Monthly Archives: November 2012
The Peddlers Of Smut, Fragment 1
“You’re losing it, man, the poor man’s edge. The hunger goes away, I warned you,” Montez messaged me. The scrawny astronavigator hadn’t left his cabin in two days, claiming neurological breakdown. The sneaky bastard has forgotten how to read the stars. Apparently. Poor fucker. He’s been on the Ship longer than me and was now […]
A (long) poem for a prince – for the Prince of Newtown, Prince Twala
When there was nothing. When the suits and the transactions and the pin stripes were away, waiting, there were others who walked through the city gates and lit the fire, and fanned the flames and watched them carefully, to make sure any death was only temporary. And so the city lived, even when it died, […]
Dream man (I)
Charles was a pragmatist. The son of scientists who believed that knowledge was organised, had to be tested, reliable and rationally explained. He was an atheist. He didn’t dream. Well not at night in any event. Night was darkness and when that came and Charles was tired he’d close his eyes and be consumed by […]
Form & flight
There are words that are filed at night. And there are words that are not yet written every morning. Words that bring money. Words that tell stories. Words that convey ideas. And between those words there are other words. Fragile like small-beaked birds they live hungrily between pauses and dreams and deadlines waiting to be […]
periodiccomposition 
The running mother:
The Prodigal Son returns with his ad hominem to cut the umbilical with a sharp knife. The Prodigal’s mother, proud of her son’s independence, reason and fierce intellect now wonders whether she’s taught him enough about compassion. Photo – Texture by Kassel