Saturday, August 22, 2020

Untitled (22 Aug 2020)

When the darkness comes and the light fails, when we're all standing on the edge of the cliff that we've been threatening to jump off of, with all the protests and the promises... do you think I won't jump?

You always ask me if all my friends jumped off a bridge, would I jump too?

Well, let me ask you something. Do I make friends lightly? I have a dozen steps between stranger and lover and you can be damn sure every last step is road-tested to keep me safe. If someone makes it all the way to friendship for me, they've run a gauntlet containing more trials than boot camp.

If I call someone a friend, and they tell me to jump, that bridge can kiss my ass goodbye. You go through all that shit just for kicks? No. If I call you a friend, and you tell me to do something serious, you tell me there's no time to explain, I've got your back.

You went through hell just to become someone I could depend on, someone I could turn to when the going gets tough. You can be damn sure I'm going to pay back every second that you spent wondering if all the effort was worth it just to get close to me.

I may hide behind a screen and words. I may sit in this chair and write proclamations nobody ever reads. I may not be a mover or a shaker. But if you call me, if you need me, if everything has gone to hell...

I'll bring whatever rain I can get my hands on.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

just for a moment

Mature Content Warning
This piece contains mature themes, but no actual erotica.

Nature always wears the colors of the spirit.
 - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I knew these woods. Only in recent months had I taken to exploring them from the outside, from the river that traverses them, but never before had I seen, in the deepest and darkest paths, a lithe figure following and watching me.

I can recall countless days commuting down these trails. I can see too many nights I spent sitting in the darkness, at the lowest of my lows, hoping to meet something there that would either end me or inspire me to continue on. Nothing ever found me except one pair of wary, golden, canine eyes.

Not until this night.

It wasn't strictly night yet, for evening was still meandering its way into dusk with no particular rush when I saw a slim body slip between the trees. I was still on my way upstream, paddling like a jogger on a treadmill, warming up for the moment when I knew I would hit my limit.

The woods where I first saw her were still fairly tame, rife with the infections of civilisation that I mostly avoided on the river. But as the trees grew thicker and wilder, she grew bolder. I reached an eddy in the river where I often paused to stretch and catch my breath, and she came out and stood on a small lea before me.

There, the water was mere inches, and I could see clearly patterns in the mud that the current drew, though I know not the depth of the mud. She spun in a shy pirouette as I drifted closer, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't human.

Her clothing did nothing to conceal her figure, but rather drew the eye to the shape and the mound. she hid her face behind her hands and hair, but her eyes bore into mine with a sense of timeless defiance and weariness, as if the encroachment of humanity had taken more toll on her health than the turning of many, many seasons.

My kayak drifted, slowly closing to land, but still driven by the current. Without my intervention, I knew, in five minutes or so, if I did nothing, I would be pushed back out into the main current of the river, where I would either have to return to my exercise or drift back downstream.

I watched her. She watched me.

Then, with deliberate slowness, I reached for the drybag behind me and pulled out a length of rope.


She drew swirls on my chest as we laid on the soft hillock. My body was spent after she rode me without hesitation, all shyness evaporating as my clothes were shucked from my skin. I wasn't quite sure where my shirt had gotten to, but my pants lay somewhere between me and my kayak, which was anchored to my right ankle.

Fireflies began to dance around us, and she sighed in resignation. I smiled, kissed her nose, and then her lips, one last time in a lingering goodbye, my eyes closing as I let everything but the feeling of her against me go, and when I opened them she was gone.

As beautiful and tender as our short time together was, I knew I would probably never see her or her like again, but that was probably for the best. I sighed, dressed as much as I could, and let the current pull me back downstream.

Friday, July 24, 2020

Townscape & Write: Early Beginnings (Text)

Full videoTimelapse
Trevor was the first to arrive. He was the lighthouse keeper, so it was only fitting. The builders had left everything dark, which rather ruins to point of having a beacon to guide people home. Before he settled in, carrying his meager possessions in from his boat, a small thing, to his new cottage, he looked over the generators, set them spinning, and switched on the lights.

Charlie came while Trevor was still trucking his luggage from the dock. Charlie would be their stevedore, and while the boat he came on was rather larger, it wasn't his. Charlie piled all his belongings at the end of the dock, waved goodbye to the boat as it trundled away again, and accepted a helping hand loading his gear onto a couple of the carts he'd brought along. Charlie was moving in to the first cottage, a small purple thing right next to the dock. But instead of settling in, he dumped his luggage just inside the doorway, and returned to the dock, awaiting the next people to arrive.

Sylvia and her family had a great big bundle of luggage, as befits any mother and her children. She'd be opening a small shop on First Street, containing knickknacks for visitors and newspapers for locals. It took Charlie and Trevor two trips with a train of carts to move her luggage. They shared a knowing smile--these children would soon enough have their hands full of all the things there would be to do on the island, not the least of which was helping their mother in the shop. The toys would inevitably forgotten, even come a rainy day.

John and his husband were fishermen. They came on their own boat, which looked at first glance to be too small to provide any useful degree of food for the island, but she was stouter than she looked, trundling along the waterfront with a cough of dark smoke.

