The little ford boy struggling with purpose and metaphor, playing children’s games in his head, making himself a conductor and empathetic martyr, a dreamscape crafter. The rally point for so many lost boys, clumped together like sodden matchbook heads, each preaching disparate callings. The same boat riding different waves. Subjective voices whitewashed in Times New Roman, reading woe is me, with the italics changed, so woe is me and woe is me, but the principles remain the same ‘Where is all of this going?’ they say, ‘How do you catch your meaning in the midst of all this maize?’
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.