This is getting close to a mile stone. I’ll tell you about in around four weeks time!
I’ve got an admission to make. There is a reason I thought of this posting but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. I’m sure it was a submission.
Continue reading “Week 142 – Inner Dialogue, Naked Neighbours And Being Assertive”
I stare into the fire, tendrils of heat swirling around my face.
It is the first time I will do this. I had anticipated growing inherent wisdom, like that of the elders, but here I am at a ripe age and still rendered witless by the task ahead of me. Adulthood is a farce.
For seven-ninety-nine a month they’ll rent you back your memories so that you don’t have to struggle to make new ones. I’d bought one of the first gen A.R. projectors. It ran interiors at four-K but had difficulty properly rendering weather. For the most part, I overlooked its shortcomings. It ran a maximum thirty minute nostalgic rendering so whether the clouds looked 2D up there in the big blue was of little concern.
That night was still. I heard the silence of all those lost souls. I considered myself being one. I dismissed the idea very quickly and drank another gin. Straight gin was allegedly, the drink of alcoholics. Specifics for some reason outweighed quantity. The gin wasn’t really a choice, it was simply what was there.
Continue reading “Going Through The Motions by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.”
The good professor eyed my dessert. He’d been quiet up to then, waiting for his order. He and his lady friend were delighted when their cold tomato soup arrived. Then he pointed to my wife’s plum and apple crumple and expressed interest. I noticed how he eyed my wife’s tits, too.
A spirit was upon the land and within the house and only one person was aware of it. Gunter Garth was connected with that spirit right from the first notice, drew it to him, set it on his soul, knowing the visitation was other-worldly. had its own destiny .. and only Time could play a part in two beings so enjoined.
Eastern B.C.; nestled in the heart of the thick-treed Kootenays; a small, mountain town; winters cause hands to callous, to bleed.
Twenty minutes from town there is a small log home. A child and a lycanthrope live there. She is small, ashen, could disappear into the snow if it weren’t for her dark hair. They once lived with a woman, too. The woman didn’t know what the little girl knows, that the man they lived with turned into something uglier and beastlier when the white moon grew fat.
My wife never got over watching the second tower of the World Trade Center crumble to the ground from our apartment on the twenty-first floor on West 43rd Street in Manhattan. Nor did she ever get over the loss of her friends in Ladder Company No. 1 down the block. Each time we walked past the firehouse and saw the purple bunting draped across the garage bay we relived September 11th all over again.
That’s another week in folks, they are flying by! Week 140 is now upon us.
It’s weird where I get inspiration to bore the be-Jesus out of you all. (Is that how you spell that word? And should ‘be’ not be capitalised as it is part of Jesus Our Lord and concept or should I say con??)
Continue reading “Week 140 – Double Standards, Method Acting And ‘Do You Want To See Some Puppies?’”
