Aug 13, 2025
“If, after spending time with a person, you feel as though you’ve lost a quart of plasma, avoid that person in the future.” ~ William S. Burroughs
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Philippines
seen from Albania
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
“If, after spending time with a person, you feel as though you’ve lost a quart of plasma, avoid that person in the future.” ~ William S. Burroughs
'Dharma Bums' by Jack Kerouac.
Published by Pan U.K. 1962.
I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it.
William S. Burroughs
Where the sun leaks in - 26th of September 2020
Where the sun leaks through the green plants we share.
It spills onto our varnished floor
It splashes onto our white walls
It illuminates the little smudges and stains on our glass table where he have rested and sheltered and loved.
The crumbs from morning tostadas con butter. Where we warmed the chairs and I stared as the sun seeped into our pot of honey.
Sat at our shining table, lush trees outside held up with a pure blue sky.
My mother to my right and my guapa to my left, golden. Sparkling in the autumnal sun.
A golden brown cup of tea rests in front of me where warmth, milk and honey mix.
The reflection of this bliss, this joy, this utter warmth is heavenly.
"The bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October."- Jack Kerouac March 12, 1922 – October 21, 1969
'The Dharma Bums' by Jack Kerouac.
Published by The New American Library. 1959
Kerouac.
An afternoon in Baile Brigin - September 2019
An expansive, affectionate sea hugs the sand.
Rusted iron bars and broken bricks
Screaming by a train wakes up the afternoon commuters
Sleepy in the pale sun
Big white eyes against dark faces, hunched staring down at battered glass screens
Peeling paint of shopfronts
The afternoon brings
Youth on bikes etching through groups, not gangs, of bored, glazed eyes. Older men, red noses and stinking breath step off the path to clear the way.
For the crowd of bustling youth in sky blue jumpers. A hoard of cackling, blonde hairs, freckles, black hands and white headphones, pink phone covers in the orange blotchy hands of girls. Shouting, pushing, whistling through.
Wrappers tossed into the road like glistening confetti
Another school day over