Poetry, short fiction, or ramblings written long ago on the back pages of old notebooks and textbooks.
I leave the church, and I wander for a time through the chaos and the fire. The world that I knew, that I remember, is gone, like years had passed while I was still within, where time remains still, while the world moves ever onward, onto a hazy red rapture, always steady, never slowing, eating…
It’s not the moon that brings the Sunday night blues, It’s not the stars that bare these old scars. Keep me from falling asleep, ‘cause I don’t know what comes after, And keep the light on so I see, for I fear the night might swallow me. Oh baby, don’t leave my sight. Speak softly,…
INTRO: The past year, and in fairness, all the years before, have not offered me much in the way of satisfaction when it came to writing stories. Ideas I had plenty of, but motivation and competence were a different matter altogether. I have completed a few stories, and of those, I can count on two…
PREFACE: This story is another one of those ideas that I have finally decided to give up on on account of my dissipating energy to revisit old stories. It has been sitting in my drive, waiting to either be deleted or be edited, and instead of doing either, I've decided to put it up here…
INTRODUCTION: This is a story that was born out of a persisting daydream, and has evolved so much that the daydream has been lost or left behind probably after the 1000th edit. I first wrote it maybe in 2016, and it was really one of the first stories I'd ever written with all seriousness and…
Gutter Galley 