I’m usually better for my promises, and I wish I had updated earlier. In any case, it’s been busy in my corner of the world, and my forms of procrastonation cannot take the form of writing, or else, well, I’ll never stop procrastonating. So I’ll give you two old pieces of writing, and we’ll go from there.
My poetry tends to be an barrage of intense images, which is why I don’t really like writing poetry– it’s usually more about combinations of words and rhythm than it is about “stuff”.
Crimson slate wiped clear
All at once this eternity
Blazes higher and falls. Trounced.
The horizon, never ending,
Marred with deception.
Indulgent, destructive, inert deception.
Star the sky red
Swing forth like sparrows
Myriad shades of lies
Ignite the twilight
Hasten to the jade valences
The last thing to which might be clung
And turn this disillusioned fool.
The short fiction is part of a novella that I wrote. It’s the first of (I think) eight parts. It wants for a bit of research yet, but as a rough bit of writing I’m alright with it.