My itchy feet and restless head have lead me on many a move.  Each time the box of old notebooks gets heavier and harder to reconcile.  Why keep them?  If my words are kept bound up by calcified rubberbands and mould spotted ribbons - do they actually exist? Or are they just black scratches on pages waiting to rot?

I began posting to Instagram - some old, mainly new - to give these choked words some fresh air.