Pinned
In case you’re wondering, I reblog original writing so that other people can see it. That’s what I do. Sometimes my own stuff too. And sometimes pictures of foxes and semi-naked ladies. But mostly the writing thing.
Poem?
fragments, disjointed, inarticulate marionette strings cut voice static barometric pressure low eyes precipitate the same that can't meet the stranger in the mirror The Other, the one you hate, the one I hate back Is it dissociation or is there someone else The failure or the success or does it matter Either way the scorn is real The dead things inside peep out, but not dead because dead means stop and it just keeps going like repeating the word banana over and over till all meaning is lost nothing's coherent and its never what was meant or maybe it was but between lips and teeth and tongue it gets mangled something bloody and amputated stumps of thoughts strung together in vague ideas of shapes half thoughts and maybe memories mixed with tape, bound round with magnetic bias some collage of what is, or how it could have been if I was better if I was well if I wasn't this
Reblogged
One Night At The Pub...
“Saved your seat for you.”
Matt returned Jessie’s grin as he hung up his coat, shaking the raindrops from the dark wool as he put it on the third hook in, just like every Saturday evening. The pub was at its usual dull roar, fifty or so voices tumbling over and under each other as he wound his way up to the bar, settling into his favorite stool, scarred hands resting on the scarred wood. Jessie was a flurry of movement behind the bar, pulling pints, pouring out measures tumblers of this or that, loading trays, and Matt just watched her move. She finished with the last round of drinks and made her way down to his end, grabbing the brimming pint glass she’d had ready and setting it down in front of him.
“How’ve you been luv?”
“Well enough, you know how it is.”
She gave him another smile, leaning against her side of the bar, her cheeks a bright, rosy red from the heat and the business, catching her breath. She’d always teased him, saying chatting with him was her only break. They began the weekly news, how her mum still wasn’t doing so well and having to give her dad a hand, what with him just pottering aimlessly round the house with his missus up in hospital.
“He just seems so lost lately, you know? He was always one to be doing something, the kind of guy to fix whatever needed fixing, but ever since mum got sick, it’s like he just wanders, like he can’t fix this and doesn’t know what to do.”
“I know the feeling”
Matt took a deep pull, swallowed, and the chat went on, he’d had a call from his girls the other day, the eldest was starting Uni, and him and her mum couldn’t be prouder. It had been hard years since he had come back, since his ex had realized the man she’d loved had been left somewhere in an obscure patch of desert. He’d never blamed her though, they’d both just been very sad and mourned what they had and went their separate ways and done the best they could with the girls.
“You did your best luv” Jessie patted Matt’s hand, her fingers giving his a comforting squeeze. He just nodded and gave her another smile and hoped it didn’t look as bitter as it felt.
And so the night went, she’d trot off to fill more orders, their conversation ebbing and flowing between. He’d watch her, fascinated by the little crinkles around her eyes, the corners of her lips, smiling at the regulars, trading banter, laughing at bad jokes and even worse flirting. The skirt of her dress twirled around her legs as she spun between the taps, like she was dancing and he couldn’t take his eyes from her, even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t. For the year or so since he’d started coming to the pub all he’d ever done was watch, wistfully, from his end of the bar, but really, that’s all he wanted. Every day was just the thing he had to get through till Saturday night and a few hours where he didn’t feel so lonely and she was smiling.
“You look a treat tonight Jess, got a fella waiting on you tonight?” She was walking back down to his end and she gave a little twirl. The dress wasn’t her usual work attire, and neither was the touch of makeup on her eyes and lips. Her hair was a bit different too, swept up a bit at the back and not it’s usual riot of loose curls. Matt felt a small twinge of jealousy somewhere deep down and tried to play it off by taking a drink.
“Yup, and his name is ‘Toby’ and he’ll be waitin’ at the door for me, tail wagging” Jess gave a giggle, leaning toward him, close enough that he could smell a heady mix of perfume, whatever she used on her hair, and underneath the scent of sweat and skin. Matt’s mouth felt dry of a sudden and he took another long pull of dark, bitter beer. “He’s the only man for me too.”
Matt felt relief at that, then felt stupid for feeling relieved and just fumbled with his words for a moment, twiddling the half empty pint glass between is hands, the heavy bottom rattling against the bartop. He would never understand why she didn’t have the lads all at her beck and call, but at the same time he was glad she didn’t have a fella in her life. Any time he felt too guilty about that, he’d shove it down with the thought that she’d just not had much luck there in the past and was happy on her own. Maybe that was the truth too.
