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April 21, 2011


Embittered memories embrace shadows which cling to those who are waiting for the hail of fanfare. He walked into the room and saw on the table a fist, clenched tightly around a jewell he had forgotten about in times gone by when there were dragonflies which swam in deep oceans, glittering manifestations which embroiled around spoils of war, there he was because of what he was; one with the thyme and masters of stars. eat and you can’t see the world through my eyes; all things shining in darkness where light was once gleaned and torn out of the hearts and minds of villages, burnt in buildings of hope degraded, decrepit walls, aflame with the lost remembrance of futile agony, a wanton destruction which cannot let the soul ream deep into realms of fire passion sword. I did not know where the glances came from yet I feel the breath of the wind on my skin my feathers alight and lift in the breeze of humanity which was more than not capable of such great feats. Bursts of heartbreak ignite in glittering skies. 

February 01, 2011

Love, Love Will Tear Us Apart, Again.

Her eyes engulfed him in perpetual longing. He lost himself in her pupils and the transcendent turquoise which gravitated around them like the rings of saturn. Her eyes could wash away from the soul the dust from everyday life, capture the essence of dreams and name the unnameable. Exquisitely perfect, they were only comparable to her deep red lips which were now speaking the words:

-* ** *

He held her gaze in the palm of his hand.

The phone rang.


-Is this all just mumbo-jumbo.

He rose from the bed, pulling the thin white sheets with him as he did so, revealing her silk-smooth naked body. She laughed with beautiful mirth as she too jumped up and quickly rushed passed him, fractionally beating him to the bathroom. She flashed him a broad smile of magnificent happiness as she closed the door.
He raised his arms in mock frustration before realising she would not be able to see his action through the door. He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. The sun poured through the open windows through the pale and almost transparent curtains. Lines of dust particles hung in the air, reflecting and refracting the light from the glowing orb in the sky. He pulled on a pair of shorts and crossed the room to inspect the thermometer which hung beside the small mirror with the handcrafted metal pattern enclosing it.

30 Degrees

-We’ve got to go. He shouted. They’ve been waiting for us.
-Take it easy, beautiful. She replied from within the torrent of shower water. There will always be people waiting for us.

He smiled and pulled a cigarette out of the packet which lay on the dressing table. As he lit it and drew in his first breath of tobacco a disgusting wailing sound filled the room. A venomous, vehement noise designed to shatter the ear drums and remove thoughts of care from the mind. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and stamped on it as he covered his ears.
The wailing stopped. She opened the bathroom door and beheld him in her sight. He stood motionless as she called out to him.

-Bello, what is wrong?

She moved over to him and placed her hand on his stomach. He looked at her with wide eyes filled with pain. She took his hands in hers and slowly pulled them from his ears. She glanced down to his palms and realised that they were laced with blood. His eyes saw this and began to fill with tears. She pulled his face towards hers,

-ooo ooo oo


-mmm mmm mmmm mm


She hurriedly pulled her blue dress over her body and took his right hand in her left as she led him from the room.

Out of the door. Along the corridor.

Mind the-
Crash into old lady leaving her room

Carry on, she’ll be fine. probably.


Onto the street.

The crowd is bigger than usual, and they aren’t milling around like they normally do. They are pushing and surging like the incoming tide towards the west. Squeezing the space out of the street. Chickens squark and jump around their cages, abandoned by stall owners. A taxi gradually forces its way through the tumult. She leads him over to it and opens the driver’s door.

-L’hopital, silvouz plait.
-No, no lady. No taxi, no taxi.
-I’m leaving.
-I’m leaving. No no, no taxi today. Sorry madame.

Machine gun fire rattles out in the distance, it vibrates in subdued, muffled echoes, distorted by the arid dust.

The crowd panics and surges together and apart again, mimicking tuna in a threatened shoal. She pulls harder on his hand and drags him through the thickets of legs, arms, bodies and faces stricken with terror. A little boy sits with his knees pent up against his chest as he weeps in a stranger’s doorway. The sound of what she thinks is a firework whistles somewhere behind their building. Another round of gunfire, this time from the West, the crowd screams and begins to push their way back the way they were fleeing from. She grips his hand tighter and lets them be carried by the force of the crowd.
They emerge from their street into an empty space which was once packed with market stalls, swindlers, kind merchants and ignorant tourists. He begins to pull her hand backward towards the street. She turns to face him, places her other hand on his wrist and pulls him onward. As the crowd spill out behind them they disperse into crags and forgotten or lost alleyways and they are left alone in the market square.
A helicopter speeds into position above and hangs in the air as ropes extend and three figures drop down them. They hit the floor and the helicopter exits stage left. One of the figures pulls a television camera from his back as the three of them run, hunched towards where she stands with him. The media crew run past them towards the street.

