Paul Healy Soundsculptor




  littletissue of lies 



intro     statement     poem     video     music   contact

I am Paul Healy...
At this moment in time I write, make short films and produce music. I am gripped in a madness to compulsively create.
Warm blood, staining silk through lace.
Never underestimate the ignorance

of an artist.










 Light changes everything. We creep forward.

   Torn arterial flooring exposing flaws in our concentration.

 Damply stained shadowy echoes under railway arched calcified cracks. 

   A hundred years of stammered footsteps have moved towards this light.










Vertigo, with its spinning impertinence, slashed and tore

at the rubber wheeled cushion

of self deceit

Shards of steel in blueboiled oil.





















Torture combines complete humiliating exposure

with utter devastating isolation.





































































































  Gravity kicked in. Trampling me with its indelible marks.

   I was frogmarched into a tangle of trees where summer drowned the shadows. 

             Stopped them creeping to the ground. kicked




Time travel is maybe .......








































I am a feather

Caught in a spiders web

I can feel the hairy eight eyed monster

in the key of C

climbing the staves of her latticed world

 cold excitement

 prickly wit.

"You're just a bowl of cherries," she hums.

A solemn sunrise peers gently through the mist

 damp cobbles gently sweat.










































finest Peruvian honey



New friends

storm approaching from the west.


Lost in a landscape of mirrors

Brazilian journey.


Peering through a veil of ignorance.

Fine red dust is everywhere,you become the landscape, The fruits of slavery are everywhere.

Hillsides of coffee or fields of sugarcane drive the nails of pain deep.



           everything fades except pain.    

 Today I saw the strangest thing.

A huge fish with four legs

ran across the road.


a tangle of trees.





San Roque




vamos nos encontrar

no meio da rua

sem ninguem nos








   Armed and dangerous  
   Between the pages  
   In the forest of the giant monkey frog  




soundsculptor@btinternet.comPaul Healy






soundsculptor 2014