The night wound on, the crowd thinned out, last call was made and bills got settled. Matt was still sitting there, not wanting to move but knowing the inevitable walk back to his little flat was looming ahead of him. The staff were putting up the chairs, glancing at him and he got up to leave.
“Give is a hand luv, help me get these stools up.” Matt gave a nod, thanking Jess in his head for giving him an excuse to linger. He took his sweet time putting the barstools up, but even that task can only be stretched so far. Soon, everyone was gathering their coats, the landlord’s keys jingling eagerly in his hand as they all gathered by the door. Matt grabbed his peacoat, let it settle around his shoulders as Jess pulled her coat on, hands pulling her hair up and over the collar.
“Walk me home Matt?”
“Aye, no problem Jess”
She called her goodbyes as the little knot of people parted ways, the late night village streets gleaming with the soft drizzle that had been falling all evening. The two of them turned up the lane, side by side, his boots scraping along, her heels clocking out a swifter tattoo against the pavements to keep up with his stride. He slowed his pace and they bumped hips. She didn’t live too far off and he wanted this trip to last as long as it could. Of course, that meant he blinked and they were standing outside her little cottage.
“This is me” she smiled, her hair damp from the rain, glowing in the sodium yellow lamplight. “Thanks for taking the time, it’s not far but I do feel better with a big lad like you.”
“No worry luv, on my way and all, and what kind of gentleman could I call myself if I let you go alone?”
There was a pregnant pause, she looked back at her door, then to him, he suddenly found his boots very interesting indeed.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you next Saturday then.” There seemed to be maybe a hint of reproach in her voice, but Matt wouldn’t let himself hear it.
“Aye, I’ll be there with bells on...it’s the best part of my week” the first bit was louder, the last Matt let his voice trail off, as if admitting even this much affection might be unwanted and rebuked.
Jess turned, and he caught what he thought was a bit of a frown and his heart sank a little. He watched her up the steps, was about to turn to go himself, his steps reluctant but resigned. He was already a few steps away when he caught a faint “ughhh, stupid man!!!”
Matt turned to find Jess, hands on her hips, looking down at him from the top of her stoop, a kind of weary half smile on her lips, shaking her head slightly side to side in exasperation.
“Take me to bed Matt.”
He stood there for a moment, like a pole axed ox, blinking, a long, slow, foolish grin spreading across his face, feeling like he was back in school and awkward and slightly lost. He closed the distance between then though, muttering “don’t have to ask me twice” as he lept up the steps. The brightness of her giggle echoed into the sleepy lane and Jess turned to let them in, the two of them slipping inside and the door latching firmly behind them.
What followed was soft, and sweet, and is absolutely none of your business.
Reblogged
Once upon a time, I met a girl at a party. I had moved to Richmond Hill, a suburb kind of thing of Toronto that summer and I still didn’t really know anyone. I’d met a few people, including the girl that originally invited me to her birthday party whose name I cannot remember for the life of me and I feel bad about that. But, anyway, I kinda knew a handful of the people there, but I met Kym for the first time. She was wearing a black hockey jersey but it had the x-eyed smiley face and “Nirvana” on it in bright yellow. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we spent nearly the whole night talking just to each other. Very strangely, I don’t remember in that whole time thinking she was pretty (she was) or any of the usual little beginnings of a crush things I’d think whenever I’d meet a girl. You see, I was kind of not great with girls and I had managed to make it to seventeen without even so much as holding hands in a friendly way with a girl and while I know that’s not, like, a huge thing, it seemed so to me at the time. I’d spent a lot of time being around others in some state of couplehood for years by then and it was something I so desperately wanted for myself. But, again, weirdly, all those thoughts weren’t there this time I just...knew I really, really liked talking with her. It was a pretty good night, all in all, but the next day I went home and back to school, and as Kym and I didn’t have any classes together I just sort of...not forgot her, but just chalked it up to a one time thing and that was fine.
