Which literary movement are you most suited to?

The stars would be bright.

Maybe sun, or maybe one of those skies that is just white, no light but yet light everywhere, and there is cold, and yet it only feels cold when you have too much time to think about it. Or maybe a rainbow. You haven't seen a rainbow in a while, and you will remember this time to count the colours because the eye perceives, they say, seven, but colours are like feelings- they don't end or begin in specific places but bleed into one another, messy and ill-defined, so why seven?

A sky is asking why and I'll tell it: weather is a burnt out match, and the Eiffel Tower didn't move for crepe paper!

An endless red sky- don't you know that God is Pooh Bear- and some glimpse of the starry dynamo between the skylines of Frisco and Times Square- that old blue place.

I only ever think about the weather when I have nothing else to think about. I guess I really am out of friends, ideas, faith.

I'd like clear night best, making maps of all the celestial bodies.

I'd rather see it on a canvas than at a window. Then I'd be able to read it.

Pouring rain, tumultuous skies, all the Furies of the heavens putting on an electric light-show- it just gives you chills.

T.S. Eliot

Allen Ginsberg

Bram Stoker

Frank O'Hara

Writing is all innovation.

Ezra Pound

Virginia Woolf

I really think words are better portrayed in images. That's innovation.

Reading about current events, endeavouring to find new ways to express myself or challenge myself intellectually.

Escaping reality, through creativity or bad habits.

Chasing from one thrill to another, on a raging high until I drop.

Making collages, cutting up newspapers and rearranging the words, burning patterns into things.

Watching horror movies, thinking up eerie tales of terror and tragedy, learning about serial killers.

Getting lost in introspective thought.

Becoming enraptured by words or images and how their presentation on a page can communicate a whole new layer of meaning. Otherwise, drawing, watching TV, the usual stuff.

Going for lonely lunches, or to art galleries, or wandering around the city looking at it all.

Spain or France. That's where true genius is born.

All over, with no plans and no restrictions, except maybe a rough idea of an end point. The rest is freedom and adventure and love is all.

Somewhere coastal in England so I could walk along the beach and listen for mermaids. Or somewhere with green hills and woods to listen to the quiet of time going by. Anywhere that the environment can provide me with some peace of mind, or stir me somehow.

I'd like to spend a lifetime travelling between France and the USA.

Somewhere visually captivating.

Anywhere I can meet myself, again?

Across the River Styx.

To the deepest part of my unconscious mind and back.

A poet whose words are captivating.

Someone who knows a lot about science and philosophy of mind, who always leaves you thinking over the conversation you have had.

Someone who will read your work and give you the criticism you need to grow as an artist.

A friendly, artistic homosexual who will speak his or her mind, will never let you get fat, and who will stay up with you late to drink and smoke.

Someone who sees the world in a totally different way to you that they may as well be insane, but you like to see the world from another perspective, from where it all looks strange.

A friendly but tormented monster that you can teach the rules of etiquette.

Someone who never yawns or says a commonplace thing, who is desirous of everything at the same time. A mad, loving, wild soul, released from reform school to raise hell- and you love to be there when it all happens.

Someone you have known your whole life, and you know all their habits and foibles and mannerisms and tics.

A partygoer, a social butterfly, someone who is always celebrating.

Anyone with creative skills in different mediums.

One of the lesser characters in a film that made you cry and laugh a little because you thought, 'Oh! That's life!'

A sweet elderly man who you want to take care of.

An energetic, curious and sparkle-eyed guy who chain-smokes and sniffs powders, or a less charismatic, less commanding, perhaps marginalised individual who you are sure somehow will make it big someday.

A ghost, a paranoid schizophrenic, a concubine, a King, the devil, a dwarf, the SUN.

A painter or builder or party person or bus driver or bouncer or waitress. Whomever has something to say, you can relate to them. We're all made of the same stuff and it doesn't even set us apart from concrete, but we have our brains so we might as well share what we can do with them.

A cynical introvert, or a psychotic drifting between reality and phantasm.

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