Identity Verified Thinker in Arts / Literature / Contemporary
Sean Urquhart
Sean Urquhart
I am an experienced writer who has worked across a variety of mediums including: screenplay, script editing, prose, poetry,and novelization. I am particularly interested in psychogeography and the scope it gives both academics and creative writers to effectively trade elements of their fields.


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Dec. 30, 2015 7:15 pm
Those minutes, Constricted, fearful and black, Those mnutes almost consumed me, whole. And within those time frames, I died more than once, I died a few dozen times at least. And from time's distance, I am somehow more alive than ever.  Read More
Dec. 28, 2015 6:30 pm
I knew more then, In those quiet, indoors days. And days I tramped the hills. Gleniffer Braes, acid-washed, Gleniffer Braes, often alone. And yet never, ever fully lonely. An elemental presence, The Great Electron?  Read More
Dec. 28, 2015 2:51 am
She hugged me, And I was at once alive, again. Her human electricity, Her humanity held me tight, As I held her to me, And in that second, I was out of my misery. Months of pain, stilled. Months of anguish, stilled, Months of hurt, excised. It was two-way, But I swear it was that hug, That hug alone, And only that hug, That has made my life worth more, More than just oxygen in and...  Read More
Dec. 23, 2015 1:00 am
Not quite Humpty Dumpty, As I sat in The Doric Arch, Stomach tight, Eyes wide open, My breath shallow, Having ran from Victoria Station. I had waited for many a long minute, And now I was minutes away from Some kind of moment of truth, Some kinf of moment. As it happened, It was a moment of magic, A literal one, One which is keeping me afloat, As winter envelops me in her darkness.  Read More
Dec. 14, 2015 10:42 pm
It was odd, though too familiar, I'd been dead for weeks now, Messages scrawled on toilet walls, Announcing my return, Heralding a new age of chaos, A turning away from false peace. And now... I am no longer the jester, The clown, the fool, the fallen man, I am dead. And you are alive in the inferno. Cool, cool death, Waiting for the warm European kiss, European female's wiles, Webs...  Read More
Dec. 13, 2015 9:45 pm
Missing In Inaction; Bagpipes are heard once again. No one can know. Empathy goes only a short distance, before it becomes glib theorising in the wrong hands ie those of the amateur psychological sleuth. No harm or danger to anyone who does, but it is a truism. A doctor who hands you a pat diagnosis and then leaves you dangling, Yank psychobabble, comparing domestic violence to combat stress...  Read More
Dec. 13, 2015 9:44 pm
GLASGOW, GLASGOW: THE RENAISSANCE, THE CITY OF TWINS, OF BINARIES. INTRO: The Way Back From The Wreckage, The Lies and The Cant. The Exile returns. I stood outside McKinnon's Bar. Anticipating an 8.30am pint of the ruby red stout, so beloved. I had a huge Hungarian army greatcoat and a buff on my nut. I was happy, but slightly empty. I had no partner, no real direction, other than the music...  Read More
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