We reach that age. That age when things change. The change begins. We are told it begins. Then it begins in earnest. It is embodied. No longer just a metaphor. No longer text book. No longer just hear say. It begins in the body. The change is rapid. The change is slow. We reach that age of transition. When we question all we know. The hairs begin to grow. The new growth is at once frightening. Challenging. Wonderful. Hair hair hair hairs hair. They multiply at once. Moving like bacteria over the body. We try to cover it. To remove it. But the change will come. Your mother sees the change. Your friends see the change. You have changed. I am different. Suddenly and slowly. Its at once frightful and wonderful. We become lost. We become found. Hair hair hair hair hair. Childhood passes away. It reforms. It renews. It transforms. Metamorphoses.


Benjamin Martin 2016.

We sit as people in between places, in between all, balancing ourselves upon a pin head, in constant transition, blowing through us unrelenting, untouchable, undone by ourselves, our nature, our form, our minds, we sit as people in between places, upon a steady base, with unrelenting urge, untouchable, to move back, undone by ourselves, to move forward, in rooms where the child sleeps, unawake, in our minds, sitting as people, in between, places, it is our nature, to transition, in constant and unrelenting urges, moving forward and backward, in rooms where the adult sleeps, awakened in our minds, the false nature, of our form, sitting in between, with foolish notions, of past and future, the wind blows through unrelenting, untouchable, undone, by ourselves, in rooms where people sleep, our minds move forward, into places that sit between all, with no one face, to hold, sobbing for our new limbs, shaving our new hairs, we sit as people in between places, in constant transition, undone by ourselves, our nature.


Benjamin Martin 2015.

As I walk through life. With my eyes firmly open. With my eyes firmly shut. I collect sounds. I collect images. I collect moments. Memories. Peering into the past to find connections and stories. Translating life into tales. Creating characters which re tell histories and question the present. Unravelling the body, compartmentalizing and fragmenting its parts.


Benjamin Martin 2016



I see life in scenes. In clich├ęs. Movies. Lessons learnt and behaviours implemented. A matrix. A web of ideas. Performed in the present as if they were spontaneous. The metaphysical. The incorporeal existence of thoughts. Thoughts that are made. From learnt behaviours. Genetically inherent. I see life as construct. Are we artificial from birth? Bottom. Willy. Hand. Liver. Spleen. Toe. Hair. Hair. Hair. Hair. Hair. Hair. Hair.


Benjamin Martin 2016


A shadow of a memory,

A machine that sits,

Now cloudy and hard,

A photograph,

Or perhaps a myth,

Years of unknowing who you are,

If I sit a long time,

You may come back.


Benjamin Martin 2016

Nights of silent silver, sharp endless air,

Shoots me up,

Towards the spherical layer,

That surrounds, outer atmosphere

Of calm, endless nights,

Silent silver,

Into endless neurological,

Where synapses burst, shooting out,

Out into endless, spherical being,

That I am only a part,

In timeless transition.


Benjamin Martin 2016