Sasha was moving into the large pink house. She would be the resident horticulturist. Her burgeoning house had two small apartments in the back. For the time being, they lay empty, though should she find an apprentice or two, their families would have convenient room and board.

The last cottage on the left would be reserved for their resident mayor and their staff, if they should ever arrive, though the day was growing dark and heavy clouds were moving in. Trevor finally settled in to his tower, while Charlie kept an eye out, sitting on his porch and whittling on a small scrap of driftwood.

Eventually, he drifted off, and slept undisturbed in the peace and the quiet of his new home.


Thursday, May 14, 2020

Untitled (14 May 2020)

Eros and Aphrodite drifted just outside Pyrgos, their gangways tying them together. Eros's low belly hung heavily from its tethers, anchored in space by gravity alone. Normally, it was the bait, but here, hanging near the port, it was resupplying the other ship.

To look at them, one would never call them twins, and though in truth they never sailed the eight winds together, they were often inseparable. While Aphrodite hid in the vastness of the sky, Eros trundled along, barely dreaming of touching the clouds. Mother and son spanned air and earth, and though one would sometimes fall, they would always rise together.

Monday, April 27, 2020


  t   g
f   o
only ever gets me hurt
but i keep doing it
keep falling...

and splat

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Wednesday, April 15, 2020


sitting on a work-club-call,
for people tired of being
second class citizens
for their sexuality.

minutes turn to
keeping it up as the days
drag on,
keeping it up as the kids
run about,
keeping it up as...

fuck you,
I'm still at the office.
I still have to be in the office.
what about me?

no, I'm a second class citizen,

and one of the few people
on the call
who's not merely
an ally.

marginalized by the marginalized.

Tuesday, April 14, 2020


working, toiling, deep in the zone,
spinning all the parts in place,
--sudden TWEAK, it's over,
left wrist is done for the day.

Monday, April 13, 2020


no time, too busy
to think, to collect, to write,
to... break the rules

If you treat the ellipses as a syllable, no rules are broken.

Saturday, April 11, 2020


.a prediction:

the tide will slow,
the curve will turn,
the flood will ease away,
and the people will breathe
a sigh of relief.

they will
shuck their skins,
toss their masks,
breach their walls,
and the virus will celebrate
for all the new
gullible victims.

:and it will be worse.

Friday, April 10, 2020


worry when home
is taken away
the stars shift
the moon feels cold
safety gives way
to loneliness
and fear

Wednesday, April 8, 2020


you can't get in, can't look out,
can't find the thing you're needing about,
all the signs and dress-up you play,
but no id beats body-lang.

worthless they called,
worthless I came,
but for being ignored,
I'm top of the game.

can't fight, can't learn,
can't drink, can't burn,
can't hack, can't lie,
can't dance, can't fly,

but I can blend into the wall
when you don't want to be seen,
aced fading away
when leaving the scene...

fanfiction for Sense8

Tuesday, April 7, 2020


baby-faced and sec-serv
takes the insult as a comp'
and watches the kids.

he be the one
they don't try to dodge,
he looks just like
their friends.

Monday, April 6, 2020


---fall asleep


hope for
two weeks
until I may
be held again

fear for
two weeks
looming overhead

hope, don't

Sunday, April 5, 2020


seconds counting down to sleep
when I suddenly realize I
haven't written today

hurry before I--- 

Saturday, April 4, 2020


shivers in the sway
wrapped tight in thunder
cold but comfortable

bladder persists.

NaPoWriMo 2020

Friday, April 3, 2020


i almost didn't work today

waking with
finger aching
toes numb
feet tingling
ankles stiff
nose bruised
ears sore

sounds to me
a mental health holiday

be more ready to work again on


NaPoWriMo 2020

Thursday, April 2, 2020


gloves on
face turned down
breathing hard through
my face mask
(thanks jamo)
any other day
people would look
at me like i was strange
but today
they look
at me with jealousy.

NaPoWriMo 2020

Wednesday, April 1, 2020


profess innocence.
play the room.
be everyone's best friends.
stab them all in the back.
hate indiscriminately.
don't fall in love.
promise to forgive.
never forget.
drink plenty of water.
eat the bar snacks.
tip your waiter

NaPoWriMo 2020

Saturday, March 28, 2020

(in the darkness)

Mature Content

flesh brushes mine.

a sigh, soft fingertips,
palm on my chest,
step sideways
out of the water.

apply shampoo to my hair,
comb it through,
let it soak.

sponge bounces off belly,
lands on my foot.
bend carefully,
hand on wall,
head leans forward,
brushes flesh not mine,
grasp the sponge,
pick it up,
soap myself down.

a hand, again,
turn, pass it back,
back is washed.

a sigh.
soft fingertips,
step sideways
under the water.

pass a bottle,
pass a sponge,
wash the back,
trade again.

fingertips wander,
catch flesh belonging
to another,

showering in a pitch black room with someone else, sharing the water

Thursday, March 5, 2020

Untitled (5 March 2020)

"Wait, stop! You can't go in there!"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Umm, where are you going?"

