NOSTALGIA IS A BROKEN RECORD or PHILOPHOBIA BROKE MY HEART; some poetry, some video art and just some words

NOSTALGIA IS A BROKEN RECORD or PHILOPHOBIA BROKE MY HEART; some poetry, some video art and just some words


Ahhh... Nostalgia, one of my favourite words in the whole world. Broken down it means this; 


Nostos + Algos or to return (home) + pain... It is commonly known and understood as the pain of knowing what it would be to return, as in home sickness or a desire to return to a previous state, situation, person because that entity inspires comfort. 


Philophobia ...a relatively new word to my lexicon... It means; 


Philia + phobia or to love + to fear... Literally a fear of love but more loosely a fear of intimacy, of the feelings Inspired by love, by falling in love... 


The above dance piece is to a song from the album Philophobia by Arab Strap, the song being New Birds, a song basically about nostalgia, the type of nostalgia we sometimes have for old loves and lovers... 


Nostalgia is not always a safe place to be, it can anchor us in the past and exacerbate real life, current present intimacy/connection issues, such as Philophobia. I suffer from the former, often but not the latter but I can see how they are linked. 


Here is a series of narrative and allegorical poems about a character Nostalgia (and her lover); 



And Death follows her
Like the clouds do the rain...
Come sunshine
Come brillig
Come snow
Come that old familiar pain
Of knowing.
It still falls
Like Autumn leaves do.

And she's been dying
For at least half her life
Tired wept broke
Amidst heartache and strife
She cries blood rather than
Close her eyes
Yet still the rain falls
Bleaching out all her cries.

And she's done lying
To herself and the world
Around her
Polite rules aimed
And bound her, to
Soliloques so sweet
(though dull)
The rain
The rain
The rain
Shone perspective
On this hull.

And she is soaked through
From this storm
Come from afar
Yet anchored within
This lady
Bathed in moonlight swims
Across borders
And oceans
And galaxies
And Sin
The rain it fell incumbent
At the same moment
She let go within
Beauty released.

And who is she -
This perfect creature
Made of dust?
Made of cloudless
Moonlit night skies
Made of ether
Greened in rust
She is Nostalgia
She is Persephone
She is Diana
She moves through life
With painful balance
Aware her lover
Will not give up.




And Nostalgia hides
Amongst the trees of her night
From the length and breadth
Of his embrace
From a love that lies bleeding
Written wept upon
His face
Addicted to the darkness
Which is shielded by
Her grace.

Death knows he must wait.

And the torment
Turns every second
Into millennia
As he watches her edging
That heavy weight
(Of life)
Through the years
Feeling the pain of
His Eurydice
His Psyche
His sweet Lilith's
Wasted tears
Come to me
He whispers
As she dreams
Into her ears

But Death knows he must wait

And he is tired of this landscape
Once bleak perfection
To his abyss
Alone he walked through
Human suffering
Plucking life
As he saw fit
But now he craves this
Darkly lit one
Shining brightly in
What, his heart?
What are these feelings?
These new desires
This deathly rattle
As love embarks
Why can't he take her?
Force his Death deep
Deep inside her
Until she breaks
Death darling, is no parenthesis

My shadow beckons from the dark



And Nostalgia wakes
Moonlight covering her like a sheet
Her senses alert
Awareness heightened and piqued.
A strange aroma
Invades her body
Soft and wet
Like Autumn leaves
A warm and silky
Ardent moisture
Upon her skin
Lays tenderly.

Her heart beats fast
Is she alone?
In this -
Her private sanctuary
The moonlight
Leaves no corner hidden
No other being
She can see
Yet somewhere
Lurking in the shadows
Of her darkest fantasy
She can feel a presence looming
Her secret lover
Come for she.

Nostalgia burns
With extant passions
Despite the coolness
Of her skin
The moisture coveting
Her body
Comes from deep
Beyond within
(So far beyond in fact Nostalgia
Is unaware, it comes from Him)
A wanting calls her
Grows in discomfort
Will not allow her back to sleep
Her mouth is wet
Lips part, desirous
Fingers painting sweet relief.

