Childhood haircut : at my mother’s tender hands an auburn oompa loompa… / Coiffure d’enfance : aux tendres mains de ma mère, un oompa loompa auburn…

Childhood haircut : at my mother’s tender hands an auburn oompa loompa…

Coiffure d’enfance : aux tendres mains de ma mère, un oompa loompa auburn…

– Tristan Coleshaw.

Me in the eisteddfod 2

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Sky as thick and cool as nettles : love song / Le ciel, aussi froid et épais qu’un champs d’orties : chanson d’amour.

Sky as thick and cool as nettles : love song.

Le ciel, aussi froid et épais qu’un champs d’orties : chanson d’amour.

– Tristan Coleshaw.

Me & Julian 1

My last breath, the Gods finally asking for the bill / Mon dernier souffle, enfin les dieux demande l’addition.

My last breath, the Gods finally asking for the bill.

Mon dernier souffle, enfin les dieux demande l’addition.

– Tristan Coleshaw.

If God meant me to sing, why send the rapist with tonsillitis / Si Dieu voulait que je chante, pourquoi m’a-t-il envoyé le violeur atteint d’une amygdalite?

If God meant me to sing, why send the rapist with tonsillitis?

Si Dieu voulait que je chante, pourquoi m’a-t-il envoyé le violeur atteint d’une amygdalite?

– Tristan Coleshaw.

Sunflower, paparazzo of the Gods / Le tournesol est le paparazzo des dieux.

Sunflower, paparazzo of the Gods.

Le tournesol est le paparazzo des dieux.

– Tristan Coleshaw.

You can spend days looking at a blank page, and for a writer that is the worst type of torture…

… And then when something comes, anything, whether it’s about what you intended to write or not – when it comes and it feels true, or even just somewhat true to what you’re feeling, the days you’ve wasted dissolve like the point of a match. That’s the life of the writer.

Moi

When I’m Gone…

When I’m gone, a few things might remain. A few impressions on a few hearts of how I loved. Which is completely. Which is a vision beyond all faults, which is forgiveness beyond all the things that were wrong. Beyond all that I should have to forgive. This is how I loved. Without a putting myself first.

When I’m gone, a few will remember the story of how I gave myself to others. The story of how others took what was not theirs to claim. The story of how I knew no better but to give all of me. I forgive those that took. I break under the force of their desires as I broke in their arms. I forgive them all.

When I’m gone, I’ll leave a mess behind. Records scratched by passion and time. Books with page corners folded. I’ll leave the jeans speckled with woodland mud that I meant to clean. I’ll leave films on pause that I meant to finish and food I meant to marinate and cook with love for you. I’ll leave thoughts I meant to put down on paper and breath in my lungs intended for words of comfort, love and wisdom, such that I have.

When I’m gone my dreams will go with me. I’ll share them until I can no longer.

When I’m gone, the impression of all that love will make a stain on the earth beside me, it will nourish the soil as it nourished me, it will feed the worms that feast on my remains or fan the flames that dissolve me into eternity. Until then, it all is yours.

When I’m gone, I will be in esteemed company. Friends I have lost, dreams I have forgotten, hopes I have given away. They will be my family. Until we meet again. Such great souls have passed, each a part of our living whole, and I will be the next missing piece. Until we meet again.

We will meet again as we meet now, in this moment. Bon voyage. Bonne chance. Until then….