By the book.

What is life if not a story,
Unfolding with every line.

Turning its pages
While we grow younger
Dreaming new ones
Behind the whites of kindred eyes.

A life filled with stories.
A story that is life.



Excuse me, life: How is it that the greatest story ever written is quite possibly the one written by us all? #nevergrowup #storiesforlife xJ




I recently finished reading Foreign Soil by Aussie author Maxine Beneba Clarke; the book that inspired this piece. Quite simply, because it’s like nothing I’ve ever read.

It’s edgy and unpunctuated. Thick with challenging topics, and accents. A rucksack stuffed with ten short stories set all over the world, from Australia to New Orleans. Voices written not as they speak, but as they actually sound. Southern drawls, Jamaican twangs, cool Caribbean coos. Like dis, mun. And it’s wonderful. It’s refreshing. It’s heartwarming to hear the souls of her characters echo in your ears. And it’s real life, real genius, captured in words. xJ

Impossible findings.

I feel like sometimes my mind
can’t keep up with the thoughts
running through my head like is
that the right word or too
functional or too worthy wait
how would you just say that say it
simply in an easy to understand
way that everyone will nod their
heads to melt their hearts to fall
in love with but sometimes it can
take days even weeks to find the
right word when it’s the one
you’re really searching for it’s
the one that’s impossible to find.



A rolling piece inspired by a Kerouac-type outburst of consciousness, about the fact that sometimes the simplest thing I can offer is often the hardest one to fulfil. xJ