Monday, 27 December 2010

BARDO : A Place Where The Horses Go

Collaboration project with Michael Schnitzer : Coming soon

Wednesday, 1 December 2010


New tote bags from WWBT

Sunday, 21 November 2010

Loose Talk Costs Lives

Loose Talk Costs Lives
EP Launch
6th December
Brudenall Social Club

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

Man licking a cigarette in regression (The coming into existence of existence and everything around me)

Bus Stop perpetuates man
Man facilitates mouth
Mouth engenders tongue
Tongue constructs lip
Lip manifests hand
Hand creates fingers
Fingers adorn cigarette
Cigarette constructs road
Road provides feet
Feet contain legs
Legs support torso
Torso marries sleeves
Sleeves divorce neck
Neck surprises limbs
Limbs accept October
October builds perspective
Perspective portrays dimensions
Dimensions arouse depth
Depth impose A
A suggests B
B equals thought
Thought massages bus
Bus elicits bus stop
Bus stop perpetuates man.

POEM : The Never Hour

The space in between seven and eight
is loosely held together by artificial light.
The familiar blue prevails over insentience
as the gravitational mass multiplies
at the centre of MacDonalds.
A fellow customer asks if my top lip is real.
Some things never fail to be original,
and some things simply fail.

Too many brooms sweep away an hour that never existed.

A lip embossed on a cheek
A girl adorning the polyester of previous hours
A group incessantly trying to copulate with time and light
produce only an incestuous sunrise
Someone takes a photograph of me

thank you.

Walk home from work 30/10/10

There's talk of Meerkats and naked legs.
A man encased in wood
yells intermittently at the transient crowd
in colloquial chestnuts.
The path is bathed in a teenage downpour on wheels.
The surface is dry
and the windows are dazzling - mini universe.

Eyes flicker as the book stares back with the pretension of a
transfixed horse
constructed from the shoulders of mosquitoes.

I draw on my senses and wonder if awkwardness existed before mammals.

6 o'clock has the feel of tension wrapped in bacon.

These roads are drowsy.

Thursday, 28 October 2010

Poem : SSRI

Gravity, gravity, gravity
I love you
because you always
pull me down
you boundless swine of humility
you unfathomable pancake
I swear
that if I did not know you
I would certainly
want to marry you.

Poem : MM

and the city is breathing slowly.
The body travels on the mind's parisomony
and buses turn into synapses
slowly turning on the introspcetive lights of neurons
that try ardently to be self aware
of oncoming traffic.

A strange ear drives past
A bell rings

The mechaninc hum of space
A tissue
Soft eye lids.

My teeth feel like expensive fur coats.

Buildings resemble the unfamiliar tusks
of a walrus, resplendent
with a premeture twilight.

The odd eye twitches.

The backs of the seats are
a very charming blue.

The underneath of shadows are
a very charming blue.

The inside of my mouth is
a very charming blue.

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Poem : Nomenclature

Nomenclature: the infinite principle perspective that holds the wax of lyrical lampshades that instruct you to look into the shadows of transparency.

Nomenclature: the insects wing that's stapled to the hat which often plagues my shoulder with cold thoughts.

Nomenclature: the burning foot of the elephant, the man who smoked a cigarette and placed his nose on a bloated lemon, made from a million drawn lines.

Nomenclature: the action of creating a seehorse with the head of an envelope.

Nomenclature: Jesus fucking christ! the romantacising of semantics that construct these futile icecreams.

Nomenclature: a universe of nonsense that we categorise in fur, as we slide apathetically down the glass stomach of an angel.

Nomenclature: Barbara Streisand, you are being unreasonable.

Nomenclature: let's get this party started and satiate our hedonistic head-on-shit-stick.

Nomenclature: socks and knees

Nomenclature: sans without sans

Nomenclature: the knife without a shower, the fork without a blade. A chair for the idle.
A means to make my moustache ring.

Nomenclature: a catalyst to make the telephone tickle my lips.

Nomenclature: a circle with squareness. A sparkling contradiction.

Nomenclature: not being able to sleep. Excessive sleepiness.
Keep moving, jewellery box.

Nomenclature: no men can hear,
moment of seeding,
no mention of lecture,
gnome in a reflection,
a Roman clutching his ear.

Nomenclature: The novelty of the theatre with women encircling the churches.
The memory of the acute,
the collapsing cylinder,
the comfort of a clue
and to know the front from the rear.

Nomenclature: what are you doing? your eyes awake for the duvet as the sun buries itself beneath you.

Nomenclature: and there it is, the indefinite principle, the skin that alludes me, the abundance of sardonic circles that resemble their inhibitions when confronted with the flame of the thumb!

Nomenclature: you have become autobiographical without ever raising a dimension of reason.

Monday, 18 October 2010

Rebel : Issue 6

Ventral interview in issue 6 of Californian arts magazine Rebel.
A great arts and music publication.

Sunday, 17 October 2010

Peripheral Liquid Sumo

Commissioned art works

Poem : Gluten and Mustard

The most ordinary of men
are made entirely out of steps
leading to a concrete singularity
sitting effortlessly out of reach.

We engage in an exchange,
unfathomable faces of Icelandic rooms
and three layers of gravel.

The mindlessness of stars are born into the adoration of the body.

A verbose queen with twice as many noses,
sifts through these failing advances.
The creator laments from an apartment in the trees
as his muscular discs contract
with gravitational shift.
Two moons orbit his jawline.

