• Incredulous with rage he screamed soothing sentiments into my ear-holes. They layered as sediments in the swampy thoughts of a hazed wasp. I believe you not to be entirely genuine in your affection. But somewhere deep the hope remains that I can one day pretend a credibility to your delusions at lust.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, clasp 6 years, 7 months ago

    Grinding pestle to mortar, into a powdered grasp, these rocks become pebbles, these goals become tasks.
    each hour spent wasting is gone, but the days continue, wandered

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, anchor 6 years, 8 months ago

    All you were given was a conclusion, no process I guess. There was no anchorage, just a floating perfection made of [something unknown], using [materials unknown]. We rejected this framed perfection. With no clue of how to create one of our own we questioned if it was even this that we wanted. We answered with truth, imperfections that we had…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, smudge 6 years, 8 months ago

    Their names were Smudge and Pebbles and they were bunnies. It was all very exciting with adventures and fun. One day they went on two adventures, then three adventures, then four. Soon enough their adventures were going on adventures of their own. In the end there were altogether too many adventures. Smudge and Pebbles ran out of pocket money and…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, tornado 6 years, 8 months ago

    Our father cried at the television. It was like when he shouted at it, but this time it was the tears, rather than the words, that I was too young to understand. I saw only excitement. Energy. Fun. I saw swimming at the local leisure centre with the wave machines. I saw life where there was none. Actors in Hollywood movies. Thankfully blinkered by…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, calamity 6 years, 8 months ago

    The man they call Jayne…

  • Two lost children stare at roses. Thinking nothing of their briars. Syncopated heartbeats skittering. Into each other, into silence.

  • One forgotten truth at a time. Theres a body left listening. Hearing false whispers. Blinking empty and decayed.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, boots 6 years, 8 months ago

    If you were to dance in the boots of a dead man, you would dance poorly, for the dead man’s boots would not adequately fit your own feet, no matter how worn in they may be. At best you may be able to perform a poor approximation of the charleston, but in a graveyard such as this, on a night as wet at tonight, on a grave so recently disturbed, it…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, covert 6 years, 8 months ago

    The overt, the explicit lie, held a truth as its shield and in doing so made a bitter cry at fortitude. There was never a falseness, just a truth present implicitly as such, a truth that hid itself in unmediated presentation.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, withered 6 years, 9 months ago

    You withered to a groin and wept with wonder. I slept curled around your teeth, a radical posture in motion. The dampness of shadowlight swam to you, into your bones as reflections. I lit a fireplace and fell into it with surrender of you, we embered into the guttering as dust. You withered away to nothing, I was nothing before you and away from…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, lamb 6 years, 9 months ago

    Hawk a lamb by falling at it from the sky there. go on, you’ll not be getting a chance like this another again this soon is all so now to take this would well you should please for its moving away and we hunger for the taste of seeing you attempt. no badness if it be a failure but a succeeding, well, to be viewing of a one of that then we would be…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, weakling 6 years, 9 months ago

    The signal to noise ratio meant nothing not but also. It was all noise. or noise was the signal, all signed and signifying in a guttural confab. He glutted a dose of metal static, the steel wool scratching of an unshaven philosophy. Thoughts changelings, they spluttered between concepts, weakening with each flexed fluctuation musculature…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, instill 6 years, 9 months ago

    All are winners and all shall have prizes. Except you, no prizes for your efforts. This will instill a sense of hopelessness into your work which will put you in good stead for the future. From which we will except you. No future for you. This will instill a sense of hopelessness in others when they hear of your demise which will put them in good…[Read more]

  • You do a line of code from the cracked black of a hardback book and laugh at the cobwebs; parallelograms glistening with dewey decimal drops. The minutes start compilating. As bubbles rise in carbonated bloodstreams your pupils splutter in bandwidth adjustment. They blink the code of obligatory primes then meet mine half way hollow.
    I pour…[Read more]

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, knock 6 years, 9 months ago

    The grave read Valentina Teàrlag: Born 23rd February 1923; Died 21st February 1923. People applauded with tears in their eyes. I was up next reading a piece based around ironic variations of a classic knock knock joke.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, bleeding 6 years, 9 months ago

    All the colours were bleeding into all the others, the humidity was tearing her eyes, or wetting the ink, who knows, either way it was beautiful. Then confusing. Then worrying. Three days in and smells started to occur with every change of pitch, the water changed color, it boiled upon touch. Her fingertips tingled with the magnetic fields of plug…[Read more]

  • It is said that man is born into trouble and the sparks fly upwards. Similarly, in England boy is born into puddles and will splish splosh quite happily for upwards of half an hour if provided with suitable wellies. Weather defines.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, grasped 6 years, 9 months ago

    58 minutes later, sat cross-legged and crying, she whispering the phrase “– —– – —- — —” for the final time, rose to her feet and bowed a single balletic movement. Smiling finally she skipped out of the room through the corridor and into the light, panda eyes glistening.

  • Chris Glynn commented on the post, think 6 years, 10 months ago

    When you say “I’ll stop dancing on the shattered bones of baby birds” it meant nothing because you continue to dance on the shattered baby birds bones even now. Those are my baby bird bones you’re dancing on, I shattered them for you, we shattered them together, but they are my shattered baby bird bones and say no more dancing.