You are on page 1of 38

november 2008

Lucy - Dreamproject

Andrew Thorpe - At The Park


3. Harmony Crystal Dawn

5. Artist Spotlight Bertrand Gadal
10. Cigarettes Taymaz Valley
13. This Familiar Place Fern Yates
15. The Perfect Kiss Sin
18. No More (A Rant) J.C. Wooley
22. My Love Nyki Kish
23. Scribbles Juniperlillie
27. Like Trees In November L.A. Temple
31. Snake Man Lauren
34. TAKS Entry Jessica Dennison
36. Her Penitent

Klarabella - Orange Juice


Harmony Crystal Dawn

Twilight mist drizzles dewdrop kisses upon clay— Night prowlers fall victim to ravenous birds of prey—
as forlorn creaking of tattered limbs thirst new life, as hollowed trees echo crickets’ combative chirps,
and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay

dormant... dormant...

Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay— Sunlight’s affection kisses dawning eyes with warming
as forelimbs swoop on wind’s wings marking echoes, rays—
and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay as songsters twitter a melodious symphony, arousing
dormant... and spirited green blades beneath oak’s canopy begin
to play.

Harmony—nature’s fury—nature’s dance—begins with

a kiss.
Lucy - The Great Metaphor

I was born in 1974 in Brittany, France. I studied French
literature and art for my Baccalaureate and was
accepted by the Ecole d’Architecture de Nantes.
I decided to enter a private university, the Ecole Pivaut

(Nantes), and studied product design for 5 years.

Whilst studying at the Ecole Pivaut, I entered and won

a competition to develop and design a new entrance
door of the Parisian Underground. That system of door
can be seen in every entrance of the Parisian
Underground today.

Bertrand Gadal - Hope


I moved to London in 1998 to work as a web designer

and was painting in my free time as a hobby. I have
now decided to bring my painting to a professional

My interests lie in portraits of men and women. I am

particularly interested in close-up facial expressions. I
uses acrylic paint along with felt-tip pens and various
inks for added detail.

Bertrand Gadal - Dreamer


Oushka - Kev

Robotmanreg - Faces

Mary - Hands Of Time


Cigarettes -
I’m smoking my last pack.
Chain-smoking more accurately.
Reading, I light one after other,
Then another.
  Taymaz Valley
Duffy and her Rapture;
Words bring meaning and aim
Through time,
Time and time again.
Plath my darling Plath,
When you killed a man indeed
You killed all
To be born again redeemed.
Eliot that jewel of verse,
With his great humour sense.
That eternal gentleman wearing his coat
“Rock and no water and the sandy road”
The Bard, The Bard, The Bard;
What precious gem survived.
How can one compare to thee,
This lost soul’s undying guide.
Hugo, Breton, Baudelaire,
Tzara, Cocteau, Mallarme,
Prevert, Salmon, Apollinaire, 
Voltaire, Voltaire, Voltaire. 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Dante’s Comedy Divine,
Ferdowsi’s Book of Kings.
Hafez and his Divan.
Virgil O’ Virgil,
No angel shall dare bar your path.
Homer’s Gods and their wrath.
And I’m done with my cigarette pack

Fernella Dragonfly - Whipping Smoke


Sam R - Druid Valley Series


This Familiar Place Fern Yates

As I lie in this familiar bed And a distant canine’s persistent bark
Ideas bobbing around my head Rain clouds roll in, across the hill
Upon a sea of turbulent thought It feels like time is standing still
Fleeting, darting amounting to nought The birds cease chirping, in anticipation
Do I look at the fir tree, so aloof Of the storm breaking, it’s a weird sensation.
Peeking over the neighbour’s roof My muscles relax, my breath is deep
Do I hear spectators in the park, All worries forgotten, lost in sleep.

