Comments Posted By Brenton

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Joel sat in his bedroom, years passing by outside his window as he grew from a boy with a single bed to a man with a bunk.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.15.2014 @ 10:25 pm


Cascading over fallen rainforests – a volcanic flow of molten sucrose heading towards civilisation, enveloping small armies across a rough-hewn surface. Folding ever over itself, an eternal quest for dominance until the temperature cools – a balmy summer evening, insects chirping nearby hoping for salvation from this radiant stream. As time passes, what once was flowing settles into position, almost becoming rigid but like glass in a permanent state of flux, waiting for the smallest impact to shatter it into thousands of crystalline shards. To touch it would be near madness but its allure is too much; no man can resist it. It curls, beckoning for touch. It lingers in the air, twisted like a creeper slowly wrapping itself towards the sun, glowing, golden-brown and translucent. The Sun’s warmth returns the inner-fire from where it was born, imps dancing about, red costumes, pitchforks, chanting in honour of their deity. Slowly it warms, remembers what freedom was and begins to wriggle its way out of its confines, thirsting to return to the salted Earth from whence it came. Laconically it touches the ground, feels the ashen remnants of its past and slowly die; a sacrificial lamb beckoning for its inevitable end – the Sun has played a cruel game and this time has won.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.13.2014 @ 4:53 pm


Sitting stooped, hunched in a moonlit corner, the harlots and empty promises his only friends, knowing that their sympathies were feigned. He couldn’t resist the urge, throwing the bottle, watching it crack into hundreds of smaller pieces, alcohol running over every edge, dripping on to the dry pavement beneath. If this was what their sympathies brought, he didn’t want any.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.13.2014 @ 2:25 am

When sympathy isn’t real, it’s apathy.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.12.2014 @ 3:56 am


Sat stooped beneath the willow tree, ol’ Angus thumped his jug, smacked it to his lips, filthy syrup trickling down, dripping from his jowls as he drank away. Only his home remedy could get rid of the agony but they inevitably caused more, losing himself in the undergrowth.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.10.2014 @ 8:02 pm


Farmers have no wives. Only cows, sheep, maize crops – gloriously straight lines intersected blowing in the breeze. They also have scarecrows, which eerily watch them while they work, play and sleep.

» Posted By Brenton On 11.10.2014 @ 2:02 am


darkness as i left her, but it was spreading, and i was catching fire, and there was nothing i could do. the torment of my soul was commensurate with the torment of her body, but i had to leave.
i was catching fire.

» Posted By Brenton On 08.21.2011 @ 8:31 pm


smashing heads like an all-black
ramming speed like a cruiser
shedding heat like tectonic plates
all thunder could do was bruise her

» Posted By Brenton On 07.26.2011 @ 9:30 pm


i read once about a guy who was on a pay phone and it got struck by lightning. he was thrown backwards, went into cardiac arrest, and had an out of body experience. he was brought back by paramedics, and afterwards developed an obsession with classical piano. he started playing, played all the time, quit his job as a orthodontist, got divorced, all just to feed this insatiable urge to compose.

» Posted By Brenton On 07.25.2011 @ 9:12 pm


Morals matter. Morals are what define people. What defines morals, however, is much more complicated. So you could say that, if morals define people, then people define morals.

But undoubtedly it is those morals that make us who we are.

» Posted By Brenton On 06.26.2011 @ 6:12 pm


we start somewhere. we’re all going somewhere. so i think that the defining points in our life are the stations we arrive at along the way.
its those stations that we wait for, count on, need. everybody needs a goal to reach every once in a while.

» Posted By Brenton On 06.14.2011 @ 8:12 pm


Mode has a stuffiness to it that makes it sound like a chartered, planned path. My mode is determined differently everyday by the elements, the occurences and the air around me. Today’s mode is one of discovery and later to be supplanted by drunkeness.

» Posted By brenton On 04.24.2009 @ 11:23 am


I’m going to put on a clinic for those in search of brevity. That’s right it’s school time and the bell is ringing. So sit back, read and learn. Clinic also makes me think of the cool band Clinic that wears surgical gear on stage.

» Posted By brenton On 05.15.2009 @ 12:36 pm

Clinic is a fantastic band. That is where I went first. The traditional clinic has a bad connotation. Those places are supposed to be sterile, but I always feel dirty whenever I leave a clinic or hospital and my can of Sunkist orange soda smelled like a hospital yesterday. I prefer the band Clinic. Rock!

» Posted By brenton On 05.15.2009 @ 5:24 am

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