I’m A Tortured Soul That Needs To Be Taken Seriously.

So with that in mind, here’s a picture of a man with an egg for a head. He’s a private investigator. His name is Tim.



I think I may have poisoned myself with alcohol, as I am now into day three of symptoms related to a night of heavy drinking. It’s either that I’m dying, or I am an addict suffering from withdrawal, either way it led to doodles and poetry, most of which is shit, some of which is dark and brooding… and shit. Hopefully these are the funny (funny used in its broadest sense) ones/ones that are okay.

This next piece is called Bottled Personality. I was wearing my finest social commentary hat, it was large and green.

Bottled Personality

This is a cigarette in a crudely drawn ash tray. Followed by a poem that decides it will rhyme when it is dramatic to do so.




The smoke climbs straight

– It doesn’t spiral

– it doesn’t crawl

– it doesn’t dance.



Do you smoke? I ask

– I do now

Do you like it? I ask

– perhaps I will soon

Do you love I ask

– not you.



The smoke is caught

Caught by the wind.

– it doesn’t swirl

– it doesn’t fly.

it disappears.

I get the impression you do not enjoy what you do

do you Love? I ask.

-not you.



Do you smoke because it makes you feel arty?

Does it make you feel alive?

Are you a reckless, careless rebel

who gave up on causes long ago?

-They stopped being cool



it is gone now, whatever it was,

it is nothing, it is dead and

you have gone with it

A part of you went with that one cigarette


Who are you now?

-Who was I ever?

Do you smoke? I ask.

– more now than ever.

Do you Love? I ask

-You I will never.



The following is a picture of me, if I were an alcoholic comedian wearing a suit. Although it is a two dimensional picture drawn in biro, it is better looking than the real me. The real me has two heads and may or may not be part turtle. It is entitled

‘Life Is A Joke, But Like Most Jokes, It’s Not Particularly Funny.’


My Brain:

your last

The words say ‘Your last thinking session closed unexpectedly, would you like to try and recover some level of cognitivity?’   Which google later assured me was a word, but I still have my doubts.


This is entitled Cliché. It is a person drowning in a sea of words, there is a light house in the background, it represents something, but I don’t know what… maybe Batman.



This one is called Public Transport. I feel it needs no explanation.



This picture and following poem are both entitled ‘These Aren’t Particularly Good.’


Poor little man

why do you cry?

have you grown up

to find life has gone by?


Poor little man

why do you cry?

have you discovered that

everyone dies.


Poor little man

sit against the wall

one day you’ll show them

show them all.


Poor little man

crying in the night

A pathetic cliché

Alone and affright.


Stupid Little Man.

You are grown now.


And last but not least here is a piece entitled ‘Good Heavens There’s a Goat.’


One day this blog may return to being a standard platform to rant about various trivial matters that bother me. But for now I will continue to plague my followers with my silliness and hopefully inspire some to take out contracts on me. It will liven up my life a little bit and I would be less inclined to doodle and scrawl the poetry of a five year old. If anyone would like to purchase some of my original artwork, they can do so by leaving out scraps of meat, or saucers of wine out on their doorstep at night. By morning it shall be gone and in their stead will be a doodle or a poem, depending on how good the wine was… or I’ll curl up and die on your doorstep, which will be artistic in its own right.


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