

The Bloody Harlequin, Part 6People were talking, and loudly. There were ideas, so many now: disease, personal disease, a joke at the expense of us all, and the fragile girl made of glass who disbelieved - or seemed to - it all. People were loud, and talking, though the exchange of words was dissimilar from communication; it was fermenting - form from shadows and substance from half-light - replication, that was the problem; repetition though it wasn’t always was accuracy - the mimetic equivalent of a tumour, that was it, and I opened my mouth to speak, though was interrupted. The stronger vein of thought dominated, and gathered voices to it. Everything that’s outsThe Bloody Harlequin, Part 6


The Bloody Harlequin, Part 5“We need to talk.” Chloe nodded assent, roused from a dream of sleep, red-rimmed with eyes like bruise flowers. Something had been troubling her, and it wasn't the unfolding of petals, nor the thought of the stem forcing its way into the ache. No, she'd been distant, more so than usual, not the displacement of mind from an active body, but a misstep of even that - limbs coordinated with a time not kept by the rest of her, and she slumbered so: it had to be the harlequin; he was draining, in all the everyday things - I was pouring water on the carpet earlier when I thought it to be soil, and had to remind myself of the texture andThe Bloody Harlequin, Part 5


The Bloody Harlequin, Part 4“There are people outside,” the rumour had started, and it wasn’t by me, I felt certain: for although I was going to speak to Chloe about it, I was in several minds and had yet to do so. I’d spend my time sleeping a little less, and making full use of the extra hour of wakefulness to be as alert as possible - they were there, I was sure of it. People, people, and they were the only things I’d see who weren’t as the enemy, who I could still only make out through the nail holes. There were less of those now, and more wall to belt their garden, so if King wished a bolt-hole made, it had to be soon. Other people in the house, and there were at leThe Bloody Harlequin, Part 4


The Bloody Harlequin, Part 3As good a start as any, I’d opted to introduce myself as having seen her from a shortened distance, a sprawl of hair turned sideways and taking the back of her head in a tangle of soft brown, knotted tightly with beads and faded ribbon. This was her, lying on her bedroll, and as was custom with those who slept in communal rooms, they didn’t wish to open their eyes and see another staring back at them, thus she’d moved to the corner opposite mine: flush against a bed raised above the distance of human width, and whose occupant slept with his head at the other end. She’d turn into this alcove, and all the room behind her would breathe sporadicaThe Bloody Harlequin, Part 3
Bloom

Black PoolsConsumed by the dark, Dotted with innocence, Captured by first night starts, Slowly becomes still, Black pools where eyes first lingered, Catching the dying light, By day returned and illuminate, Still pulse flowing, Giving path to his untold, Piece by piece, story told, His sandman, puppet master, Darting in his ever glowing eyes, Hush, Hush, In a place of oneness, Unaware of patient, Holding cresting hand, Flickering light, given to me, In a single circle, Both represented by our Effortless, Breathing night time air,  Black Pools


My ReflectionRemember my image then pull it apart, Twisted, unclear yet tantalizing,My Reflection
I stare, she beholds, empty in promise, It owns imperfections, it magnifies greed, Showing my memories, Unforgotten, haunting the lines on my cheek, My hollow eyes are drawn back inside, Stained with unshed tears representing the years,
Empty, un-enchanting, Then forgotten with a blink,
The spiteful smile curled at the edge, Tasting and savouring the feel of cold, An explosion of poison etched in the skin, Distant reflection, mirrored, shows two, Disappointed fate is mapped
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"Science demands something else--that we shall transmit to posterity a less perishable inheritance." --Alfred Newton
My aquarium Blog ----> [link]
{ I am going to read Indefinite Mayflies, but things like school trips keep distracting me }
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"Paranoia is the mother of invention." Anita Blake 'The Executioner'
Happiness is like peeing your pants. Everyone can see it but only you can feel the warmth
And I hope simply to pay homage. [link]
Yep, DA, another internet site to be addicted to!!
NP on the comment on bohemian rhapsody, its a very strong piece
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