Drench
He leans into the rain while his braces, hooked on one end to a door handle, hold him up. Some days he uses the ever-present rain of this place to make himself all film noir, and other times he is Michael Jackson…
Keep It Regular
He leans into the rain while his braces, hooked on one end to a door handle, hold him up. Some days he uses the ever-present rain of this place to make himself all film noir, and other times he is Michael Jackson…
You don’t expect a blade. You have been led to expect a gun. You don’t expect the strange motionless edge moving through you without pain until the action is complete. You expect a bang, and then you expect a miss. Why? Because…
The holy journey of shrapnel. He is wearing a jacket made of flak. He is drinking one of the few coffee varieties to get off planet before the coffee rust killed it. He has money. Where do you spend platinum backed standard?…
It looked like chum, all those chunks in the bath, and that was good, because that was what he intended to use it for. He had very little affection for any other creatures on this Manichean God’s septic green earth, but he…
The eye clicks and the camera sends the image to a profile build; ever tiny little thing that spins out from this one action carries your DNA with them through the space that is now tailored to turn your from a visitor…
Player One, Layer One. The Tower Looms built out of the rising pitch where sound become word became script became narrative drive, and reality was wrapped around an instruction. The room rotates around him, and the world rotates around that, the universe…
‘When did you move into this place?’ Such an obvious question – but one to which the answer seems to buckle on approach. He looks at the person like their form is merely the suggestion of shape like a star that exploded…
He’s pulling on the stitches at the seams of a piece of music he hasn’t slipped into in a good long while – he’d thought it would be like a hot soak, but this was like a fat man zipped up in…
Parability, yes – he sits there and he talks the room around his finger; his spine a handle and his head the head of a spoon; he is stirring the world. Steward, Stewart; a stewpot. What kind of meat is that? What…
How do you build a love story? You put a stack of books in the corner and then you set light to them. What books? Probably Herodotus, or maybe Shakespeare’s sonnets – something like that. No, you buy a lot of candy…