun day trip to Edinburgh this Summer.

Pen I borrowed from a good friend in standard grade Modern Studies in 2005. He told me he didn't need it back. I told him I'd return it. We decided that I would return it on the last day of fifth year in 2007. I forgot.
It ran out of ink at some point in 2005. I think I'll keep it forever.

Pens we were lent last October during the training for a job in a brand new cinema. We spent 5 hours, 4 times a week for 3 weeks filling in booklets and watching videos on how not to start fires and how to correctly pick up boxes.

These pens belong to the boy who had the studio space next to mine last semester. He would always leave his belongings in my space. They are mine now. Consider this comeuppance.