"Somewhere else."

"You're not going to try to go in there anyway?"


"Oh. ...What if I say it's okay?"

"No thanks."

"Then what was the point?"

"I guess there wasn't one."

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Untitled (15 Feb 2020)

Sometimes I use color to demote different voices, but not everybody can see color changes, so when I have the freedom and available formatting to do something different, I will.

This time, I did something different. One voice always speaks at odd numbered timestamps, the other only at even numbered ones. 

Mature Content

1241> hey, I noticed from one of your posts that you may be in the [redacted] area. any interest in playing with a late-20s fit white male?

1428> depends what kind of play you're looking for.

1951> honestly, I'd go for just about anything. I'm vers. you?

1954> vers too, but presenting as ace right now. looking for platonic stuff. no sex or romance.

1957> what are you looking for?

2112> cuddling, non-sex little/big, could go for a bit of primal play even.

2113> I'm not really a little.

2115> are you?

2122> sometimes.

2123> what about right now?

2128> yes.

2129> so you want, what? hugging? spooning? being held? possibly a little wrestling?

2142> wouldn't be against having my hair played with, but yes, yes, yes.

2143> but no sex

2146> no sex. nothing against arousal or attraction, I'm just not into that kind of release right now.

2147> can we meet somewhere?

2210> neutral ground first.

2211> where?

Friday, January 31, 2020

Untitled (31 Jan 2020)

I've seen a lot of people come and go. This life isn't for everyone, you understand that?

Look, do take off your jacket, have a seat. You're in if you want to be in, but this isn't a choice you want to be hasty about. Sorry, let me get those books out of your way. Tea?

Of course you can change your mind. That's the whole point, isn't it. You don't just sit in silence and darkness, it's supposed to be meditation. You're elevating yourself. Perfection from within, or so I'm told.

Yes, I think we've had a few ascendencies. We don't really track them, you know. No point in trying to free your mind if you're chained down by paperwork. That's my job.

No, I really just keep track of the empty rooms. Look, the agency may care about your name and where you're from, but it's not something we focus on. I've never been any good with names anyway. All that matters is that I'm talking with You, and as long as You know You've got my full attention, what else does it matter what name was assigned to You before You had any say in it?


My point is, I keep track of empty rooms. When there's an empty room, or more than one, I call up the agency, tell them we have such and so many vacancies, and then they send people to me to fill them. I don't know why the rooms were empty; whether it was an ascendency or just someone who decided he didn't have it in him, and he slipped away and went back to society.

The gate is only locked from the outside, and the guard is only there to make sure no one slips in.

Sure, I suppose you could come back, but once the room is empty, it goes to the agency. If you wanted to go through everything again and come back to me, then I don't see why not. I don't really know why someone would leave only to come back again.

The world doesn't change. We change.

I just call it a room. Some people don't like the word "cell." I don't much care for it myself. Has some weighty connotations.

We have gardens. No animals though, not for eating.

Mostly self-sufficient, yes. We get a little from the state, though I don't think they get anything from us, asides from a little tourism on field days.

Once a year for the main cloister. Ten for the next, and a hundred after that.

No, I haven't. Last was a couple years before I was born. I should be so lucky to see the next one.

I honestly don't know. Maybe if you find out, you could tell me how. Maybe they have their own little agency, when they get a vacancy.

That's just old wives tales. No thousand year club. Only the hunners, the tenners, and the yearlies. I don't even know what you'd call them. Mils, maybe? Anything else?

You have until the next field day. If you're not inside the gates when they close, you lose your spot. I believe it's three days from tomorrow.

Yes, next year we get the tenners too. It's quite the day to behold. I wouldn't miss it for the world. With any luck, we'll see you there too.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020


It's really difficult to write a conversation without using names, and nigh impossible to convey different nameless voices in text. So I use color. I know it's an imperfect solution, but it's the one I've got.

Contains harsh language.

"How did we even end up with this guy? I mean, that username he uses is totally accurate! He calls himself the living embodiment of human mediocrity...damn straight. Why couldn't we have gotten a cop or a programmer or another hacker; you can never have too many hackers, that's what I always say."

"Shut up, you never say that."

"How would you know, we've known each other all of what, a few months?"

"It doesn't matter. Fate or chance gave him to us, and I can only believe there's a reason."

"You believe there's a reason for everything. You could find meaning in a bird crapping on your head."

"Just because you don't know what the meaning is doesn't mean there isn't one."

"Whatever. Do we have a way to find this Dr Visla or not?"

"We've got nothing. He's been too careful."

"Umm, may I..."

"Look, you're worthless enough as it is, can't you just keep your thoughts to yourself when your betters are talking?"

"Fifty-four, fifty-eight, thirty-seven point one. Negative one twenty-six, nine, thirty-seven point two."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Look there. Or don't."

"Oh, leave him alone, he's just doing his best. Not his fault he doesn't have any particular..."

"What the fuck..."

"What is it?"

"He's done it... you've... oh, he's gone."

"What is it?"

"We've got Visla."