The creative outlet for prose, poetry & non-fiction.
Wispy hair blown by ashy wind,
Striding past closure after closure,
Escaping from this cul-de-sac;
The shale mountains and rusting machinery.
Distancing yourself from the oxides,
And the silicon dioxide of the slag heap.
The working man’s club with their bitter ale,
The long empty tenements dilapidating daily,
Now nothing, but a smoggy afterthought.
Smashed spectacles lying upon stained carpet,
Crinkled dress lying under the single bed,
You and I wrapped into another.
The background music of murmuring voices,
Our soundtrack to each touch;
And each nervous spontaneous embrace.
Ivy fingers creep across stoner flesh,
Head foggy with images of you,
And the scent of tobacco.
Two years ago I became fascinated by urban exploration in my local area. Initially I was nervous about the desire to creep around damp and rusting buildings, fearful that someone may be within the dilapidated abodes. However once summoning courage and armed with my old low resolution camera I ventured into the Birkdale Deaf School several minutes from my family home. Over the next three days I travelled to over six locations around the Southport and Liverpool area. Each location I arrived at I would film several minutes of footage just as a memento of the experience. It was not until I began a college course in Media Studies that I decided to edit this footage into a short video.
Unfortunately rather than my peers being equally fascinated by urbexing the usual responses I received were warnings about trespassing and deranged psychopaths lurking in the shadows. Luckily I am yet to experience the negative attributions urban exploration has been assigned, instead I find it a liberating and beautiful hobby.
My first experience of urbexing happened during my childhood, however I was not aware of the its name at the time. My father used to take my sister and I on walks around the neighbourhood. Each time we would take these walks we would walk past several large abandoned houses. Years past and we would witness the slow erosion of metal fences, the walls becoming more hidden by a thick carpet of ivy and the cars rusting on the gravel driveway. One day when I was eight years old walking with my father we stopped outside one of the large detached mansion and starred at the derelict property. We ended up climbing over the low brick wall, however instead of feeling a rush of adrenaline I felt a serene stillness creep over me. The loneliness of the house seemed to comfort me and as we walked towards a side door my father turned the handle and the kitchen was revealed to us. Standing in the dusty kitchen with tins of soup still in the cupboards and plates laid on the table. The house was as if the family had been evacuated, forced to leave everything they own; leaving a museum of their existence for me to witness. My father confidently strolled throughout the rooms of the ground floor while I trailed behind him observing family photographs, torn newspapers and stained carpets. I picked up the car keys that were placed in a glass bowl on a side table and I placed them within my pocket. I wanted to remember this experience therefore the keys became a souvenir of this visit. However an urban exploration rule I have often read about on forums is that one should never take any possessions from buildings. Therefore when I researched urbexing I began I realised I should not take anything, however I still had the desire to have mementos of each exploration. Therefore I decided I would take my trusty Nikon camera to the buildings so I could document the occasion. And so my urbexing photography began!
Oh purge my heart,
Remove the thick tumours that linger,
Those who obstruct my blood from flowing.
These legions form my love,
Once meek with loneliness.
Yet you and I have sinned,
A tainted desire mutated with self-loathing;
And suffer we must.
Urbexing, or urban exploration has become a highly popular activity over the last several years due to various urbex-based horror films and the vast online community urbexers. I believe there is a gap within the urbexing community as there are many forums but not many personal blogs. Beauty in Decay would be a blog focussing on the architectural photography of urbexing. Many urbex websites focus upon the adrenaline rush and risk of urbexing, however I wish to focus on the beauty of an ever changing decaying landscape. This blog will be reasonably serious, therefore the text will not be especially conversational, but instead more professional. However I will make this blog more personal by including information about my travels to locations and the incidents along the way, as well as urbexing tips for newcomers to the activity.
The layout of the blog will be very simplistic as the photographs should take pride of place and entice readers. The colour scheme will be mainly light greys, rusty browns and off-white shades as to compliment the dusty and decaying buildings. This blog will consist of my own posts and those others have submitted. Therefore I could post more regularly, aiming for roughly two or three posts a week.
Trying to wash away the bruises,
Those inky trickles that drip down your thigh,
Like the first bleed of youth.
The watercolour of hazy noire and violent purple,
The blended charcoal with no beginning or end,
The kaleidoscope of contusion,
Created from broken venules and disillusion.
You’ve conquered the mountain,
Raised high above the scuttling crowds.
Your open arms embrace the nothingness that lies ahead,
The beautiful stillness that awaits.
It was once the rising damp that drove you up here,
But now it is the rising fear.
The Christ that is not sacrificing himself for our sins,
But rather for his own.
Standing in a smoke-filled kitchen the remains of tinsel lie discarded under the beer stained table. Smoking cigarette after cigarette singing snatches of lyrics between puffs. Cans and bottles piling high, reaching for the heavens; like the evidence of this desolation. The tea has long been cold but I still grasp onto it hoping to warm my hands.
Each inhalation fills my lungs deep with success. Each drag pulls me further from you. However the pack empties leaving me shivering and longing for you once more. So I sit and observe life passing my window. From the fearful blackbird sniffing around the butts to the concerned parents delivering food to their daughter.
The echoing kitchen, like the museum of I. The unplayed boardgames still wrapped in thin plastic, the bare cupboards, the piling plates and bowls dirty from days before, the food bin heavy with rot and the flyers for clubs I have never entered. I feel wrapped like the games, bare like the cupboards, dirty like the plates, rotting like the food and scattered like the flyers. But most of all I feel like the tinsel; once placed carefully around the window and now fallen, left unnoticed under the stained table. A half remembered artefact once adored, now abandoned.
As I begin my Semester 2 at York St John University I am able to reflect upon my progress over the previous several months. I have read many texts that I would not have initially read and I have relished the freedom Creative Writing gives me. Although I predominantly write romantic poetry I have also been experimenting with ulterior forms such as short stories, scripts and non-fiction. By trying out different forms I have been able to start two novellas exploring different aspects of mental health problems. Kindly the staff at York St John have supported and encouraged these ideas and they have acknowledged the literary works I have done over the past several years. Today I received notification that I have achieved the Arts Scholarship which of course I am honoured to accept. This scholarship shall make travelling to publishing meeting and hosting art exhibitions more financially available to me, therefore I would like to thank the university sincerely for giving me this opportunity. My plans for the upcoming months is to send copies of my poetry anthologies to small British publishing companies and to hire a studio space so I can present the art collection I am currently working on.
I look forward to this semester with a great eagerness, as I know that I will develop my writing skills and develop more confidence in my work.