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I’m Matt, I’m from England, and for the last two and a half years I’ve been travelling in the Americas, arriving by ship in New York in January 2010, coming down through Central America by public bus, and crossing by sail boat into South America. I’m now in French Polynesia. I’m interested in photography, writing, music, people and learning more about this amazing world. I was brought up as a classical musician. Professionally I’ve worked in communications, in green politics and in the arts. On this little homepage you’ll find links to some of my writing, some photography, and links to some of my other projects such as the Daily Planet blog on global & green issues, and the Green Words Workshop project for reframing and popularising progressive politics. And of course Facebook, Twitter and all that. Cheers.
written on the Pacific Ocean on the freighter ship Utrillo, July 2012
Why do I do it? Why do I scare myself with the ocean…?
It is true, it is merciless, literally; it’s not conscious, so it has no feelings, no remorse, no pity, no awareness. It would be wrong to say it is inanimate, because it is certainly animate. And not alive, yet contains so much life within it might as well be. Like a Frankenstein body filled with cells and bacteria and nerve impulses yet no consciousness. (more…)
written July 2012, after two and half years in the Americas
The world is nicer than you think
The man loitering in the dimly-lit concrete stairwell of the bus station is waiting… not to mug you but because his little girl is walking slowly.
The figures darkly-silhouted on a Brooklyn street corner, in the night, in the cold and driving snow in the wrong part of town, are two middle-aged women, gossiping over their groceries. (more…)
from my balcony in Cartagena, Colombia, March 2011
A jacked yellow Renault 4 (circa 1983) plys the streets, an impossibly old man at the wheel.
A middle-aged thin black man, shirt off, pushes a huge wooden 3-wheeled cart full of sand. Painted on the wooden boards is “SABOR Puro Africa” and “Flota Nene”. The cart is heavy. He puts his back into it. He has muscles poking through his taut skin where I didn’t even know you could have muscles. He walks in the middle of the road, like he owns it (he seems at home; perhaps he does). (more…)
inspired by Olive Senior & Helen Klonaris at the Bahamas Writers’ Summer Institute, August 2010
It was morning, and our father busied himself about the house with making breakfast for Adam and I, getting ready his things for work.
The sun outside shone in through the glass doors, bathing the kitchen in a yellowy light. We tucked into our cereal as our father sipped his coffee and read – as he did every morning – his big newspaper. (more…)
written on New Providence island, Bahamas
I walk down Robinson Road, way out in the bush, banana trees on both sides; occasional car ignores me.
I bathe in the ocean, off a wooden platform ‘mongst mangroves. Current’s so strong the most I can do is keep my place. Stop swimming I’ll be swept away. Local kids play and swim around me, but I’m respected and ignored. I must look strange to them; can’t pass as a Conchy Joe, they’ve probably never seen a white tourist this far out. I’ve hidden my New York Yankees cap under my shirt in case some one steals it. Everyone wears them here. No one bothers me, no one steals my cap. As ever my faith in humanity has been too little. (more…)
Caribbean Sea / Consolation of slave-kind / Kiss me, forgive me
Little Corn Island, Nicaragua, Wednesday 12th January 2011
the snow falls deeply / and the melting chocolate chips / stain my cookie paws
New York City, Friday February 26th 2010