Birthday Beats — Treacle Heart

To cut a long story short: I am still 25. Brighton. Breakfast. Hailstones. Sarcophagus. Skeletons. Sunshine. Cocktails. Rain. Arcade. Football. A horrible fishcake. Nightclub. Argument. Return to London alone. Bad song. Spiral. Overdose. Hypothermia. Footsteps. Men everywhere. I’m not safe. Blackout. Ambulance. Blackout. Hospital. Blackout. Confusion. Adrenaline. Fight or flight. Flight. Try to go outside […]

Birthday Beats — Treacle Heart

Legacy of Brutality

I’ve been reading Treacle for a little while now and what I admire the most is the jagged play with imagery. It’s hard to read this and not walk away bruised or cut.

Passover was fine this year, didn’t sleep or drink too much. For the first time in a long while I’m not depressed about having to go to work tomorrow. Didn’t write much. Went and saw Hellboy (it’s good). And now I’m just looking for the last beer in the fridge as I unwind the horseshit I’ve had to put up with the last few months. Happy easter all

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Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

Transcription Beta (low confidence) “Hey you, Apologies for taking so long to return your call, I’ve been lost in America, MIA. I haven’t been able to think clearly, although maybe I’ve been thinking too clearly and that’s the problem, after all clarity is a matter of perspective. Thank goodness for humor, almost everything is funny… […]

Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

We got that loud Saturday Sunday,

I really like Mia’s work. The part about Dramamine makes me think of that song by the Sparks – Angst in my pants. I’m probably the worst about explaining the fine details of why I think a piece of art is good but Mia’s writing in this piece is something I would like to read more of.

Work has been going well, it looks like next week they are going to order me a more ergonomically efficient chair, which is like, the best ever because who wants to fuck up their spine while they’re hunched over slaving away as a typist. A typist!

Mia I hope this share does your work justice, if you think it looks funky in any way or you want me to change anything just send me a message.

Have a happy eastersss everyone

It’s called the American dream

Because you have to be asleep to believe it. That’s one of my favorite quotes from George Carlin.

Working for a local office, going on about 2 weeks, now. But I don’t seem to have much time to do more than watch tv and drink.

I stopped writing my short, sci fi/horror fiction for a minute. Writer’s constipation, again.

I can’t figure out how to maneuver the new “block” thingamajig that WordPress has going on. I wanted to insert a pic of this wicked nice beer coozie one of the Rons from my part time job gave me.

I have no poetry this week. sorry. So I’ll end with another great quote

“Time to make the donuts”

A short poem without a name

I was running from an ugly existence
I was digging up all sorts of novel ways to
modify myself
So many ways but still the same person as yesterday
Steadily moving at an absent pace
Frame of thought is dawn’s precious victim
alone, stranded in pieces
Tired of giving this curse something it can feel
Those I want. Don’t want me. And those I could give a fuck about
won’t let me be
I decided the world was a pool of piss
and the only thing I can do, is keep you at a distance
Until, I am ready to jump ship
I may gripe and moan, and if I could stop thinking about nothing
War and etiquette?
There is something that can be said for an anonymous mentality

Don’t you wish that we were dead

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.
dave-1

I ain’t scared of you mother fuckas’

Was something Bernie Mac was known for opening a set with. The last week or so I have been working on a collection of short stories. But I have also been experiencing writer’s block. Just go ahead and call me the writer who doesn’t write. However, I have been studying some of the greats…Bukowski, Lovecraft, Serling. Wong? I have stumbled across a YouTube channel that has kept me sanguine through my blues. True Crime Daily by Chris Henson/Hanson

Idk if he’s related to the Muppets guy or a god father to that god awful group from the 90’s. Either way you gotta watch it bc it currently holds my attention hostage