His eyes are filling with red light, permeated by blotches of gold. He really needs a cigarette, or else something strong to take away this taste in his mouth. He scrunches his face and then tries to spit the overwhelming sensation from his taste buds. His tongue feels swollen with the flavour. He can feel hot blood filling his cavities and he knows it won’t stop. He’s going to choke on the blood unless he can spit it out and all the time the taste…the-taste-is-driving-him-insane-man-like-he-can’t-breath-he-can’t-feel-his-legs-his-thoughts-are-slipping-away-and-he-doesn’t-know-where-he-is-or-where-she-is-he-can’t-feel-her-hand-anymore-man-he’s-lost-her-he’s-lost-her-and-he’s-alone-and-he-doesn’t-he-doesn’t-know-what-to-do-and-the-sand-feels-nice-on-the-flesh-of-his-back-man-like-real-nice-it’s-so-comfortable-he-feels-like-he-could-just-lie-here-forever-man-with-the-warmth-of-the-sun-soaking-him-and-keeping-him-safe-he’s-enveloped-by-the-earth-he’s-part-of-it-all-like-part-of-everything-and-he’s-sinking ..slowly ..slowly sinking-into-the-ground-and-it’s-so-beautiful.

She places her arm beneath his neck and lifts him to his feet. His legs shake at first but then his eyes blink and widen and he sees her. She looks into his eyes and he feels reborn as she says.

-* ** *

She squeezes his hand and once more turns back to her task. But she doesn’t have to pull him so much now and he’s following her with ease. They reach the end of the square and she pulls him into the new street. It’s wide but there are two groups of men hiding behind stacks of sandbags with mortars, and at the other end of the street a tank is turning to face them.

And it’s as if drops of the galaxy are falling into his mind. Sensuously washing over the dirt and the sand which has been clogging his senses. It forms in pools of clarity in dark recesses which he had forgotten he had. He pulls her towards him.

-I love you.

And then the tank exploded.

February 18, 2010

Tales From Doomed Perspectives (again, serious case of first draft syndrome here – feedback please?)

Tales From Doomed Perspectives

Imagine a world where you can share the thoughts of the doomed, the damned and the soon to be dead. That world you imagine; it is my world.

Therefore I bid you welcome, and what I mean by that is; make of my world what you will. 


Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than pointing a gun in their face. 

It’s the shock. The fact that they never see it coming. That look in their eye; it’s fear. And it’s so sexy. To have that power, well, we’d give anything wouldn’t we? We pretend we wouldn’t, but we so would; we would so love to have the power God has; to take life. 

Watch them squirm. They’ll wriggle about like tortured worms. Some of them will try to beg, others will curse and damn you. But it’s all just words; they know they’ve lost all the power and they will hate you for that. It’s pitiful. 

This one is writhing about all over the place. Imploringly asking for a little humane mercy. Yet he suffers from the same affliction which has enveloped the rest of his race; ignorance.  

Ignorance; humanity is full of it. It reeks like an ungodly cesspit which has wrapped and warped itself in and around all of mankind. They may well moan and wail about “The need to end war” and “The disastrously high levels of sin in the world”, but they do nothing. They never will; for they are all sinners themselves; all of them are adulterers who have illicit affairs with whichever ideology happens to be contemporarily popular and thus cheat on whatever beliefs they once held. Because of this, the world will continue in it’s current state of turmoil, and the human race will be happily led into despotic destruction. Humankind needs to be purged of this ignorance; I am simply the purger. 

I’m going to hell for this. Don’t think I’m not aware of that.


I wonder how many of you have had the curious predicament of looking down the elongated cavernous depths of a cannon. I must admit that, thus far, it is not an experience which I am  particularly enjoying. 

It is in times like these when one would do well to remember the chain of events that brought them to such a situation. Yet it is precisely because of situations like these that it becomes nigh impossible to remember the falls and tricks of the dice that came before; when your fate is so blindingly placed before your eyes. All that becomes important is the present; the vital moments in which you may somehow be able to change the course of your apparent destiny. It is intriguing the way in which, when faced so alarmingly with one’s future, one will do almost anything to avert it. 

Perhaps I have reached the end of the line. I am helpless as they move around me like scavenging crows waiting to pick the last morsels of flesh from a stinking carcass. They prop me up, move me here and there; position me so that they can all have the best view. The peripherals of my vision have become hazy and inexact; all I am aware of is monochrome blurs.

And then I see it. A line of woodland, not too far away. It may be small, but it should be enough to provide me with some sort of hiding place; somewhere I can avoid the search parties they will send out for me. That sight is all I need. I am immediately reassured that, fortunately, I will not meet my destiny today. I have already formulated the plan. 

