The Fair

Images of the fair in Victoria park, hackney.

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Cornfield Mask

A series of three Polaroid pictures, taken a fews summers ago in the forest and fields leading up to it.

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Disappear

I was in town almost done with my

shopping the only thing I had left to

get was ginger root from the health

food shop up the side street. I was

walking up the side street my

glasses were covered in drops of

rain but trough them I could just see

a guy in a track suit sort of

looking at me with a slight sneer, he

walked past me and I turned to see

who it was and of course it was one

of your pathetic friends, wearing

the same half stripped Addidas

tracksuit bottoms he had on

yesterday when I walked past the

furniture shop he worked in.

 

Last time I was with you, you spent

the whole evening talking to one of

your friends who works in that

shop about your old boss. Your

boss who you say can make people

disappear, that offered to make

your friend disappear when he

slept with your girlfriend; the one

you say always has your back.

Are you trying to make me afraid of

you? Afraid to walk away?

 

You used to tell me stories about

him when we sat on your sofa

watching TV. You told me stories

about how he goes up north to get

‘things’. Well it’s funny he probably

gets these ‘things’ from my dad. I’m

not going to tell you that, I don’t

want to intimidate you, but I’m not

going to be intimidated by you and

the stories of your old boss. I never

did anything to you. Why should I

be afraid of you? He probably

knows my dad you know and if he

does he wouldn’t consider making

me disappear.

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Bohemian

I was watching a Tv show called: how to be bohemian, I think it was on iplayer ( when it was still free to watch) and they were talking about this group of people, i cant remember who, that wrote books which were publish with yellow covers: this apparently was ver bohemian. I thought the whole thing was quite funny, the commercialisation of this idea of Bohemians: its something you can become by buying things now, lush even do a soap called bohemian. I had a slight feeling of disappointment at the idea that now there is a the loss of anything real that is bohemian, this book was made ironically out of corporate Starbucks napkins and is badly bound in a yellow cover. The stories are pretty rubbish and unreadable because of the way it is sewn together. Maybe with this I am also expressing a feeling of loathing towards a part of myself: the part that I worry is just an image of something lost, and the part of myself that likes things I know I shouldn’t.

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Portraits of Three Squashes

I have taken the portraits of three different squashes.

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It’s all black and white.

A pack full of film but no ideas

It’s all black and white,
my idea is in colour.
I will take one to send away
To my best friend
The one who always understands
In a small black envelope
My problems will all go away
Send them away with a postage stamp
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1: 2: 3:

1:
Soft stripes
Awkward lighting
Slowly drinking.
2:
He raises the cup to his mouth
The twilight zone on the TV
A slurping sound of drinking
She carefully touches her face
There will be soup for dinner.
3:
Words spill from the TV screen
I would rather live in the dark than not live at all
The evening light is fading, this buildings fading, it’s used up.
The picture is moving in black and white, dancing across the screen
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