Samantha - Clouds

Crispy - Winter Sun


without logic or reason the perfect kiss
a spontaneous fire
of anger and strength
that gently slips into
a tender tear of ones
love sick heart
knowing nothing of
blame or regret
it knows only of the moment
where time stands still
and all other memories
cringe with envy
full of passion and desire
but tainted with heartbreak
for it must

Ick - May

Jonny - Crossing Over


No More (A Rant) J.C. Wooley

The waves of the lake consume me and yes my pain If these men are not martyrs or saints (which they’re
consumes me as well. not) then why should we the people grant them the
sanctity of eternal life? Is it because they are rich and
All of existence is consumed by us the consumer and powerful? Maybe. But ask your self, did they not
as for us, we consume each other. Like confused become rich by picking our pockets while we stood in
cannibals we let the good go to waste and let the the bread lines? and did they not rob us of our
diseased flesh of us all rule our hearts and minds. We natural right to self rule by breaking our independence
nail saints to crosses, send patriots to spill there blood through the cruel means of an empty stomach?
on foreign land and murder or martyrs, leaving them to
be forever left forgotten buried beneath histories lies. So I say to you o brothers and sisters “ NO MORE!” No
But what is a martyr and what is a saint if they are not more shall they pick my pockets and no more shall I
recognized as such? grovel at their feet. Like a tumor to the brain I will cut
them free from the minds of humanity and in doing so I
Well then they are nothing. So why then do we pay shall free myself. I shall remember the names of every
tribute to the tyrants of our world? Why should we poet and of every beggar and of every martyr so that
afford them the privilege of history? they shall live on for as long as I am privileged with the
gift of life. Where as we have been buried beneath the
Let the names of men such as Rockefeller no longer lies of our self proclaimed rulers we shall bury them in
scar the face of humanity. Let the Rockefeller’s and the freedom of knowing the truth.
Hitler’s of the present and of the past be erased from
the history books, for why is it that they shall forever For without that freedom we shall forever be ruled with
live while I am left to dwindle into oblivion? lies.

Pseudoghost - Red Line


Pseudoghost - Pseudoscene

Hejtejp - Awe Vilket Tjoller


nyki kish my love

I will not live forever,

Can’t always be ‘round to see.
My life is but a moment
In this worlds long history.
My path may go unnoticed
For I’m but one small person,
Yet greatness I’ve accomplished,
When all is said and done.
I’ve held your hand; I’ve touched you,
I’ve had your gaze lock mine.
And I’d trade 100 days or years,
To return to that time.
No others been so lucky,
I pray, nor shall another be;
For I feel blessed above the rest,
I’ve got you all to me.
So I need not of titles,
Awards or fancy things.
Need I do of your love though dear;
For wonders your love brings.
…. And I won’t live on for always,
My name may fade away.
But the love that you and I do share
Shines so strong it will always remain.
Dedicated to my Jeremy.

Scribbles Juniperlillie
I look around and ask
“who scribbled on my
I spy a tiny child with jelly on her chin.
She looks like she could cry and
There are scribbles on this page I can’t help but grin
I did not put them here At two years old she’s already got
I’m certain that it was somebody near. Her mother’s love of pen
A tiny someone, with tiny hands
A tiny someone, with a curious mind Over to the bookshelf I take her tiny self
Pulling out a notebook I offer her some help.
There are scribbles on this page There’s still jelly on her pencil and jelly on her face,
Reminding me I’m not alone dishes in the sink and toys all over the place.
A pencil lays beside me,
A pencil that’s not mine To the dust bunnies in my house I say:
A tiny bit of jelly smeared along it’s side. You’ll live another day!
This page that sits My baby girl wants to write,
before me so your battle I’ll not fight.
once so clean and pure I have better things to do
Ready for my inward thoughts to pour - on this most beautiful night;
It’s covered now in lines of tiny fury For there are scribbles on my page, you see,
made in quite a hurry. and they did not come from me.

