One of my favorite bands is the Damned. There’s something about that late 70’s punk sound that, well, for lack of a better phrase, could make you sprint two miles on a treadmill without breaking a sweat. Tonight I decided to actually go out, but looking at how much weight I’ve put on, I could probably use an hour on the treadmill.
I’ll be honest, I am not really a club person. Some bars a okay. Seedy, dive bars, sure. I’m more of a homebody but it’s my friend’s birthday and he wants to take his black ass out to a goth club.
So. Yeah. But I have something special that I wrote a few weeks back and I guess now is just as good a time as any to post. It doesn’t have a name yet but it shows potential for a short story. Enjoy
Salvation in a syllable. Perpetuity wrapped in a novel came in the mail today. Some kind of lonesome way of looking for grace. Under the convenient hand that strangles my name. Can’t leave the house because I’m too afraid to face the shame. I pour me a glass of bourbon, settle into my depressive state. Loneliness isn’t quite so bad in this alternate reality. I stopped to think this as I opened Crowley’s The Book of the Law. It was 8 am but as the book opened, the night flooded my room, creaking sounds emanated through my room and a chill fell on my shoulders. I had opened the universe while sitting on my bed. I was petrified.