As one of them ignites the fuse of my deadly nemesis, I prepare myself. Just as the cannonball begins to erupt towards me; I shall fall to the ground. Then, in the chaos and confusion of cannon smoke, I will head as rapidly as possible towards those nearby trees where I will then be able to hide low for long enough to avoid being recaptured. It is simple, really. 

How could I have been so foolish to think that this could have been my end. I’m s-


Why why why do you why what why I don’t understand why you have have to do this why what are you thinking?

Just just stay calm. 

Look look I’m sorry I’m sorry please look I’m sorry I don’t I don’t understand. 

O.K. O.K.

Let me say let me let me talk please just wait and - one wait one moment - it’s just that well please let me speak let me speak let me speak to you please please please I’m begging you. I’m begging you. 

Stop please stop stop stop don’t please no it’s not that no please stop it’s easy it’s easy just stop right what you’re no you don’t need to do that please please for the love of God please stop.

I’d do anything. 

February 16, 2010

Flash Fiction piece –possibly to be in this upcoming assessment bonanza? Any n' all feedback please!

Okay so I've been having a bit of writers block when it comes to this assessment thing that's coming up. Came up with this idea today; basically one of those randoms ideas that sometimes come around. This one is sort of based on the idea of how the world would be different if the capitalist structures which basically control it at the moment weren't there any more, and it was written whilst listening to Sam Cooke's 'A Change is Gonna Come' on repeat (it's a grand song; if any of you haven't heard it I highly recommend that you buy the album/download it for free!!). Anyway any feedback you could give would be awesome - this truly is a first draft and thus highly likely to be the greatest of bollocks but if any of you have any ideas how I could change/improve it that would be absolutely spiffing! 

Cheers :D 

Here goes :-

The world is full of diamonds. 

Diamonds in the cities, diamonds in the countryside. Diamonds in your wallet, diamonds in your bank accounts. Diamonds in your washing machine, in your pillow case, in your mattress. Diamonds even in your cereal bowl. 

Like many things, they are - superficially - very pretty to look at. In fact, these diamonds are sublimely beautiful in the way they refract the light into shards and splinters of colour and simultaneously capture and hold the light within their structure; appearing to swell with gold. However, it is also a fact that these diamonds harbour a secret that, at it’s base, is perfectly evil. 

That secret is the end of the world; and it began almost two years ago with an heroic act of robbery. 

After infiltrating the Diamond Vaults buried deep beneath European mountain ranges, a group of disillusioned International financiers flooded the markets with the vault’s exquisite contents. Millions of tons of diamonds - some legitimately mined, others from conflict zones and others from Top secret diamond mines in Antarctica - became readily available to anyone and everyone for a miniscule fraction of their traditional value. Share prices in diamond companies became worthless and those businesses with stakes in these shares were on the verge of announcing bankruptcy within a matter of days. hundreds of thousands of workers became unemployed over night as their employers searched for a way to balance their books. 

Yet so many workers will not remain unemployed for an extended period of time simply to help the privileged few remain privileged. You see the workers did what all workers do in such situations; they unite. 

America, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Switzerland, Japan; they all fell - All of them - into Anarchistic revolution. In an attempt to stem the rising number of riots it was decided that the man responsible for the initial infiltration of the diamond vaults should be held to account for the chaos he had caused. 

That man was Daniel Offen, and he now sits in a cage somewhere in the Mongolian desert; being driven slowly mad by the time that grates against his soul and the sand that grinds against his naked skin. They said that he had created Hell on Earth; so they created Hell on Earth for him. 

Creating a Hell worthy of biblical publication is no easy feat. It took time. It took patience. They first brought Offen’s loved ones and relatives before him and killed them - slowly and using implements which would inflict the utmost pain -  in front of him as he was tethered to a chair. They then took him to the solitary cage they had erected in the Gobi desert. The cage had been placed within a compound ten miles in diameter so as to allow no wand ering travelers within eye sight of the lone cage or it’s occupant. At first he screamed. He bellowed and howled and beat his face against the steel bars of his prison. He asked to be recognised as a member of humanity. They only recognised the need to exact justice.

Yet a single scapegoat was never going to prevent the collapse of the old order. After the riots had subsided the streets of previously bustling cities became empty. They remain empty to this moment, and currently the only shape moving along Wall St. is a hunched figure of a man in a grey rubber suit with a single question on his lips which he murmurs in a desperately pitiful voice

“Is there anybody here who can help me, please?”

He would do well not to speak so loudly. For there is still order in this new world. It is simply not as superficial as it once was. Now, hierarchy is dictated by the organised groups which have developed. Some of these groups use force and intimidation as their source of power; others use commonly shared appreciation of Jazz music to unite in groups too large to be intimidated. And what is at the base of this structure? What does it revolve around and grow out from? 


You see Sam Cooke was wrong; a change is never going to come. 

After all, you can never have too many diamonds. 

June 2023

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