Categories: Feature Articles, Tags: alleyway, Castrati, castration, Children trapped in mens bodies, choir boys, dark, Feature article, fun, Januaray Free Choice, non-fiction, opera, sarcasm kills the vibe, singing in the dark, the 1800s were a fun time, the wonderful catholic church, tools, voices of angels, Weird
Categories: poems, Tags: back pains, Bow View Manor, burn, fire, firefighter, Larry A, poem
Categories: Uncategorized, Tags: Arien Van Weesenbeck, bass drum, beginner, Buddy Rich, cymbals, Danny Carey, drums, ear listening, Free choice December, keep the beat, Music, Neil Peart, non-fiction, percussionist, rock, sheet reading, Sheila E, snare, speed, Stewart Copeland, sticks, toms, Viola Smith, weird time signatures
Percussionist vs Drummer
All percussionist are drummers but not all drummers are percussionists. A percussionist is someone who can play both a drum kit and percussion instruments, they are more in the big band/orchestra scene.(they have to know over 40 different instruments including piano, xylophone, Cajun, the triangle etc etc) In this piece I will use the term “drummer “to refer to anyone who plays a drum kit.
Categories: poems
Yesterday was one of those nights
you know
the ones where you can’t drink a single drop of sleep because
surprise! the drink me bottle’s empty. Again.
(oops! my bad. I must have drunk too much last night)
Yesterday night I lay
eyes closed, breathing slowed
the control room to my mind empty for the night.
I prepare to step through the arched doorway to Dreamland
Before (that is) the ground gives way
Shadowy hands yank and claw me
down
down
down the white rabbit’s hole
Categories: fiction, short stories, Tags: Civistine, clones, dark, Free choice October, girl, island, nostalgia, short story, time and space, trapped, TwoFace, wierd
All communication was blocked between the research team and the rest of the world when the curtain of fog appeared as quickly as it had disappeared over the Island called Civistine. People were now left unknowing, rescue teams were sent, most never returned. But the few that did went mad, describing tall tales of faces in the ground and a waterfall of liquid silver that made you mad with laughter. All the government could do was establish military bases around the island and monitor it 24/7. Continue reading →
Categories: Feature Articles, Tags: 2000's, 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, alternative, blues, British invasion, classic rock, dark, garage, history, Metal, non-fiction, nostalgia, peace love and rock n roll, Prog rock, punk, r&b, symphonic, time
Its been some 35+ years since rock came bursting out of nowhere, stealing the hearts and minds of many by blending already exsisting genres into something big, bold and beautiful but also spawning the very foundation for future music to come, everything from pop to metal. