Basement Archive Room

It's an 8 page ebook.
Well, pdf.
It's a sort of partial archive.

Basement Archive Room

Print it off, pass it along. e-mail it out to your friends.
I'd appreciate it.

There'll be more.

Goodnight.

Penultimate

So this is the beginning of the end.

I've put up a Christmas story at AllTheGhosts.

I have a New Years present planned.

The latest Noah and The Whale album is very good.
And Star Trek socks are even better.

House Arrest

Lately, I have been experimenting with other blog clients, such as tumblr, which has worked out pretty well as a sort of scrapbook.
So I've created a wordpress blog. I'm thinking of moving there as it has more of a 'website' feel. If I do, then this page will become an archive, but sort of dead at the same time.
It isn't quite finished yet, but I would appreciate anybody's input or opinion on it.

Fifty Odd Words No. 55

"So why don't we all just sit about staring at each other over mixed nuts and sherry, praying that the other nutters in the room will roll over and die to avoid the possibility we might have to actually talk to each other. Wouldn't that be fun? I think I might hate you and your Christmas."

Fifty Odd Words No. 54

When he got off the bus he stopped, then dropped and picked up an empty plastic bottle. A few metres on, he did the same, as if to put it down. He didn't. He walked on.
The woman in front of me, upright and smart, frowned as she studied him.

Fifty Odd Words No. 53

I couldn't go through with it.
"Please."
"You're too weak for this."
"It's what I want."
The truth was: I was too weak.
And then you're lips against mine; all cracked and worn. A tight, pinching grip on my shoulder.
Your eyes were fluttering.
In my head I knew. Either it was ecstasy or a death throe.

Apocalypse

I have a short story, Apocalypse, up on The Whistling Fire. It went live yesterday.

Fifty Odd Words No. 52

...And the clicking ticks of a clock.
You didn't think we'd make it, but we very nearly did. It felt like a lifetime of watches had fallen through my hands, and one of them recorded that moment.
I lost the taste of your lips.

Cassandra

There's a new post on my tumblr today, because I'm experimenting and using it as a way to jot down ideas in an attempt to formulate real ideas at a time when time itself is difficult to come by.

I've managed to lose all the nibs to my dip pen aside for one which is broken.

I'm also listening to "Who killed Amanda Palmer?" and Patti Smith. Because I can. And Amanda Palmer is awesome. And Ben Folds can produce an album. Really. Bloody. Well.

It may only be Monday, but I am looking toward Friday and half a bottle of Drambuie.

Fifty Odd Words No. 51

There is a building on one side, fenced off and wrapped in swaddling. Men in fluorescent suits busy themselves, back and forth, bent under the interminable rain. On the opposite side they raise up towers of steel and glass, grasping at a bitter sky and blocking out the light, casting my path into darkness.

Fifty Odd Words No. 50

Two men used the alley as a shelter from the sun.
"You'd think with all this shade, the city would be cooler." The first said.
Their bodies hung low in the muted light: drab without colour.
The second thumped his foot against the dumpster. "Instead the tarmac soaks it right up. "

I would like to thank my cat...

Dave Wills, known as 'Loose Cannon' to some, has nominated me for a blogger award. Thanks.



As per the rules (sort of), here are some blogs I nominate for this award, some are faithful readers, some sublime writers. Good bloggers all.

Clark Blue. He hasn't been posting all that often, but when he does... This is someone who can use language.

This Is Not An Exit. My favourite commenter, and an honest blogger.

Trouble, Thinks. A self proclaimed artist, musician, photographer, poet, saint at heart, sinner in practice (from her profile). Says everything.

wagner israel cilio iii I'm not sure how to describe this blog. Read it. That's all I'll say.

Pieces of You I think the layout of this blog is great (and the content, never forget the content).

A few creative facts about myself.
- I'm originally a creator of equations. (I studied Astronomy, Space Science and Astrophysics)
- I believe in the novella.
- I draw.
- India ink on paper, is there anything better?
- My dreams often fail me.
- I prefer few words.
- Creation is the result of destruction.

Fifty Odd Words No. 49

Half of my muscles are ready to snap, so I sit, huddled, inside of myself.
A woman further up peers over. I smile, try to appear friendly. She thinks I'm nervous.
She turns away, then her eyes flick back.
The man across from me shouts to the driver: "You gotta turn right here."

Fifty Odd Words No. 48

I had this dream. It was dark and I was pushing through a corn field, you know? The sort where the ears come right up to your chest and it’s like you’re wading through water. The moon lit up the leaves like ghosts.

And where did you go?

Nowhere, I was lost.

Fifty Odd Words No. 47

She felt, in a way, like she had been abandoned.
Left to sour.
Her arm ached from his weight and her back urged to buckle. His face though: round, peaceful (perfect), slept an unending sleep.
So she waited on, wrapping the mac tighter about them as the rain pummelled on.

Fifty Odd Words No. 46

He fell out of himself, collapsing through memories and landing face down in his worst thoughts.

He traced a bloody path through the house of things left and turned right, but felt wrong.

The waterfall he had created ran red from the top, warping what he had forsaken.

Fifty Odd Words No. 45

It is a tune playing, endlessly, in my head against which I struggle to progress in the day-to-day.

It drowns out all common noise, that situational stuff kept locked up in one's subconscious.

I used to fight, but am now a disinterested shell, trapped up in this wondrous melody I can never identify.

DREAM/ LO ST/ ART

I am going to start placing the posts that are based upon dreams here

Lost Art is a project I'm working on.

Fifty Odd Words No. 44

The bare, alien bulb swings like a thief.

“We could change the date.”

Slouched in his seat, he draws on a beer.

“But is that what we want?” Comes the reply from an eclipsed corner.

A laboured sigh.

“Neither of you understand.”

A rippled silence.

“Nor will you ever.”

Fifty Odd Words No. 43

It was bears this time, in my bedroom. I had to hide beneath the covers, hide my breath and my scent.

If I wanted to live I had to become, in effect, dead.

I could not move, could not tremble - could not fear.

But then the wet snout started its way down my spine.