open season

What is it about the fears that drive our dreams, our hearts follow their movement, relentlessly. I grew of age with a vision that is forever my allure, a quest. This is something shaped by our homes and the people around us. It is a sad reflection that we only appreciate the love when lost, or gone never to be found. I think they call this living, or learning, or life. Either way my own heart was primed with affection and choice, and with this I grew and wanted. The times that pull us alone in the hearts of clouds and skies that melt my path, I know nothing outside my eyes – I look to others for change , an alternate line of vision – something special, a result of pain or fear or loss. When we move into memories and pictures of people that once held our smiles, perhaps this help comes.  The pain strikes and tears are on the road with wind tempting frost. Lines open to me but this is not enough…far from it. I need the clouds that I try to shake, they push and pull me like an starved dog, driving a rage that makes men weep, a passion is the laughter of failed seekers and non-believers.  Purity is inside my mouth, with breath and the calm of a winter beach, my fathers hands hold mine again, and it may be the last time. I was not given a  brother but now I have many. My replacements are entrusted mentors and methods for my own progression in the emotional sphere. Teachers always failed me, but brothers are differnet. A light shines late at night, a damp air clings to the skin, brief shivers crawl and stall and linger. Someone is home but their mind is gone. I climb on the rocks of my childhood, the footprints of my heart and hope, and these feelings are stronger than reality.


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Help Adam!

Please post ideas and locations to help with my current project, Northern Ireland Now, which is looking at society in northern ireland. Also email ideas and suggestions to adam at:



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