He was wine drunk and in love, again.
The wine hadn’t taken charge just yet.
The girl was still just an idea.
But, in the December downpour,
With its wind-powered organs and drizzling flutes,
He felt wine drunk and in love, again.
He’d been wrong before and sometimes
Being wrong was alright, and
These days gave in too easy to the night,
So he hid and read and wrote in his
Room’s soft light, and
He got wine drunk and fell, again,
This is a
long short sci-fi story about space and goo and loneliness and love and fathers and stuff. It has been taking up most of my writing time lately, and I’m just happy to have this first draft done. Definitely a work in progress. Enjoy and feel free to provide feedback in the comments , pretty please. – OG Soggy Boi
By AJ Tompkins
Audio log – Hospital Corpsman Antony
Assigned: UENC Giles
Joint UEN/Herrmannian Empire Expedition
Mission Statement: Rendezvous with Exploratory Drones in Asteroid Belt Z-378 for Frozen Water Stores
Entry Number: 1,031
I am recording this entry with the purpose of submitting it as an official record and as part of my case against UENC Commander Charon, CO of the UENC Giles. I will attempt to leave out no detail, and cover all the bases for this complaint.
This blog has existed for three years now, and to celebrate, here are three previously unpublished works from my most recent collection of poetry. The title of this collection is The Digging Hymns, and much like my first collection (Slump) it is unpublished, unfinished, and really just a snapshot of my writing from the age of 22 forward. If either my bodies of unloved work had to have themes, Slump is all about melodrama, angst, and being a fucking wanker. The Digging Hymns is, if anything, just more pretentious. Enjoy, and thanks for spending time with us.
You came in on a puff of insomnia
fever dream, You are my fever
sweats, eyes rolling
Locked away in a mythical trailer
amongst high Cascadia’s foggiest morning,
I’m a sucker for an entrance,
red sequin dress torn stockings holy grail,
“I’m not usually so baroque &
do you still have those pictures of Me &
I know you do.” Continue reading
This is me at my most… Masochistic. Wait, sorry that’s Kill Bill, this is me at my most honest. I’m sitting on the toilet, sweaty from working in a kitchen, contemplating the serious issue. The issue I thought too stupid to consider. What if Donald Trump does become president? What if, by simply being able to scream the loudest, the idiots win?
But this is only the tip of a far larger iceberg, a far more dangerous idea, the kind of crime that would launch one to the top of the thought police’s most wanted list. To continue reading is heresy. Let us take the tool most loved by modern society, the dichotomy, and categorize people by the most basic of assumptions. There is only two basic states of being, fear people and love people. I shall describe fear people only, and you can come to realize that love people simply means those who live without fear. To be a love person is an ideal, a challenge one must constantly strive for. Fear is a base emotion, it’s what the game of peek-a-boo runs on, it’s kept humanity going forever. So as I begin bashing on a sector people who have made fear define them, understand that having fear and belonging to fear are in fact different.
Fear people are driven by ignorance. Fear people think it actually is a small world. Fear people’s every action is prefaced with the thought “I don’t want to die”. The “I” is more important in that thought than the “die”. Fear people live in small towns and think themselves worthy targets of terrorist attacks. Fear people are solipsists, but incapable of recognizing that. Fear people are proud to replace intellectualism with barbarism. Fear people are simply those who cannot be faced with an unknown. They truly believe that that which they cannot comprehend must therefor be hostile. Their ideals are confirmed every time human life is lost, because death, being so against being able to feel fear, must be the worst possible thing. Their fear confirms each morning they are alive. Best of all, fear is easy to commercialize, and each morning fear people can wake up and confirm their fears with their morning spray-tanned botox anchorperson.
Being a fear person is not a crime. In fact, the fear people have essentially won. They exist in far greater numbers. But that doesn’t mean it is ever something to be proud of, and it certainly can’t be something a night terror is allowed to build a fucking political platform out of.
(This rant has had the misfortune of not being finished in one day, and much of the fire went out of my belly recently. I can only apologize. I will update the definition of fear person as I get into a more manic (and therefore angry) disposition.)
What’s your favorite Bill Murray?
Asked the merry sailor
Floating on the backs of souls
Awaiting embracing fire
And an end to their sinful
Aqua and grey