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.