I don't trust anyone who take out their eyes before laughing.

Poem : Untitled

The thoughts of a battery allude me
metallic intelligence
with intangible indifference.

As the upside down pyramid
floats in the history of heads
the species perpetuates
with apple juice logic.

Poem : Parsimonial pathways

The blind dog
looked at me today
via the eyes of her nose
with orbits of white contemplation
and beautiful mechanisms.

The walls remained untouched,
and her world

Poem : Eleve times Eleven

The bee falls into a prism
and reflects the spectrum of the unconscious flower,
a Euclidean flavour of the tongue
that recurs in the eyes of table legs.

The tree collapses into a cube
as we steal a handful of dreaming spheres repeating.

The boy who wishes he was parallel
is held rigid between the concept of breathing.

The pretense of brain cells creates magnificent waves,
leaves twitch like muscles,
before a ravishing complexity of vibrations arrive
and your cheekbones lift.

Friday, 24 September 2010

Wolf Wind

Wolf Wind, the independent publishing collective based in Kent, are now selling Ventral zines through their new refurbished website.

Check out the art work co founders Rob Jones and Phillip Hawkey



Sunday, 19 September 2010


A selection of Ventral art works in high quality canvas prints are now available at

To find out more contact them directly at :

Room 9
Gibraltaarstraat 47-1 (geen winkel)
1055 NJ Amsterdam

Telefoonnummer : 020 7791484
BTW : NL1504.29.034.B01
KyK nummer : 34242679

Thursday, 9 September 2010

POEM : Dead Dog Floating

The night weighs heavily
like the stomach of a whale.
Undulating gimmicks
wash up onto invisible coast lines
like socks.

My feet are bathed in pretension
and leathery neon lights.

The metallic motion moves loudly through the streets
and exchanges nothing but dry imagination.

Replicating the tree
that's oblivious to it's existence
we fail to construct
incomprehensible staircases
that descend into tropical climates.

I can think of a lot of faces
but not a lot
of what to do with them.

The China man devours me

soft bread

whislt offering me only salty verisimillitude.

Where have the planets gone?

Where are the mountains?

Where are the clouds on which to escape?

Somewhere in the caverns of the mind
the lumionous dog
speaks in burning relics.

POEM : Via the eyes of a bird

The eyes of the bird fold with no sharp corners
and the mind
and the mind
swims like an eel in an empty head.
The nihilism grows
like toenails.
The sky pushes emotions in another direction.
A man with the face of a coin
seeks eloquence in his misfortunes
but inevitably falls into
the mist of a glue stick.
What trends are we following?

The basic concept
of the terrified eagle
is stuck in our throats
the beak of intellignece
is resonating like wheels
on the legs of a tangled shoestring
I am not sad
there is simply smoke in my eyes.

Poor Argus
I can empathise
but the intricacy of a peacocks feather
deserves more light
I rid my nose of all this paper
and smell the lavender.
The person who isn't here
is certainly somewhere else.

There is irony connected to our differences
in the search for equillibrium.

The universe is quite content
in the shell of a tortoise
that is neither thankful nor patient.

The space between your nose and my eye.

The ether simply ripples
like an aimless limb.

Everything else is insignificant.

Sunday, 5 September 2010

David Essex

And in this epoch of metaphysical exploration into the borderless space of time and heads, we will all succumb to the intrinsic infinity of David Essex.

Mixed media on canvas.

Saturday, 28 August 2010

Poem : Somewhere there is a sofa shaped like discord

The woman's stomach is empty

her cheekbones


like decaying bovine structures.

Her expression is indifferent,

yet her venetian eyebrows

seem vexed.

There is a spider in the corner of the mouth.

For a time

after we became properly acquainted

I became one of her organs

I was never the organised whole

just a proportion.


I rested in her bronchioles

and contributed to her asthma

for a while afterwards

we didn't speak

so I gave her a new t.v.

This became awkward

when the t.v license

fell out of her eye.

One tuesday

I opened her Nucleus Accumbens

and told her a joke

I polished her placebo effect

until she crumbled through the pores of her skin

and I coughed



after I turned off her nervous system

she appeared to laugh immensely

at the state of the toilet.

We laughed so hard

that I turned partially

into a kidney

I knew that soon

it would all be over.

In the afternoons

motivation almost ceased.

I cooked an omelette

and defrosted the basal ganglia.

Our eye movements slowed

and we thought about existentialism

to the point where

we forgot

most of the facts.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Poem : Perfect Melon Square

Disillusioning as it seems
your presence appears circular
like the charmed particles of purple.
A torrent of synthetics and stars
three holy kings
extracted after boiling point.
Your head
lays burried beneath a sky of tarpaulin
on the cusp of rotting tomatoes.
These onions are often mistaken for constellations.
We resist
both sunshine and soap.

Bananas hang like prayer beads
with rust-coloured mosquito vectors
commonly worshipped in supermarkets.
These trees are unleashed from cars
under the dirt of a thousand Chinese metaphors
entombed in sequence
holding green the powdered roots
of transubstantiation.
As lost
as the unseen hexagrams
of palatial yogurt pots.

Monday, 23 August 2010

The Clinic Presents

Semiotics exhibition in Lewisham, presented by The Clinic.
Big thanks to Sean, Rachel and Sam for having us down.

Thursday, 19 August 2010

Wednesday, 4 August 2010