DDWID - Walk a Mile for Someone Else's Shoes

Memoirs of the Tried and Failed and Try Again

(Disclaimer, this is a work of fiction not my actual memoirs)

Yeah so we’re back to this, sorry people but I’ve got a story to tell; it’s not an important story nor is it a very extraordinary or inspiring story. But it is the story of an everyday guy, someone who has just enough to get by, who only sees what he needs and can’t even think about what he wants… but all he ever does is dream. If this is you then keep reading.

Continue reading “Don’t Do What I Do – Walk a Mile for Someone Else’s Shoes” »

DDWID - 10th October

Memoirs of the Tried and Failed and Try Again

(Disclaimer, this is a work of fiction not my actual memoirs)

Okay so right off the bat, full disclaimers; I am not a writer… Not a good one at least. I’m about as literate as a Charlie Kelly but if you’re reading this then you clearly have no taste so no worries- but if you happen to be a literature snob who has had the misfortune of coming across my work, then I apologise, so now you can go fuck yourself up your fat fucking ass.

To tell the story I want to tell I’m gonna have to begin with October 10th 2012, when things were better? I don’t want to say better but I’ve got about as ranged a vocabulary as your local takeaway. 2012 was just the last decent year I can remember; even tough my grandmother died, and I was close to my grandmother she raised me. But her death drove me to live, really live, like follow your dreams type of live. So in the corner of some shitty dinner I don’t want to name because they’ve got enough attention coming their way, I proposed my plan to a prospective business partner.

Continue reading “Don’t Do What I Do – 10th October 2012” »

Several years ago I made an attempt to create my own short animation, problem was I only had a friend and myself to make up our animation team and no actual equipment. Luckily my friend studied media at a certain river side university so we knew where to get the equipment; only problem was if you weren’t a student you couldn’t use any of it and if you were a student… you couldn’t use any of it. So thus began an elaborate heist to steal/borrow equipment my friend was rightfully entitled to.
In order get into the campus he’d first enter with his valid student ID and then toss it to me, I’d then slip past security using his ID. I know that doesn’t sound impressive but you got to understand my friend and I don’t even look alike; best description is it would be like Mel Gibson trying to pass off as Danny Glover. After that he’d unlock the window in the stock room, I’d climb in and take what I need. It was some effort, but was it worth it? absolutely not, the only tablets they had was the cheap Wacom Bamboo, I don’t recommend it even if you’re starting out in digital art. Anyway a script and storyboard was as far as I got, but I wanted to share it with readers of my blog… all three of them.

Continue reading “What Could Have Been – 64 Bit Street” »


The boy waits under a star, watching it in awe
To him it’s not far.
He can feel her warmth on his skin
Because of her he’ll always find north.
His guardian The Fishermen calls out to him;
He says “It’s past your bedtime little champion.”
The boy never sleeps with ease he’ll take any measure 
Just to stay awake awhile longer.
But the boy can barely keep his eyes open. 
So The Fishermen carefully lays him in his hammock.
But the boy is as restless as an ocean wave. 
“I wanna stay awake!” He pleads.
“Why not stay awake in your dreams?” replies The Fishermen.
The boy tells him he can’t,
Streams of darkness are the only surprise
When he closes his eyes. 
The Fishermen old and wise
Takes pity on the boy,
For he can never see the wonders
Which flowers from deep within his mind.
If the boy cannot dream in his sleep 
Then The Fishermen shall tell him a tale;
So that he may while awake. 
The tale of a knight The Hero 
Who did not fight for a king ,
But for the sake of others.
He was clad in colours of red and gold,
Biting evil’s hand in every corner of the land. 
It captured the boy’s imagination,
Becoming his desired vocation.
The Fishermen wished him well,
And watched him drift into an empty shell.
But The Fishermen could tell, 
That the boy’s dream was merely lost,
And would only need to be found.



The line is blurred between the morning and night

No warning for when tomorrow may come.

The only light you see is the invite for sorrow,

The only colour you know is snow.

The dream is never the same,

In it you endeavour the nightmare.

The ones you knew never stay,

Their remembrance your shackle,

You choose to stray,

Numb to condolence.  

To live is to win;

You’ve no kin.

The only solace is in solitude.

Safety is not a number,

It’s you.

Only you can watch over yourself while you slumber.

Only you can stop the hunger burned in to your stomach like a dagger.

Only you can follow the road away from the aching cries

Only you deserve to wallow,

As you disguise the pain you feel,

By locking away your eyes.

The person you can’t see before you isn’t real,

The two of you aren’t brothers or sisters;

We’re nothing more than strangers.



This like most stories is about a boy and a girl,
Its about quite a few in fact.
Our story begins in paradise
But it’s abstract affair
Is akin to a nightmare.
Rainfall is all that greets the island
With two peaks.
Fish by the boat load is all those who visit crave above all.
Where its sand was once white and all effulgent
 Its now a sorry sight with violent waves abundant.
It is here and now where a young boy finds solace in the forest,
Kept at bay from joy by his peers that torment in chorus.
An extrovert forced into the role of an introvert,
The boy’s nature is to venture.
Turning the palm tress in to climbing frames,
And making the animals take part in his fun and games.
What was once a quite existence,
Must one day become a pursuit for the truth
 spanning across an unordinary distance  
The only fuel; persistence. 


Light bends, blinds and surrounds
She washes her glow over every kingdom
Her reach knows no bounds
She breaks through every window, 
Cracks through every wall 
And slips through every door.
She wakes you from your pillow,
Moulding your eyes as she sends away the squall
Her devotion is more than you can ever ask for.
She wants nothing more than to glisten on a stream 
To be that sparkle in the corner of your eye
The final glimmer before you dream.
But for all she gives, it’s never her own story
You never ask about the girl in white
With hair so bright it blazes with glory.
Hymns of ancient tragedy 
Could never compare to her agony.  
She stands in the middle of your space
Witnessing your coming and going
Weaving like the winds through your mornings, days and nights
She knows every face; she’s been to every place. 
It’s a journey she can never share
For the pain of her plight is too much to bear.
But she’s now become numb to the sorrow,
Waiting for the fire that will bring her
Her own tomorrow.


I was stood on the corner of the street
Stalking my client’s husband like death.
The night was cold,
The kind of cold where you can see your own breath.
eA white fog pouring out our mouth
disguising our words.
Seems like everything in life is hidden by something else
A wall, a mist, a hat, a face
Maybe that’s the one truth we know about ourselves,
Our nature is to lie.

Continue reading “Detective Poetry: An Eye for a Shoe” »