MY OLD STRAW HAT

Henri Rousseau: The Dream  MY OLD STRAW HAT (a fiction) a simmering island mass an entity where moral codes of both the uncaged, untamed vertebrates and spineless wild things long since have fallen foul of tepid fate’s unearthly indifference   cloaked saturated evergreen perspiring rooted miscreation’s of a godforsaken helter-skelter intemperate jungle uglifying the less … More MY OLD STRAW HAT

THE MEMORY COLLECTOR

Since Dawn of Time’s first chilly mists were devoured by a greedy, rampant Orange I have been collecting the apt recollections of those poor wretched souls about to lose their minds to the unforgiving void.  By preserving such memories I ensure that upon departure at least a snippet of the mort being is not lost … More THE MEMORY COLLECTOR

ONE GRAIN OF SAND

When was it? 1922? Yes, 1922, that was it, The Bahariya Oasis in the Western Desert somewhere beyond a smouldering Cairo.  Well, if the truth be told I’m not sure. I believe that was likely the year, certainly the oasis was the whereabouts.  Whatever, that hardly matters now, it was the happening that was noteworthy.  … More ONE GRAIN OF SAND

OUT OF HARMS WAY

“How does one balance the subjectivity of ethics, of incorruptibility, against the primeval, innate response to the simplicity of human touch now that he understands desire? Now that he has an appetite for more of the same?” Simple enough questions to answer were she an adept physiologist. Regrettably, she is not.  One thing is for … More OUT OF HARMS WAY

A THEATRE NAMED CEREBRUM

The zest of a lemon, a sugar-coated wafer, foul odour, euphoric aroma and the emptiness of the barren void. Unstimulating insignificance, turmoil, sudden cramps, heartache for reasons unknown and pulsating vital organs. Rough textures from smooth; smooth from rough, the pleasure that gravity affords. Heedless of the nature of sex and sexuality. Two directional manipulation … More A THEATRE NAMED CEREBRUM

ASK THE CHILDREN OF WAR

beneath a narcissistic blue moon a race empty of allusive ingenuity yet, by dint of narrated tradition perhaps only the wary Babylonians could likely fathom an explanation unravel the superfluous answer solve the conundrum of life itself sadly, wise Babylonia is no more long since buried under Assyrian sands The Book of Puzzlement with them … More ASK THE CHILDREN OF WAR