low volume days
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Wednesday, May 8 at 13:00Subject: low volume days Coastal town, down south of Thailand: A young man in his late twenties is having breakfast with his father. The son holds up his phone and takes
low volume days
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Wednesday, May 8 at 13:00Subject: low volume days Coastal town, down south of Thailand: A young man in his late twenties is having breakfast with his father. The son holds up his phone and takes
like that guy
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Friday, April 19 at 10:20Subject: writing ah, but writing is such a terrible thing. Didn’t you say that once? Give it up, if you can. I tried, Flanders, because writing I was a person at
like that guy
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Friday, April 19 at 10:20Subject: writing ah, but writing is such a terrible thing. Didn’t you say that once? Give it up, if you can. I tried, Flanders, because writing I was a person at
correspondence 4.4.24
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Thursday, April 4 at 16:16Subject: smells of piss and a home to snakes G– I remember we used to write about the books we carried around with us. I thought I ought to start
correspondence 4.4.24
From: Babe <[email protected]>To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]>Date: Thursday, April 4 at 16:16Subject: smells of piss and a home to snakes G– I remember we used to write about the books we carried around with us. I thought I ought to start
all that remains is the smell of orange
Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by geoff mcfetridge She counts the chairs in our dining room, one, two, three, four, five, six. She points to each chair as if unconvinced, her brow furrowed in concern. She circles the dining table…
all that remains is the smell of orange
Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by geoff mcfetridge She counts the chairs in our dining room, one, two, three, four, five, six. She points to each chair as if unconvinced, her brow furrowed in concern. She circles the dining table…
“all I want in life is to be eaten by a tiger”
Originally posted on sarahgoodreau:
a man wrestled a tiger and won. over a post match glass of sherry the man confessed he had wanted to lose. “all I want in life is to be eaten by a tiger”, he said.
“all I want in life is to be eaten by a tiger”
Originally posted on sarahgoodreau:
a man wrestled a tiger and won. over a post match glass of sherry the man confessed he had wanted to lose. “all I want in life is to be eaten by a tiger”, he said.
what did the maid think when she found broken glass in the rubbish?
What was she thinking when she came in this morning to find the knives gone? Did she notice they were not in their usual spot on the marble kitchen counter next to the coffee maker? She probably came across them
what did the maid think when she found broken glass in the rubbish?
What was she thinking when she came in this morning to find the knives gone? Did she notice they were not in their usual spot on the marble kitchen counter next to the coffee maker? She probably came across them
saturn return
The inconvenient thing about rebirth is the lack of space. There’s a mess of tangled legs behind my rib cage– the old me that’s no longer funny, no longer charming without a gin and tonic in hand, and one or
saturn return
The inconvenient thing about rebirth is the lack of space. There’s a mess of tangled legs behind my rib cage– the old me that’s no longer funny, no longer charming without a gin and tonic in hand, and one or
correspondence 9.9.16
It is ten o’clock where I am, at a cafe, on an island down south, where a Thai cook is watching television, having already prepared my breakfast. It is low season, and in the course of the day, I am the only one he will see.
correspondence 9.9.16
It is ten o’clock where I am, at a cafe, on an island down south, where a Thai cook is watching television, having already prepared my breakfast. It is low season, and in the course of the day, I am the only one he will see.
it takes half an hour to get home
She slides her feet forward so her scarred limbs stretch between the legs of standing passengers.
it takes half an hour to get home
She slides her feet forward so her scarred limbs stretch between the legs of standing passengers.
don’t forget the alcohol
if the next forty years
are anything like the last
chop off my son’s fingers
don’t forget the alcohol
if the next forty years
are anything like the last
chop off my son’s fingers
it’s rude, still you can’t help staring at their funny shapes and feel relief
art by Roger Weiss as seen on Slippery Edge.
it’s rude, still you can’t help staring at their funny shapes and feel relief
art by Roger Weiss as seen on Slippery Edge.
at 6am on June 21
rain early morning
i’m flying over potholes
chasing after you.
correspondence 17.6.16
From: Babe <[email protected]> To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]> Date: Friday, June 17, 2016 at 9:39 AM Subject: the way the rain smells Dear G I’ve been waiting for the rains to come since early May. The locals say that this was
correspondence 17.6.16
From: Babe <[email protected]> To: Gordon Flanders <[email protected]> Date: Friday, June 17, 2016 at 9:39 AM Subject: the way the rain smells Dear G I’ve been waiting for the rains to come since early May. The locals say that this was
dead things
Dead Things: My flash fiction piece for the week on Hijacked Amygdala. Proceed with caution.
dead things
Dead Things: My flash fiction piece for the week on Hijacked Amygdala. Proceed with caution.
listentothebabe 