The rain drops are not plump, there are just more of them. My mac is wet. My jeans are wet. My bag is wet. My hand that holds my bag is wet. There really is a lot of rain falling from the sky right now. Sometimes when it rains, I...
Category - Creative Writing
Hangover Cure #24 The Sea Hangovers are evil. They eat you up from the inside out. They create shadows in your psyche just to fuck with you. They make you sad. Make you both irritating and irritable. They make you eat foods that...
I don’t remember quite when I inherited the bag of socks, just that I did. It is a big bag of socks that sits in its own section of my wardrobe. The socks were given to me by my granddad. He was forced to get rid of all of...
I am an adult. To me this is abundantly clear. The signs are everywhere for all to see. Yet I am still plagued by dilemmas not befitting an adult. Often not befitting a child either. My current dilemma is about tissues, more...
There is nothing as unsexy or as repugnant as cling film. It is perverse. Unwrapping a sandwich or a piece of fruit cake from cling film is tantamount to languidly masturbating in a fountain, in a busy public park, on a...
Swindon scenes There are fewer things I understand about this place. I walk around the town centre in my lunch break and watch families inhale Greggs’ pastries with all the power and swirling grace of a Dyson upright. I watch...
A dance of the morning bus of the sea of the broken spacebar of the wind in the trees of factory-farmed chickens pecking of teenage sex of raised voices of stinging slaps of piss on old leather shoes of the candle that guttered...
A mist rolls in across the sea, billowing and thickening around the jagged spines of off-shore rock. Two men, hunched into a crevice on the largest of these rocky outcrops, are smoking roll-up cigarettes. The bluish hue of the...
She grimaces, coquettishly, as she lies down. My bed is smaller than those in prison, the mattress thinner. Yet I have coaxed this sophisticated woman into it. I put on Dylan’s Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowland and actually suggest...
She had only bought the pig because the stain wouldn’t come out of the carpet. It was a bad stain, an ugly stain, and, in all truth, she was struggling to live with it. When anyone walked into the room, whether a man who had...