Comments Posted By story

Displaying 1 To 22 Of 22 Comments

iron

Grey metal flashing across fabric. Tired, crumpled clothing becoming new, pristine. Hours and hours spent, pressing the hot metal across sheets, trousers, shirts. The badge of the invisible. Grey metal, flashing across fabric. Dreams dancing in droplets of steam, uncaptured. Ironing, proving you’re part of a secret club; people nodding approvingly; but who is going to iron out your own sense of identity which lies crumpled in a heap somewhere deep inside of you?

» Posted By story On 10.20.2016 @ 3:01 pm

coarse

The rough-hewn seat of my longing; a swirling mass of coarse fibres drowning in an ocean. I am drowning.

“I miss you” I mouth in the darkness, but the night betrays nothing of what you are doing or where you are. Neither does it transport you by my side in my dreams. It simply stretches out into an endless night of infinite possibilities; none within reach.

» Posted By story On 07.29.2014 @ 4:02 pm

blurry

Fading between the lines, moments passing, time in a hurry, seconds dancing, life is blurry

– – a strange, strange song that echoes inside your body, a song that has long-burrowed its way into your heart, an old friend that you have not seen for years with eyes that are as old as the stars themselves, burning with secrets.

» Posted By story On 07.24.2014 @ 7:39 am

delighted

The calico cat licked his paw and rubbed his whiskers as he crouched, silhouetted against the sky as it steadily crept from twilight to dusk bringing with it a deep sense of mystery and spiritual nourishment that perhaps only the feline population could read and understand perfectly.

He loved this time of night, the sheer magic of it that you could feel from whiskers to paw. Sometimes it was a subtle magic, like the time he became lost and a single gold leaf fell from the sky to point the way home. Another time it was more potent, like the time his very being dissolved and he crossed a luminous threshold into another realm created entirely from spiders’ webs. He delighted in this magic; wished that humans knew of it, but they seemed too caught up in what seemed superficial concerns. (He could have perhaps blamed this on the Industrial Revolution, or mankind’s interpretation of seemingly mechanistic Cartesian duality – although Descartes had even come up with an elegant theory that said animal spirits could interact with humans via the pineal gland – but when did you ever read about that?!) But really, the Calico cat privately thought that actually you could lay some of the blame at Thomas Edison’s feet with the invention of the light bulb (that and the fact mankind was already losing its spiritual footing). The artificial, electric light seemed ruthlessly clinical in a negation of Mystery, an erosion of shadows that carried with them footsteps of panther, or the flicker of moths wings. A decaying of old ways and truths that humans used to just somehow know. Just like cats did.

And what did bleedin’ Edison do? Go and distract those pesky humans from the whisperings of the universe; got them thinking magic wasn’t real. He yawned loudly and scratched his ear.

The call of the night was now too great as the stars and the moon became bright overhead, and the calico cat felt, as always, an inexorable sense that his home was not on this planet but instead nestled deep within the canopy of stars above. At this he wandered off to become enveloped by the night; an occasional deep-throated meow the only identifying feature for the unwary.

» Posted By story On 07.16.2014 @ 5:17 pm

–Updated version! for ‘delighted’– :)

The calico cat licked his paw and rubbed his whiskers as he crouched, silhouetted against the sky as it steadily crept from twilight to dusk bringing with it a deep sense of mystery and spiritual nourishment that perhaps only the feline population could read and understand perfectly.

He loved this time of night, the sheer magic of it that you could feel from whiskers to paw. Sometimes it was a subtle magic, like the time he became lost and a single gold leaf fell from the sky to point the way home. Another time it was more potent, like the time his very being dissolved and he crossed a luminous threshold into another realm created entirely from spiders’ webs. He delighted in this magic; wished that humans knew of it, but they seemed too caught up in what seemed superficial concerns. (He could have perhaps blamed this on the Industrial Revolution, or mankind’s interpretation of seemingly mechanistic Cartesian duality – although Descartes had even come up with an elegant theory that said animal spirits could interact with humans via the pineal gland – but when did you ever read about that?!) But really, the Calico cat privately thought that actually you could lay some of the blame at Thomas Edison’s feet with the invention of the light bulb (that and the fact mankind was already losing its spiritual footing). The artificial, electric light seemed ruthlessly clinical in a negation of Mystery, an erosion of shadows that carried with them footsteps of panther, or the flicker of moths wings. A decaying of old ways and truths that humans used to just somehow know. Just like cats did.

And what did bleedin’ Edison do? Go and distract those pesky humans from the whisperings of the universe; got them thinking magic wasn’t real. He yawned loudly and scratched his ear.

The call of the night was now too great as the stars and the moon became bright overhead, and the calico cat felt, as always, an inexorable sense that his home was not on this planet but instead nestled deep within the canopy of stars above. At this he wandered off and became enveloped into the night; an occasional deep-throated meow the only identifying feature for the unwary.

