I think back to a time when I used to feed off the refuse of good. I was in love with the liminal space between despair and death. Relief found in pain. I still don’t truly understand that love.

These days I still like a minor chord. Although it probably doesn’t translate in my writing, my taste tends to include a lot of brooding tones, dark words and things generally categorised by many as ‘depressing’. Not to me. I don’t think I’d still dwell on such things if it took me to these places. What I do like about the raw and shadowed is its potential to encapsulate a vivid human trait. That, and to emphasise things of beauty. There is something shockingly beautiful about seeing the golden light on gum leaves when storm clouds pervade all else. Or the reflection of light on drenched black asphalt. The dark is necessary to see the light at times.