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‘Gentle healer’

It was a rainy autumn afternoon. Jack was blankly staring out of the window. He was depressed. His life had recently seemed to suck in every possible aspect. He had been thrown out of the school, all his friends had left him and on top of that he had been grounded.

His parents were about to go out. ‘Go to sleep early and don’t let any strangers in.’, his mom instructed him. As pleased as a punch, he lied down in his bed.

Jack completely lost the sense of timing. He could have been lying there for hours when suddenly out of the corner of his eye he noticed a weird golden glow. He quickly turned his head to see a shining, delicate hand reaching for him. Stunned, he fell back. ‘For light doth seize my brain… With frantic pain…’, the words came to his mind out of nowhere, or maybe it was the creature, whose hand he was now watching? Shivering from head to toe he tried to catch a glimpse of what was behind the hand. However, he realised, it was there alone – no arm, no body, nothing. It was just hanging in the air, surrounded by microscopic golden pieces. Before he could notice any movement, they came buzzing around his head.

It was still profoundly dark. Jack felt deeply elated. He couldn’t remember anything from his whole life except for the strange phenomenon, which appeared in his room. All he wanted to do now was to share this wonderful story with the world, but he somehow knew he couldn’t… He knew he could never tell anyone because they would never believe him.

*'For light doth seize my brain... With frantic pain...' - a fragment from 
William Blake's 'Mad Song'

‘Reality in Abstraction/The Art and the World’

New city

The rock on the wall

The clock on the road

Who bites into a roll

Fights in the war

The heart is the core

Of our eternal lore

Guts may be spoiled

Clouds on the board

Drawn to explore

The art to the core

What’s gone

Will be gone

What’s wrong

Will be questioned

The world writes its words

Just how it wants

Gives new meanings to words

Borders to be withdrawn

Promises to be short

Siblings to be shot

What’s more to be born

Among artists’ dying lot?

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A cosmic abstraction

The voice screamed

The sunshine broke

The clouds fell

The Earth shook


The wind smelled sweetly

The tricks were nifty

The mind followed itself

It got lost on one shelf


The fingers cut

The eyes rolled

The colours glowed

The heart noticed the night


We fell from the depth

Onto the highest point

Where Ted’s scream vomited itself

And quoth Poe’s raven, “Nevermore”


Blinded by the light

We soaked up the darkness

Eternity passed away

But the abstraction lasted