The spirit of this particular piece really speaks to the mood I’ve been experiencing lately. Please take time and visit Tara’s site. She’s a great writer and I really like her work. After reading this I really feel as if it’s time for me to stop whining and just write. Please excuse the format of this post but I couldn’t get the reblog button to work.
I’ve enjoyed reading work by Ankandas. In this particular piece, some of the things that stand out are, “a sense of uniformity blowing through an exhausted forest,” and “obliviate the curfews of your minds.”
Thank you for writing this Ankandas. I look forward to reading more of your work
My wallet looks like it belongs to a bum. Holy fuck have things been…weird.
The job is going well. I just survived a baptism of fire. Ask me what being stuck in a well hung room full of smarmy sales fuck tards is like. Not happy about the pay but the job does provide me with a semi stress free work place and plenty of free time for writing.
I finished my first sci fi horror story. Now it’s time to see about publication. Shopping my work around has been a slow, brutal process. I don’t like it. But until things change, I guess it has to be done.
This week I should have a set of poems and pics available on Amazon. I think there are more platforms to publish on besides Amazon and…
Name a few if you know of any.
Keep writing. I love the stuff I’m reading here on WordPress.
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
I just had a poem accepted by the folks over at the Literati Mafia!
They’re currently accepting submissions, if you are interested just follow the link on this post.
I was running from an ugly existence
I was digging up all sorts of novel ways to
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
It’s been a long week and I am still the writer who does not write. Watched a Lovecraft doc on YouTube tonight and I couldn’t help but compare myself to him when the narrator described how Howard didn’t work because he felt a gentleman should “be” not have to “do.” Yeah well it’s 2019 and that shit don’t get you followers/people willing to buy your books. I decided long ago to start playing the lotto when I decided to give up on making a living like any other person. Currently working on a short story about love, and the awful shit people do to each other because that’s what love makes them do. I’ll hopefully share a line or two soon as I can stop being so depressed that I am able to. Don’t hold your breath.
and as an added bonus here’s a bit of prose/something to start a story. No title
Waking up can be difficult. The indecisive nature of how I operate makes for an easily self-contained person. A science experiment in the idea of not wanting to better myself yet going through weeks were all I do is obsess over bettering myself.
Writing short stories is harder than I expected. I thought I could just take my rotten experiences and my juvenile hijinks from my life and apply them to some sort of literary coup.
The junkies in the streets fair off better than you or me, the reason is because there’s nothing in what I see that can force me to change what’s wrong with me