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Showing posts from October, 2010

The Resistance (short story)

This is terrible, this is like running out of gin right after the liquor store has closed up for the night. Actually it's not quite that bad, but it's easily pushing second place. Let me explain. There's an emptiness present and it's floating strategically from room to room, building up momentum and crashing against anything with blood in it. It ricochets from body to body, transferring negative energy from one person to the next, and since all of us who live here are artists, we are greatly affected by this unseen force. This is the opposite of The Muse, this is The Resistance at work and it has infiltrated our house and refuses to leave. I think it was let in sometime last week when Ben came back from Seattle. While he was up there he managed to write a 6,000 word short story that will be hailed by critics as the next best piece of fiction to come out of the west coast. Unfortunately, it will be the last thing for a long time now that he let The Resistance in. Ben

Poet Son

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poet son by Mick Tomlinson I often ponder your God. I often question the things you taught me to have faith in. I often let you down without you ever knowing it. I pretend to be a better son, but my imagination is growing thin and my heart is growing older, mother. I love you, but I've strayed so far away the trees now resemble neat tricks planted to confuse me. I write words that replace what my heart feels, I create stories that make people laugh and cry. I am your poet son, a spot on the couch where Christmas sat, a deserted dinner table. I love you, but this adult world does nothing for me, it makes me gag and tremble and yearn for something else. you raised me well, mother for I am wise beyond my years, but scared to let you down.