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journal 12/10/04

You know, quick decisions well made are the most important thing in the world. And the only way you can make them is to rely on emotion. There are...

Give me a knife

Slightly morbid this one...

Suspicion

Inspired by a true story from America. Could it happen here?
Cherry

Why Are All The Best Guys Gay?

No one of any sexual orientation was harmed during the writing of this piece, but it can easily be arranged ...

Fragments

Leaving one piece after another...

JUST ANOTHER LOVE POEM

Your smile warms my heart, It is completely beautiful. The essence in your eyes, Is like a tonic to my soul. The light that shines from you, I never...

I Know He Loves Me

True Love Will Out

The owner of the wooden hand

A poem that grew out of an observation exercise known as Frankenstein's Pocket Watch

The Day the Toaster Broke

Appliances don't laugh at you is Geoff's logic. The appliances are his only friends and he is fighting the tide of new and hi-tech technology with little success. Odd stuff - a unique idea.

Intoxicated Bliss

When love strikes, learn to hold it. You may never get it back or may be you'll have to wait for eternity.

People On The Train

A series of observations and overheard conversations of people on the train

Cold Heart Coyote

Written by a good friend about a guy with a peacock feather up his...well, yeah.

gift-wrapped

You wanted a present, a perfect story, gift-wrapped with a shiny ribbon: a beginning, a middle, an end. A resolution - the kind neatly ties things up, not the New Year's kind that is made to be broken. I couldn't find the right kind of wrapping paper. I had to make do with something too bright, too garish, with big-footed clowns walking all over it. The bow was clumsy and too big. The words I wrote on the gift tag were cliched. But worse, when I picked up the box to hand it to you I heard a rattle from inside. I knew straight away: my story, carefully crafted over so much time, was too fragile and thin, and it shattered into pieces before it got to you. I thought about putting it back together again. Then I thought about sweeping up the fragments and throwing them away in disgust. Then I sat with them spread before me, and studied them. I grew to like them. They had jagged edges, they were chipped in places, but they made me smile. So I have started to put them together to make a new story, a crooked, misshapen one. There are gaps where sometimes the pieces don't fit very well, and the light shines right through them. There is an ending, followed by an introduction, a footnote. I don't think I will wrap it when I'm finished, or tie it up with ribbon, but I will offer it to you anyway: my imperfect tale.

a heated argument

It is hot, and humid. There is a slight breeze coming through the open window; my curtains wave half-heartedly. It is dark, but the light-blue of the earlier day has not yet faded behind the rooftops; chimneys and television aerials are silhouetted against it. A car is parked opposite, in darkness except for the metal hubcaps reflecting the orange of the streetlight. The street feels claustrophobic. The terraced houses have no front gardens; cars are parked on either side of the road, half on the pavement.

Woolf's Hunt

Political Thriller with a strong female lead, first chapter of a full novel.
Cherry

The Art Of Not Being Desired

Can you continue to blame others?

Pregnant Man

It sounds fantastic, but this is a fact... somewhere in west Africa, where marine and occultic powers are real. And in this rather bizzare saga, the perpetrator, unfortunately, meets his doom.

Business as Usual

A Woman becomes obsessed with trying to figure out what her boss is thinking.

Moving On

After a difficult experience, going on...

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