» Posted By story On 07.16.2014 @ 5:03 pm

The calico cat licked his paw and rubbed his whiskers as he crouched, intently watching the sky as it crept from twilight to dusk, becoming as it did so, loaded with a deep sense of mystery that perhaps only the feline population could read and understand perfectly.

He loved this time of night, the sheer magic of it. Sometimes it was a subtle magic, like the time a single gold leaf fell from the sky, simply to point the way home. Another time it was more potent, like the mysterious stranger who told the cat of some of the mysteries of the universe, or the time his very being dissolved and he crossed a luminous threshold into another realm, created entirely from spiders’ webs. He delighted in this mystery; wished that humans knew of it, but they seemed too caught up in what seemed superficial concerns. He could have perhaps blamed this on the Industrial Revolution, or a mankind’s common interpretations of seemingly mechanistic Cartesian duality – although Descartes had even come up with an elegant theory that said animal spirits could interact with humans via the pineal gland – but when did you ever read about that?! But really, the Calico cat concluded that a good place to start could be with Thomas Edison and the invention of the light bulb – that really put a few nails in the coffin for Mystery – for how could you see and sense the magic in the night sky when dazzled by artificial light? At that the calico cat felt, as always, an inexorable pull deep within; a sense that his home was not on this planet but instead nestled deep within the canopy of stars above. At this, he ambled off, disappearing into the darkness completely.

» Posted By story On 07.16.2014 @ 3:53 pm

The calico cat blinked slowly in the darkness; surrounded by twilight in howling skies. He was waiting for the magic to start. It usually took around an hour or two of night to drop before it revealed itself. And it never tired of revealing itself in myriad ways, from the banal to the utterly, draw-dropping. He never ceased to be delighted with the results. One time, the magic was simply revealed as a single gold leaf that spiraled slowly out of the sky. The leaf landed solemnly at his feet, pointing the way home, glinting in the semi-dark. Another time, a mysterious stranger revealed to him many mysteries of the universe, before vanishing at his feet. Strange, he thought, that humans never tapped into this ever-present source of insight – caught up as they were in a world he had never properly understood, involving celebrity and empty junk that glittered but, upon closer inspection, crumbled into dust. And at this, he stretched, purred, and sauntered into the night, blending with his surroundings completely.

» Posted By story On 07.15.2014 @ 4:49 pm

frazzled

Madame K’s culpability knew no bounds. She was guilty – plain and simple. She had been in the room with Madame H, had stirred the lethal mixture and poured it without remorse, into her whisky. smiling as she administered it. Just the thought of it now gave her the vapours; feeling frazzled she took to her bed, unsmiling as she stared up at the ceiling, imagined herself behind bars for a life sentence – if they did not hang her! Even now she was not certain of why she had committed the crime – although it had taken several weeks to orchestrate the perfect circumstances so as to cover her tracks as much as possible – what had her reasoning been? At the time it had felt so… necessary. She searched for fragments of memory to help guide her. But the memories which had seemed so important at the time teased her by dancing on the fringes of her imagination. The reasoning seemed limited, ridiculous. And now, haunted by her own thoughts, she felt that in order to cleanse her soul she would have to turn herself in. There was no other choice.

» Posted By story On 07.14.2014 @ 3:54 pm

vocal

“Exploring the nature of reality isn’t easy” – Detective John Constable was chewing on a sandwich, watching the rain exploring the windowpane in a contemplative downward trajectory, through eyes that had already seen the best and the worst of humanity. “I was just saying this yesterday to Captain Scarlet, when, well. You know.”
Manley Hall did know all too well. They had been sitting in the car, much like today, and it was as though the everyday world around them dissolved into tiny fragments. Behind this lay the night sky, a vast sea of stars. Yet instead of the expected static nature to this, this scene had felt more alive, more vibrant, than anything he had experienced. Tears poured down his cheeks as he was filled with the greatest love he had ever known, and beings he had never seen before danced before him, just playing for the sheer bloody hell of it. He was home. Trying to vocalise this seemed crude – as though his tongue, his thoughts of his means of expression, were as a blunt hammer trying to extract the sweetest diamond from the most fragile rose.
And now they were back, in the same car, in the same world, doing the same job. Why had they , a couple of normal policemen, been gifted with such a vision? It didn’t stop that drunk over there from drinking until he could stand no more, but slump to the ground, a twisted, painful vision of his childhood self. It didn’t stop anything at all. And he already felt the gorgeous memory begin – ever so slightly – to fade, like a ship in twilight.
What of reality, indeed?

» Posted By story On 07.07.2014 @ 1:25 pm

routine

Waking up I pull myself out of bed and rub my eyes. Slowly I drag myself to the bathroom and take a freezing cold shower to wake myself up. Once I finish my shower and dry off I put on my school uniform and throw my books and binders into my disheveled backpack. This is my school morning routine.

» Posted By story On 10.26.2013 @ 11:16 am

overcooked

The chocolate chip cookie’s bottom and edges looked dark and crispy. Not the usual golden brown glowing color, but a thin piece of darkness.

