Wherein a mind is fucked. Enjoy.

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What if there was a person whose life was a Lovecraftian nightmare? What if he had a blog? Enjoy.

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Some fiction from my back stock. Enjoy.

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I was reading, and felt like sharing this fine bit from the book:

“In the time it takes a famished man to eat an apple, his short life flickered past him. Boyhood in the hills about the farm. Beating the olives off the trees with long sticks. Gathering in the grape harvest, the round black fruit as big as walnuts, a broken ecstasy in the month on hot, dust-filled days. That scent of thyme on the slopes, and the wild garlic down by the river. And the river itself – plunging into its clean bite at the end of the grimy day with his father wiping wine from his mouth on the bank, talking of oil-pressing with old Vasio. The way Zori fed the fire in the evenings, twig by twig, the barley-cakes hardening on the griddle above it and the smell filling the house.
Rictus closed his eyes for a second and gave thanks to Antimone for the memories, the sight and smell of them. He put them away in a new corner of his mind that he had found, and when his eyes opened again they were dry and cold as those of a man just back from war.”

The quote is taken from the book, ‘the Ten Thousand’, by Irish author Paul Kearney.

(written for a one word prompt on a slip of paper at my old writing group.)

 

Aluminium.

Strong but light

Not like iron

Nor even stainless steel.

 

Aluminium;

It’s the modern metal.

Should we (and could we) imagine

A world made out

Of aluminium?

 

Or would that be fooling ourselves?

Like cheating in chess and

hoping the judging computer

Won’t catch you.

(You know it will.

It’s aluminium after all).

 

Nothing can be perfect.

Or rather,

there’s a perfect we can never recreate for ourselves.

With ourselves.

From our selves.

 

We aren’t aluminium.

This is probably the first attempt at poetry I’ve made since high-school. So, for a good laugh, read it:

Running hands through my hair,
Filled with corporeal despair

This negligent corpse of a father
Lies rotting there;
Square, prone on the table;
Unrecognisable, still

This form, we share – it will be the death of us…
Curse all you want,
Conversion to the world is hard

Inane thoughts run at a thousand times velocity
Felonious behaviour will be reputed
When you stare your maker in the eye

This is the beginning of a tale of unknown quantities and freakish behavior. Click to read it.

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I did not mention this in my introduction: I’m a wordy bastard. Sure, I try not to write, but when I do manage it, I tend to write a lot. This is why you may see author’s notes at the beginning of my stories. Though I do seek brevity in these notes, I may go on and on about things that no one else finds interesting. Feel free to skip them.

This is an excerpt from a larger–and incomplete–piece that I began working on for Nanowrimo. As I am lazy and try my best to avoid writing, I have failed spectacularly in that endeavor and have somehow managed to do far worse this year than I did last year. I’ve clocked in around two thousand words over the past few weeks and most of that is pure tosh. The chance of going further is slim and is, in fact, rather close to none. It was a strong start though, at least in my opinion, and that is good enough. May actually try to continue it eventually or maybe it will be another one to throw into the “unfinished” folder.

Without further ado, because the smart folk already took my advice and skipped this part, I present to you some of my terrible writing.

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Friends, Romans, Countrymen:

I call wordpress a world, now, off in the invisible reaches of virtual spheres; suitably, contributors here shall be my countrymen. Of course that makes sense. The Romans part is questionable, though…

So, fer serious, giyz. I’m a sometimes-writer, sometimes-artist, often-student and also often-braindead, and will be a primary co-editor/admin here (along with Joseph, who will be posting as the Sootyfoot himself). I’m also trying to start up a daughter cell blog via mitosishttp://veriel.wordpress.com — where I’ll collect and share on-topic art when I find it.

 

As co-editor, I feel it is my responsibility to encourage posts. Thus I shall offer cookies. They’re good cookies.

I’ll also be contributing my own writing here, when I manage to produce some. We rely on you, though, so get over here and/or there and get to work!

 

Time was, I’d go about talking to you, the audience, in a nice, friendly manner. After all, this is my introduction to this lovely blog and first impressions are what matter. Right? Well, to hell with that.

My name is James, and I pretend to write. Mostly I spend my time finding ways to prevent myself from pretending to write and I am successful at it. I have been invited here because I tend to do a passable job when I fail at procrastination or so people tend to say. I will let you, my grand audience, have the final say in the matter.

My fiction falls across the spectrum when it comes to genre, a majority places itself firmly in Fantasy’s corner, while the rest just wander about and loiter near shopfronts. I am not family friendly. This is your first warning, there may be more to come. I’ve a set of fingers with a penchant for typing out foul words and a mind that loves disturbing material and both lend to writing that is meant for mature audiences. As it so happens, I am also fond of stories that do not end on a positive note. My stories rarely ever end happily.

That is all you really need to know, though I may have more to tell you later. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to discover this blog and read this rather terrible introduction. May you enjoy what I have to offer. If not, well…

[Expletive Deleted] off.

Hail

Welcome to our community. Enjoy your stay here, and feel free to add comments. We appreciate your opinions and shall endeavor to give you something to enjoy.

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