Reblogged
I was walking home from school with my girlfriend. That thought was just echoing around in my head as Kym and I made our way from school to my house. I’d never had that thought before. I had wanted that thought, a lot, but it was new and exciting and...scary. I’d grown up watching movies and tv shows all depicting this, being a teenager and dating and new love (which I wasn’t at all sure this was, I was so not ready to have that thought yet, but I digress) but what none of them I think ever truly depicts is the terror of it. I wasn’t expecting to be scared, but I was, if I’m being honest with myself. It was this very strange mix of euphoria and wanting to run away. I don’t remember the walk at all, except for the new kind of silence. It wasn’t a bad silence, but after I’d asked and Kym answered and it kind of became official it was like we had stepped over an imaginary line and we were meeting again for the first time and everything had changed just a little. In telling these stories, I can’t really say what Kym might have been thinking, to this day I don’t know, but I can state with the utmost confidence that my socially awkward brain was now racing. The Voice that tended to dominate my mental process seemed to be shouting “DO NOT FUCK THIS UP!” Before, I had just talked but now I was weighing every word out carefully, and very few managed to make the cut past my lips. I know we said a few things, but my brain absolutely did not record them, and in between the sparse words there were these huge gaps of silence. It wasn’t awkward though, in a weird way, it was the two of us I think marshaling our thoughts for the next verbal exchange and we were kind of content walking and just being with each other while we tried to untie our tongues. It wasn’t until we finally reached my front door that the next sort of beautiful trauma hit me. It was traumatic by the way, if trauma can in any way be a good thing. But it was, honestly, this sudden shock to the system, all of this new experience just rushing up on me and as I opened the door and we stepped through all I could think about was being in my room and...uhhhhhh...what next?!?!?!
Reblogged
Signal Boost
I always feel like my prose stuff doesn’t get the limelight on here like my poetry does, so in a rather shameful act of self-promotion, I am linking several of my reblogged short pieces in this one post, hoping to get a few more reads…that is “reads” not just “likes”…I just hope it works, ‘cause every time I promote my own stuff I feel so dirty afterwards, lol
All of this was an incredible waste of time and effort
Reblogged
WIP PAGE: The Imposter Chronicles
Genre: Urban/Dark Fantasy
Intro:
There is the world we see, the one around us, every day. It is a world of the real, the mundane, of work and bills, rules and objective fact, and we think we have a pretty good handle on things. One young woman however is going to discover that nothing, absolutely nothing, is what it seems.
Main Story:
Extra Bits, Drabbles, and Other Oddities:
This too
Reblogged
I’m going to let one cup of coffee decide…the span it takes to brew, to sit with it, watch the clouds of cream billow beneath the rich, dark brown, to drink it in, maybe have a smoke along with it…but no longer than that…I don’t think I can last any longer than that. I’m tired. Beyond tired, the weariness of this place, if not understanding anything at all, of being afraid all of the time, it pulls at the core of me, weighs me down like the out of my stomach opens up somewhere across space and time to a singularity, devouring light and time and breath and my limbs are pulling into it and I just can’t fight the event horizon any longer…I am tired of showing up, of doing my duty, of following all the fucking rules like a good boy and watching everyone fucking not and being rewarded for it, being happy, prosperous, not hurting all the time. I am tired of the silence all around me, and the need to speak, I’m tired of needing people without being needed, I’m tired of knowing the things I know, of keeping the weight of them in me. I am tired of hearing the stories of bodies spoiled and minds trapped in dark places by brutal hands and being able to do nothing for them, or against those who have sinned against them, my hands pinned down by the illusion of being a good man when I am nothing but, when I can’t look at myself in the mirror and I fucking hate the bastard staring back and everything he failed to do, failed to protect, failed to act, failed to live so that there nothing left but silence and regrets and all the faces of all the people I’ve hurt. I’m tired of feeling the pain of my own sins and all the pain of those who have been sinned against and not having any better or clearer reasons for it outside of “I don’t like Mondays” because any other explanation makes just as much sense, is just as arbitrary…I am tired of the words “deserve” and “justice” and “truth”, of all the make believe things we’ve come up with to make it seem like there is any sense to this life other than the pain we can inflict on one another, without consequence…I am tired and I don’t want to fucking be here anymore and I am going to take the span of one cup of coffee to see if I will be or not. One way or another, I’ll let you know which way it goes.
Reblogged
I’m going to let one cup of coffee decide…the span it takes to brew, to sit with it, watch the clouds of cream billow beneath the rich, dark brown, to drink it in, maybe have a smoke along with it…but no longer than that…I don’t think I can last any longer than that. I’m tired. Beyond tired, the weariness of this place, if not understanding anything at all, of being afraid all of the time, it pulls at the core of me, weighs me down like the out of my stomach opens up somewhere across space and time to a singularity, devouring light and time and breath and my limbs are pulling into it and I just can’t fight the event horizon any longer…I am tired of showing up, of doing my duty, of following all the fucking rules like a good boy and watching everyone fucking not and being rewarded for it, being happy, prosperous, not hurting all the time. I am tired of the silence all around me, and the need to speak, I’m tired of needing people without being needed, I’m tired of knowing the things I know, of keeping the weight of them in me. I am tired of hearing the stories of bodies spoiled and minds trapped in dark places by brutal hands and being able to do nothing for them, or against those who have sinned against them, my hands pinned down by the illusion of being a good man when I am nothing but, when I can’t look at myself in the mirror and I fucking hate the bastard staring back and everything he failed to do, failed to protect, failed to act, failed to live so that there nothing left but silence and regrets and all the faces of all the people I’ve hurt. I’m tired of feeling the pain of my own sins and all the pain of those who have been sinned against and not having any better or clearer reasons for it outside of “I don’t like Mondays” because any other explanation makes just as much sense, is just as arbitrary…I am tired of the words “deserve” and “justice” and “truth”, of all the make believe things we’ve come up with to make it seem like there is any sense to this life other than the pain we can inflict on one another, without consequence…I am tired and I don’t want to fucking be here anymore and I am going to take the span of one cup of coffee to see if I will be or not. One way or another, I’ll let you know which way it goes.