» Posted By story On 10.25.2013 @ 6:16 pm

calling

I feel — hear — a calling of Spirit. Sometimes in whispers which wash over me in gentle waves. Sometimes in shrieks which tear into whatever it is I’m doing and urge me to run for solace amid green hills, woods, vast plains.

It’s not something that most people understand, and words alone can never do justice to what I’m experiencing. I get met with blank looks, puzzled wrinkling of brows or just a dismissive wave of a hand. It’s a tug inside, it’s primal; a hunger for the sublime. Perhaps akin to the maternal urge which takes hold every now and again, a strange echo of something deeper, wilder. I feel it anywhere and everywhere, but mostly in music. Something is beckoning me to a place I know is Home — I just don’t know how to get there yet. I pray one day, my life will take me there. It has to.

» Posted By story On 05.20.2012 @ 4:24 pm

drifting

Drifting, floating, whirling, spinning – snowflakes falling towards the ground where their unique shapes coalesce in one sparkling array of whiteness. Under the sea of uniformity lie millions of fragile temples; each a meditation on beauty and impermanence, and each an intricate wonder to behold, existing for no-one or no-thing but for the joy of simply being.

» Posted By story On 03.27.2012 @ 10:24 am

exquisite

exquisite like a mist’s light embrace of morning fields, or a stretching cat, soft paws waving lazily in the air. Or the stirring of dreams within your heart, pure and fragile and fierce and untainted with reality. Hold tightly onto those dreams. Life is shorter than any of us ever realize. Where do dreams go when we die? Do they find another host? Do we dream dreams or do they find us?

» Posted By story On 03.24.2012 @ 5:44 pm

stacks

I have stacks of things to do tomorrow… She smiled wanly, exasperated, having written yet another To-Do list. She’d forgotten something important, she just knew it. And it was the most important thing! Tears welled up, blurring her vision. *What was it….* The phone rang, she ignored it, continued to write laboriously, only to stop after filling the page written in her neat, painstaking hand, embellished with dramatic curlicues that seemed to almost dance right off the page, impatiently trying to lead her towards remembering… Remembering…

“I’m afraid there’s no improvement”, sighed the Doctor. “She still writes her lists, one after the other, tormented by thinking there is one important thing she has forgotten. We’ve tried therapy. She remains locked in her desperate struggle”. He sighed, rubbed his eyes. “5 years.” He looked at them searchingly. “Following our email, had you managed to think of anything perhaps you’d missed, when you cast your minds back to that day, 24th November 2006. She would have been 23…” he tailed off, looking at the blank and strained faces before him. They collectively shook their heads, as they heard yet another sheet of paper crumple into a small heap and drop into the waste paper basket, another tiny ray of hope, dashed. “One day, she’ll remember,” said her sister, firmly. “We refuse to give up hope. She held his gaze. One day she will remember us.”

» Posted By story On 10.10.2011 @ 4:11 pm

morality

All morality within our framework of society, is subjective. It’s deemed OK to kill in the name of war, but not OK to kill outside of that. As long as we collective think the end justifies the means, we can’t say we have a moral high-ground. I think for an overarching framework of morality the answers lie within, with a deeper understanding of spirituality, and the still small voice that tells you something isn’t OK even though your friends or society are telling you it’s fine.

» Posted By story On 10.05.2011 @ 5:51 am

edge

The edge of a crevasse; yawning blackness. The edge of life, dancing with possibilities. The edge of a sharp blade; oblivion. The Edge from U2, awesomeness. The edge of existence; what lies beyond?

» Posted By story On 10.03.2011 @ 8:39 am

dense

Dense entanglement of a forest, tramping through bracken, ivy, and fallen branches, all seeming to conspire to keep you in the woods just a little bit longer as they wrap themselves around your feet with every step. Leaves range from deep green to a pale, autumnal, orange, and shiny rich mahogany conkers are scattered underfoot; they look like rich, deep red, jewels.

» Posted By story On 09.28.2011 @ 7:12 pm

preoccupied

…preoccupied with reading fragments of disembodied text floating free in cyberspace… little snippets of humanity from people I will never meet jostling for attention within an airless and sterile world.

» Posted By story On 09.25.2011 @ 10:33 am

convinced

I’m convinved if I don’t keep writing I might fall into the white void laid out before me. The vastness of possibility is bathed in the glare of the screen. A multiplicity of voices clamours to be heard before ebbing away, my own voice drowns within them.

» Posted By story On 09.23.2011 @ 7:19 pm

couch

soft leather embrace, coffee and cream, low level hum of cafe noise. one person’s doing a crossword, someone else arranging a holiday. i feel peaceful, watching the world go by. watching everyone else arrange their lives moment by moment. wondering if i will go back outside to start living mine.

» Posted By story On 09.21.2011 @ 5:04 pm

trophy

I don’t want to write about a trophy. Maybe because trophies are usually associated with sporting events, and I’m not sporty. Maybe because they encourage unfavourable comparison with a past long-gone, a misty-eyed longing for a younger, better, version of yourself.

» Posted By story On 07.18.2011 @ 6:08 pm

«« Back To Stats Page