bloggity blog, writing

The invasion

The aliens came in ships Big hulking things Moving slowly We don't know from where But it was from afar

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bloggity blog, poetry

Yet…

I miss the way you look when you are staring at something you love The awe in your eyes The gentle curve of an alomst-smile on your lips Your brow smooth, worryless. Me: Sally You: Jack I miss your gentle touch The way you gather me up in your arms... Me: a dandelion seed You:… Continue reading Yet…

bloggity blog, writing

I need your help/advice

I cannot decide which novel to concentrate on. I literally write a paragraph of one then change my mind and switch. Please, cyberfam, advise me on which novel I should put my efforts into. Epic fantasy series, dark, piratey, demi-gods and goddesses, strange portals that cross over to our world, backstabbing, people getting stabbed in… Continue reading I need your help/advice

Art, bloggity blog, writing

Does art have to say something?

As I return to my pour table this week after our many travels, I have found myself asking myself "but what does this piece say?" My art normally says nothing unless my medium is words, because I choose not to use living subjects. But this is of course not what I fucking mean, is it? What I mean is "what am I trying to say?"

bloggity blog, writing

The danger of undeserved power

The books I've read have always explained blood as smelling "coppery" or "metallic." They're not wrong, but they're not right either. Yes. I could detect that old-penny tang in the air, but there were other things too. They never mention the rot of it. The butcher shop meatiness. The piss and shit part that will undoubtedly be there. Because if there is so much blood you can smell it, then someone is either dead or about to be. A bandaid would no longer help them. Blood doesn't just smell like loose change. I should know. I was covered in it.