Death he watches
From the shadows
His lover parts her silvered thighs
The smell of galaxies and oceans
The sounds of urgent gentle cries
Diana bathes her, leaves her
Wanting, ready to receive
In this moment; love comes immortal
From petite mort



Nostalgia ;
The pain of knowing -
The glory left behind
Is her given name.
This is the story of her life.
Nostalgia's pain
Shrouds her in darkness
But the Darkness
Senses light.
He sees a beauty in her not present
Throughout the history
Of Mankind.

Death knows the waiting's over
Knows that the end is very nigh.

She awakes
The morning after
A sleepless night
The Sturgeon Moon
Memories of her incantations
A night of peace
Over too soon
In the moonlight
She sensed a darkness
That released her from her woe
Twas the Oblivion
She had been seeking
So to her lover
She must go.

For Death, the waiting's over
The end is nigh, this much he knows.

So in a cloudless sky
What else is she to hunt
But this reverence?
The dull pain of living
No longer holds any recompense
As she wades through the days
Like honey
Life is to be lived to the full
In this land of milk
And honey!
But all she can taste is the bile
Of emptiness
The pain of what it is
To know.
She prays to return home
To her eternal amore
Enter the void
Through that final open door.

Death knows he need wait no more.




And she watches
With detached curiosity
As this cheap imitation
Writhes and groans
Beneath her
Her face breaking over
A landscape of
Moons and lies
As he pushes himself further
Into the graveyard
Of her desire.

Nostalgia feels nothing at all.

Not love
Not passion
Not relief
Merely the indifference
She experiences to all attempts
Since that Sturgeon moon set her free.

And this inertia cuts much deeper
Than simple pain ever could
Each night the blood
Tastes sweeter
As she aims to stem
The flood
But alas
There is nothing in this world
That can take away the memory
Of His sweet kiss
That can remove from her the melody
His love whispers in the mists
Of these shadows.

Nostalgia wants pain to engulf her.

And she can sense this boys
To make her feel something
To just make her feel
As he tries desperately
To push life
Into this barren hull
But Nostalgia just feels numb
Prostrated on all fours
With the Harvest moon
Shining in through the window
Nostalgia knows that it is time
The silver dagger beneath
Her pillow
Feels alive
As the boy gives in to his primal cries
Shatters life into the
Barren landscape
Of Nostalgia's funeral pyre

Her heart envelopes the glittering light
Of the silvery moon
Like a lover
Taking it whole
And deep
Minus any form
Of reprieve
This kiss of Death
The very relief
She had always sought.

The final petit mort
Her earthly body receives
Leaving her mortal lover
Making him believe
(For that moment at least)
That he had at last made her feel

As he lies there

Death takes his bride across the threshold
To consummate
Their love affair...




Here is a poem about Philophobia; 




Your fear waited, silently
Holding its weak, matted breath
Through cracked & bloodied lips
Until my heart was fully dowsed and
Brightly lit
Slowly, like the drip drip
Of my patience
It soothed you
When times were hard
When the love we were
Growing, began to feel like an
Icy shard, set against the
Kabuki of that one man island
You fiercely guard
And our love, despite all the beauty
Became the enemy.

This game of push me pull you
Once so curious and exciting
Now leaves me cold
Cos, how can i give myself freely
To one who doesn't own
The rights to his heart?
Love was never meant to be simple
But surely not
This hard.
Three steps forward and
Twelve back
I'm running on empty
And you, lover dearest
Hold all the cards.

Fortune, they say favours the brave
But if courage means that I'm resigned
To a lifetime
Of feeling this constant crave
For knowing
For holding
For connection
For you
To open up and unshackle me
Love me too much to
Continue to be you to
Allow me to be a slave
To your fears
Then i have to speak that shit
Like a mantra to myself
Stop fighting,
Put down my armour
Don't look back, turn and
Walk away...

I'm so sorry my love couldn't hold you
I'm sorry but i cannot stay.

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(S)llew la Wulf
(S)llew la Wulf

Yet another artist screaming (colourfully) into the void. I like to dance. I write. I do self portraiture and i draw... I cover topics ranging from racial bias to female sexuality to capitalism to rape culture and of course, love ❤️


Poetic is indeed a perspective but a poem is a poem is a are some of mine.

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