Stuart Miller-Osborne

What are you doing Stan  I am copying a poem  To a Wreath of Snow By Emily Bronte  On to our condensated window  Stan there is no condensation on our windows  That is presenting me with a small problem  But I am sure that Emily would have understood  I would image it is quite cold…

I met Lorca  In a bookshop  On 42nd Street  I choose  My companions  With care 

I have lived in New York  For five years  But the city  Still intimidates me  As I am from the Deep South  And am used to southern ways  At weekends I wake up late  And stare at the city  From my warm white bed  I feel quite safe  These are my small mornings 

Stan are you still awake  Yes  What time is it in NYC  Two minutes past eight  What time is it in the UK  Two minutes past one  What are you doing  Watching The Batman  Is it good  Yes it is very moody  Have you seen it  I watched it last night  Your thoughts  I agree…

Hi Jane Stan is walking the streets of NYC and feels very small against the tall buildings It is only four degrees but bright and the sun is a friend  The reason is that I walking to Macys which is near Times Square  I caught the subway to Times Square 42nd Street  I never got lost…

Dartling Jane  We took off about forty-five minutes ago and are thousands of feet above fuck knows where  I cannot see much as there is heavy cloud It is a strange sensation which is difficult to describe It is almost as if we are in limbo halfway up the stairway to Heaven  I think of God a lot…

I have just taken the perfect photograph  The composition is just right  It was taken in an ornamental garden  Not far from where I live  To view it in real time  One would think that it was a summer view  But it was taken in early December  Just before the sun set  And shows the early moon  Rising…

Occasionally I anticipate the future  I feel the future before it happens  I knew that a monk had died  Long before we passed his accident I dreamt your dream in minute detail  Which neither of us could explain  Was I intruding within your dream  Or were you the wretched intruder  I see beauty where there is…

A ring of birds flew across  The early evening sky  I did not see them at first Until the blush clouds  Revealed their histories To me in a solemn dream 

Why are you crying Soosy Flower  Because of this beauty  That is right in front of me  The sea the sky the clouds the colours  Everything moves me  I always cry when I witness beauty  There are other things that control your emotions  Serotonin for instance  The world can be so beautiful Guy  Your body adores…