Surviving a broken back in 1986, I am now caught up in digital photography and my writings. A lot of my writing is drawn from childhood memories and nightmares. We lived in a succession of old, old, deserted farm houses in the middle of nowhere for years. No streetlights, no neighbours, and enormous plantations of old cypress trees that cast alarming shadows from the moonlight.

Depression (bloody Black Dog!) makes an appearance now and then, and of course, a healthy sprinkling of cynicism never goes astray.

"The time has come", warmonger said, "To speak of many things.
There are too many people in my head, and not enough room for wings."