“The foundations here are solid yet, but badly placed.”

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"You will hear a raven.”

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“Something will crack.”

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"Half is Hidden, Half is Plain"

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“The foundations here are solid yet, but badly placed.” 〰️ "You will hear a raven.” 〰️ “Something will crack.” 〰️ "Half is Hidden, Half is Plain" 〰️

TALES FROM TWISTED TOWN

“And some tears hit the thirsty earth,
To help the things that grow,
While others fall like bitterness,
And splash the autumn stones”

Cover of a book titled 'Tales from Twisted Town' by Antun Scurla, featuring a staircase viewed from above with a circular window at the bottom.
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more about Twisted town

Tales From Twisted Town is a collection of poems and lyrics exploring the hidden architectures that shape human life - family, power, belief, and silence. Across eight cycles, the work moves from intimate moments to wider social structures, revealing how the stories we inherit shape the choices we make. Direct, reflective, and quietly unsettling, the collection invites readers to pause and reconsider the structures that govern ordinary life.

If something feels true but you can’t explain it,
stay there. That’s where it begins. 

  • Death and I share the same body
    His bony fingers scrabble
    Through my pockets scratching
    For tobacco.
    Death rolls his own. 

    Sometimes, he drives my car.
    Drinks too much beer.
    And runs red lights.
    Death doesn’t care about cholesterol
    Or the fragility of veins
    And AIDS would be a godsend
    If it wasn’t for the sex.

    Death’s pretty stupid.
    He can only count up to zero.
    Sometimes I see him behind our eyes
    And when I think of what might be
    I hear him snigger, rattle
    Our chest like ice. 

    Death is a poor companion
    And not deserving of gifts.
    All he gets he takes.
    (The elasticity from skin
    The enamel from teeth
    The blood from lungs
    The moisture from bones.) 

    I don’t like Death
    He’s so superior.
    One day I’ll lose
    The struggle for Death’s Body
    But there are other battles
    Left to win
    And anyway…
    Death can’t spit.

  • You can hear your momma crying
    As you’re running through the trees Summer is exploding ‘round you There’s jasmine on the breeze.
    But the season’s kind of twisted
    You don’t know what she needs It’s like she thinks its autumn
    And she’s sowing tears like seeds.

    This world is just so obvious
    All the leaves are green
    Insects dance through shafts of light
    And smash against the screens.
    And some tears hit the thirsty earth
    To help the things that grow
    While others fall like bitterness
    And splash the autumn stones.

    Summer is the season
    The season without stones
    In winter they split beneath the earth
    In spring they shine like bones.
    In autumn they lie hidden
    For harvest blades to find
    Or broken down by years of tears
    They turn to soil in time.

    And it isn’t that she doesn’t love you She just thinks she knows the way That you should live in summer Before autumn comes to stay.
    And somewhere, in some other place
    She’s wrapped inside her need Thinking that it’s autumn
    And sowing tears like seeds.

  • I will write you a letter.
    It will smell of jasmine.
    When you unfold it, it will feel like fine sand against your skin.
    The script will be dark and bold, barely legible
    Seeping slightly into its supporting fibres.

     You will read it
    Something will crack
    You will hear a raven.
    Fold it away, and put it
    Inside a shoebox, a drawer,
    Out of mind.
    Move on. 

    One day you will find it again
    And this time
    It will smell of jasmine
    It will break your heart
    Fill you with ruinous joy
    Alone…
    And then
    It will stay inside you
    Unfoldable.

“Just read Living Bomb – words for understanding people we can’t understand.” — Liseby, Traveller

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“I’ve just read Karma Devil. There is something in the way you handle tension and release that really resonates with me; it’s rare to find that balance.” — Olivier, Writer

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“Death’s Body — I loved your opening line. It’s so self-evident, and yet surprising to read.” — Mary, Teacher

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“When I read Spring Revolution yesterday, I was blown away. I’d read it before many times without really understanding it. This time, I did.” — Bernd, Musician.

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“Just read Living Bomb – words for understanding people we can’t understand.” — Liseby, Traveller 〰️ “I’ve just read Karma Devil. There is something in the way you handle tension and release that really resonates with me; it’s rare to find that balance.” — Olivier, Writer 〰️ “Death’s Body — I loved your opening line. It’s so self-evident, and yet surprising to read.” — Mary, Teacher 〰️ “When I read Spring Revolution yesterday, I was blown away. I’d read it before many times without really understanding it. This time, I did.” — Bernd, Musician. 〰️

A smiling older man with glasses and gray hair wearing a suit and carrying a backpack, engaged in conversation.
A person sitting at a small wooden table using a laptop, near a large window with wooden frames, outside trees and a street lamp are visible, a vintage wooden clock on the wall, a lamp on the table, and patterned curtains on the side.
An elderly man wearing glasses, a light blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up, and dark pants, stands outdoors in front of a lush leafy background. He is smiling and has one hand in his pocket.
A man with curly hair and glasses playing an acoustic guitar outdoors with sunlight filtering through trees in the background.