Jessie Jermyn - Flying Children


Willowing - Red

Hyla Levy - Bloor Subway Station


Like Trees In November L.A. Temple

Trisha turned, her coat snagged on the pram and she

tried to pull herself free. Luckily the man from next door
was close by to offer her a helping hand. Perhaps too
kindly; his hands were too brisk and his breath was too
close but she brushed it off and thanked him profusely.
Lately she had been getting herself caught on things,
tripping on things and dropping things. As if she was
losing her perception of space. She studied the man
with an intensity as he bid her a ‘no worries’ and went
to leave. Firstly he checked the pram, then he smiled
weakly before moving away at pace.

Edward Garvin - Self-Similar Form


Typical man! Sees the pram, scary reality bites and he’s
off. Doesn’t even like to be around the idea of
something serious and requiring commitment, let alone
be in the psychical company of such a thing. She tuts
and flattens her coat arm. A spindly thread remains
loose but she left it for the time being and continued
towards the shop.

 In the shop, the list is as follows, give or take a few

reduced items or irresistible offers; toilet roll, talcum
powder, baby food (pureed apple, carrots >>

>> and sweetcorn, creamy rice breakfast, veggie bake),

orange juice, two pizzas, garlic bread, milk, nappies
(12 pack this week – half price!), a loaf of bread, a bag
of salad and two tins of baked beans. Only so much
she can fit under the pram. Bags over the handle and
shoved underneath, making the pram a packhorse.

Outside the shop she ran into a friend of her mother’s.

A dreadful woman, all ‘Trisha, darlliing, how are you
managing?’, a woman full of opinions and questions
and bile. The rigmarole lasted some time before she
managed to shake the haughty hen away, nodding at
the pram and making excuses. The woman looked
at the pram for a moment, and then she attempted a
face of pity and sympathy. It came out as patronising
and belittling. She left in a flurry of ‘lovely to see you

Trisha continued home, remembering the faces of all

those who had been around her recently; friends,
companions, family and strangers. She was reminded
of a description she once read, in a book she had >>
>> otherwise forgotten, of faces looking like ‘trees in
November’. It seemed to suit these people, faces grey
and drawn, haggard and strained; seemingly for her.
She had not a clue why.

She walked briskly on and in the pram nothing stirred.

It simply bounced along the pavement, as empty as
the promises of a politician. It had been that way for
a few months now. She remembered being two days
late and full of life. She remembered being two months
early and full of pain. No one else spoke to her for the
rest of the journey, and she stopped only when her
coat snagged on the gateway that led up to her empty

ManDartin - Dust Storm


Snake Man

When I first met him there was no trace of love. He Lauren

scared me. I don’t know why, I didn’t even know him.
But he put the fear of life into my heart. For some
reason he decided that he wanted me and the more
he chased me the more I ran. That day he grabbed my
wrist, I thought he was going to hurt me... He had a
firm grip but he wasn’t hurting my arm. He turned me
towards him and kissed me, just once on the lips and
my outside shell of fright melted away. From then all I
had felt was this immense, intense love. I had been in
love before but this was flawless. It was as if we were
one soul split into two bodies, seamless. We spent
three thrilling weeks together without leaving each


other’s side. We lay in bed watching films, eating, my heart and my stomach hurt and my brain was
having sex and doing nothing else. Sometimes I was shouting at me to stop him! I frantically started
so happy I would start crying inexplicably and he would searching in my drawers for the right clothes to wear.
hold my face in his hands and gently kiss my lips, the I wasn’t going to let him go alone. Where were my
way he had the first time that had turned my fear into shoes? I took his hand and walked downstairs, walked
love. round the house looking for my shoes, still holding his
hand. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight; I knew
It hadn’t occurred to me to wonder why he hadn’t been he’d go without me if he got the chance. We walked
at work, or even what he did. Maybe I assumed he was back upstairs and he lay down on the bed. We have
a student like me. One day Robert rang and spoke to some time, he said. Come lie down, have a sleep. I lay
him on the phone for a long time. I didn’t wonder how down beside him, fully dressed and put my face on his
Robert knew him either, but Robert was my friend. I chest. He put his big arms around me and held me. I
hadn’t introduced him to anyone yet. He hung up the fought and fought to stay awake. I knew if I fell asleep
phone and explained to me he was in danger. That he’d use the chance to go on his own.
some people wanted to hurt him and that normally he
would have run but they knew who I was and were I woke up on my own. And panic set in. The same sick
threatening to hurt me as well. He said that he had to feeling of dread, my heart and stomach hurt again. I
confront them to keep me safe. I begged him to stay; rang Robert, “Where is he Rob? I don’t care, tell me
I said we could run together, I could finish my degree now dammit. Where is he?!” I put down the phone
somewhere else. He shook his head and smiled. How and ran. I ran and ran. My feet were pounding and my
could he be so calm? My whole body began to panic, stomach was excruciating but I kept running.

