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All The Stars Are Closer

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I had been falling almost my entire life, and no amount of desperate reaches for ramshackle love and hollowed friendships were ever able to stop the fall. I thought I was destined for the abyss. Destined for the all swallowing black; the place of no return. Then you came along and saved me. Since meeting you all the stars are closer, all the flavours are sweeter and all the colours brighter. In one moment, I can feel so weightless in your presence and that at any time I could float away. Then, in the next, you make me feel so grounded… so real. It’s as if you and I are standing at the centre of the universe and everything – the sun, the moon, the planets are orbiting around us. Sometimes it even seems like the universe was created for just you and me. And forever was an anagram of our names put together. I found warmth in your smile; an orchestra in your laughter; a home in your eyes. Every moment is a beautiful memory when I am with you, and our every goodbye leaves me nostal...
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Blank Walls

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This house isn’t a home; it’s a coffin echoing silence and cradling a dead marriage. We pass each other like strangers in the night… never daring to lift our eyes from our feet or uttering a single word. Lives that once intertwined have now become untangled and separate. Love that once blossomed has wilted and shed its last petal. The laughter that once sang has been silenced. Now he spends his days wading into his work; desperate to be drowned by it. I spend mine being deafened and taunted by the ticking clock and staring at a blank wall, wondering just how quickly a house can go up in flames. It wasn’t always like this. This prison was once a wonderland of joy and happiness. In the early days we would run around and giggle together like children; kiss and fuck addictively like teenagers; hold each other and lay bare our insecurities and fears like adults. His smile was once a sunrise and his eyes oceans to dive into. I thought our Hollywood romance had met its happy ending. ...
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The Crulest Thing

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Our lips collided against a backdrop of whoops, cheers and god-awful R ‘n’ B. It didn’t take long before I was swept up by the tenderness of her lips and the exquisiteness of her rooming hands, that so expertly detonated small bombs of electricity across each inch of flesh they explored. With my hunger growing, nearing on the animalistic, I desperately tried to pull her body closer to mine. But I couldn’t. She resisted. Wounded, I instantly pulled back. The spell was broken and devastatingly, I was reacquainted with my surroundings and bitter reality… a frat party and spin the bottle. A swarm of male eyes were on us from every direction, and I could almost see the giant neon signs flashing in their minds: HOT GIRLS KISSING. The air of arousal was suffocating, and sickening. Laughter. Heartbreaking laughter. She wasn’t by my side anymore, quicker than a flash of lightning, she had stood up and rematerialized at HIS side, fingertips affectionately gliding through his hair. The k...
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Documentary Journalism - TV

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                                  04/03/19 POST ONE  Modes of Documentary In the past, I believed that documentary was a narrow, easily defined medium that offered very little in the way of creative expression. Once, I even thought that documentary filmmaking involved merely pointing a camera at something vaguely interesting and then clicking play and hoping for the best. I was wrong. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Documentaries are a hugely diverse medium, that offers creatives plenty of opportunities to express themselves artistically and challenge themselves narratively. Most importantly, it’s an inclusive medium, and through the various ‘modes’ of documentaries, any filmmaker can find a niche within the practice. For the more artistically inclined, there is the ‘poetic mode’ which allows documentarians the opportunity to dispense with narrative convention and be m...
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