THIS IS FICTION has potential, lead in needs to be tightened up, best para is somewhere around the end. Gonna call her Mel. And its about Mephisto vs. Existential lobotomies. Not lobotomies – be conscious, this is serious stuff. I have clowns and bears. that overtake me. hmm. Clowns insert…Continue reading

CHARS are sitting here right underneath go in search for them, cut out the latin grammar, see if can translate into present tense, go in on char. Being broke was a kind of suspension, a privileged disease. Its needs so intransigent, brutal, endless. Its hunger a rage of demands that…Continue reading

Language bandied with mock cackling suffusion. Cal thought: emptiness learning how to bleed. Continue reading

Making inroads into discussion about methodology. On the phone can to can. Love the strings. Plays it again, no sooner as begins, becomes infected with beauty and reckoning. Mists of plunder wonders savage playful bold and sorry gusting plussage, sorrow & dole. Lust and bust. Victim and scold. Wonder &…Continue reading

Bridge of Signs Because to try and do so makes Pinky crazy. Even just to think about it. And she can’t control what that does, to herself or other people. Stinky is a death star. And the hatred that erupts from Pinky’s not being able to overcome its hold over…Continue reading

Whippoorwills Two words: slavery and freedom. Spark like a train whistle blowing high and stark, in dank dark treasury of Pinky’s bosom impossible with love and merit like a train beating back the wind, by powers and sorrow of love. As whistles howl long and low along the byways with…Continue reading

Suffocation Glow Weeny is high dungeon. Demons giggle with lush red posies of a magnified slow death. Pictures of girls – across walls of spacious gallery, huge dead-posed to a mystery, as tragic and murder on a sea of velvet. As sorrow and overkill. Gorgeous as hell. Crazy Mary Crazy…Continue reading

Angelic quandaries unsettle frenetic cloning for the moon in symptoms of doom. Make me into a bristling broom. I can’t stop doing it. Cant stop sweeping for nuggets. Death releases the temptations from their horror. Score transit against tip of sky. Its hard its hard its hard not to deify….Continue reading

Working draft Haute le Couer thinking of Victor de Loveleye. On a night train to see Cal in Tennessee. Falls into beautiful treachery whose desires outrange the purposes of existence. Dire flood of beauty and transgression like swallowing a heart & sword & lust of allah of jesus – angels…Continue reading

CREEPY. Life inside LuLu’s magical soul of terror. The theatrics of horror, she calls it. The whole thing glows in the dark. Its a glowing encumbrance. A rag-tag mystery coiled against quasi religious wars, a perversion of slave-trading for love and sex, forged in magic. Its unspeakable stuff, these “sacred books.”…Continue reading

Draft 1.3 Pretty Raw Peaches is up and running, engaged in it in a way that accepts its theatricality and in-dealing or something —  As access and bounty and wind, wind through the curtains. ASIDE: A BattleHard Burrow’s cozy curtained, bit stinky, cat crawling, window-covered bunker, how he mysteriously locks…Continue reading

Lugubrious & tilt-illating Living death or broke? Awash in hatred, its miracle mire – religious, bloody, sexual. Strangely empowering and devouring. Boredom rang of hopelessness, a living death. And this job, as it turned out, was drudgery. Presently, hidden away. Inside a well of seats inside a Mall. An alcove…Continue reading

“I stole the jar.” And it almost destroyed her. Left to scarecrow in the madness. An influence so life changing – it has to be viewed as holy destructive. Pure of heart, broken by life, floating down the river of love, with flowers of madness pasted sentimentally to her chest….Continue reading

first draft Shake it off, beauty is schism. There is anger and horror in her heart like flint and stones. Stop the rhythm. Yells silently, her head up, a deep breadth plodding, supposed to be cold outside, tapping scuff of boots against wall against desk, the moon is wretched, she…Continue reading

Draft 3.7  In the works N’deen Tarwater did not want to quibble with intrigues, seemingly again struck at a revolving glass threshold, that sealed the in from the out. An ever rotating bridge of sighs that sprang before her, a revolving door both effuse and capricious, a door that sang…Continue reading

Version 1.7 Come out from behind and tremble like a gun. The more thunk about, more pastiched said dementia overdetermined. Never say never. Living the dream. Getting disgusted with themselves? Hard to tell, when happy as Larry shell bathing in The Royal Hot Springs. Why I love taking mud baths with Dr….Continue reading