Gobblynne Animation - Flutter (


Jessica Dennison TAKS entry

I settle a custard white canvas onto my easel. I stare My hand is moving quickly now, streaking robin’s egg
at it a moment as if challenging it. Then I look down at blue in the center of the page. I highlight this with wisps
twenty-four bottles of acrylic paint. I pop open a brand of true blue. I’m in a state of pure control. Like a trance.
new bottle of white and pour it onto a paper plate. Then When you think so hard you leave your body. My
I reach for black. Next to come red, Tuscan, chocolate brothers love to wave their hands in front of my face
brown, forest green, pumpkin orange, lemon yellow, and break my concentration. Not this time though. I’ve
purple, sunshine yellow, and more. The globs are so locked myself in my room. I add another layer of green
shiny and perfect I never want to touch a brush to above the blues. Then a layer of sky blue and white
them. Like a birthday cake too pretty to eat, but you do above that.
anyway. I grab a large brush from the cup of water and
take a breath. I carefully pick a smaller brush and paint in trees and
bushes. Then I add grass, moss, flowers, and stones. I
I am ready now. There is an image in my head. The dip into the black and white to shade all these objects.
brush grazes the white and takes on its luster. I spread I play around with lights and darks until its perfect. For
it along the bottom of the page. I dip again. My arm days I add details and touch up the edges.
runs smoothly along the canvas like when you lay down              
in a swimming pool with out any interruptions. Now I Finally I feel satisfied. I look at it for a moment as if
touch the grass green and layer on the white. The surrendering. But there are two more things I must do. I
canvas takes the color from the brush and holds it smoosh a sponge into pure white. When I dab the
tightly. I look down at my favorite color, forest green, canvas it creates Texas inspired clouds on the sky. Now
now in the form of a shining island of color. I timidly put for the moment that concludes everything. Slowly, in
my brush in and add dimension to the ground. It’s a black paint with a writers tip brush, I initial the bottom
start. and it is magnificent.

Ant Smith - Pinhole Clock


She sits, a mistress of darkest black,
within a distant star, perhaps,
or as a cloud of reddish dust.
Pulled by forces unknown to her,
destroyed by unknown means,
somewhere so very unknown to me.

How I miss her.

I pray, (not so much to god or devil),

but more to pure chance,
that one day I return to her,
I wish to savour her warm embrace.

God, I miss her.

I was part of her, and she was part of me,

I hoped so much that we were meant to be,
I don’t know what happened, or why we fell apart,
But I know that between us, all that beats is my heart.

Instead she waits, anywhere, everywhere,

For something I can’t comprehend,
Perhaps for me, for me.

Christ! I miss her.

I’ll return to her one day,

If my end is not in some other place,
Fortune alone will bring me back to her,
I’ve all the time till the Universe ends.

I’ll find her.

Fuck! Fuck...I miss her.

Shes quite close, but very far.

She sits inside a perfect star,
Perhaps for her, there’s someone else,
Perhaps to her, I’m just myself.

I miss her.
a social network for artists, writers and musicians
to share their work and collaborate.

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air,

drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign
yourself to the influences of each.

Henry David Thoreau

Mis-BUG - Peppers

Tailspin is copyright of All work herein is copyright of the respective tailcast
members. Commercial use, publication or syndication without consent is prohibited.

Related Interests