I’m going to let one cup of coffee decide…the span it takes to brew, to sit with it, watch the clouds of cream billow beneath the rich, dark brown, to drink it in, maybe have a smoke along with it…but no longer than that…I don’t think I can last any longer than that. I’m tired. Beyond tired, the weariness of this place, if not understanding anything at all, of being afraid all of the time, it pulls at the core of me, weighs me down like the out of my stomach opens up somewhere across space and time to a singularity, devouring light and time and breath and my limbs are pulling into it and I just can’t fight the event horizon any longer…I am tired of showing up, of doing my duty, of following all the fucking rules like a good boy and watching everyone fucking not and being rewarded for it, being happy, prosperous, not hurting all the time. I am tired of the silence all around me, and the need to speak, I’m tired of needing people without being needed, I’m tired of knowing the things I know, of keeping the weight of them in me. I am tired of hearing the stories of bodies spoiled and minds trapped in dark places by brutal hands and being able to do nothing for them, or against those who have sinned against them, my hands pinned down by the illusion of being a good man when I am nothing but, when I can’t look at myself in the mirror and I fucking hate the bastard staring back and everything he failed to do, failed to protect, failed to act, failed to live so that there nothing left but silence and regrets and all the faces of all the people I’ve hurt. I’m tired of feeling the pain of my own sins and all the pain of those who have been sinned against and not having any better or clearer reasons for it outside of “I don’t like Mondays” because any other explanation makes just as much sense, is just as arbitrary…I am tired of the words “deserve” and “justice” and “truth”, of all the make believe things we’ve come up with to make it seem like there is any sense to this life other than the pain we can inflict on one another, without consequence…I am tired and I don’t want to fucking be here anymore and I am going to take the span of one cup of coffee to see if I will be or not. One way or another, I’ll let you know which way it goes.
Long Day
“And I’m so terrified of no one else but meI’m here all the timeI won’t go away” I lost it, what I was going to say, two seconds is all it took, everything just slips away…I don’t remember…faces, they twist and slip and slide behind my eyes, even the ones that just were in front of me, they change and I can’t hold them…there is just the moment I am in, nothing before and nothing after and I…
Reblogged
WIP PAGE: The Imposter Chronicles
Genre: Urban/Dark Fantasy
Intro:
There is the world we see, the one around us, every day. It is a world of the real, the mundane, of work and bills, rules and objective fact, and we think we have a pretty good handle on things. One young woman however is going to discover that nothing, absolutely nothing, is what it seems.
Main Story:
Extra Bits, Drabbles, and Other Oddities:
This too
Reblogged
Signal Boost
I always feel like my prose stuff doesn’t get the limelight on here like my poetry does, so in a rather shameful act of self-promotion, I am linking several of my reblogged short pieces in this one post, hoping to get a few more reads…that is “reads” not just “likes”…I just hope it works, ‘cause every time I promote my own stuff I feel so dirty afterwards, lol
All of this was an incredible waste of time and effort
Reblogged
WIP PAGE: The Imposter Chronicles
Genre: Urban/Dark Fantasy
Intro:
There is the world we see, the one around us, every day. It is a world of the real, the mundane, of work and bills, rules and objective fact, and we think we have a pretty good handle on things. One young woman however is going to discover that nothing, absolutely nothing, is what it seems.
Main Story:
Extra Bits, Drabbles, and Other Oddities:
This too
Reblogged
Signal Boost
I always feel like my prose stuff doesn’t get the limelight on here like my poetry does, so in a rather shameful act of self-promotion, I am linking several of my reblogged short pieces in this one post, hoping to get a few more reads…that is “reads” not just “likes”…I just hope it works, ‘cause every time I promote my own stuff I feel so dirty afterwards, lol
All of this was an incredible waste of time and effort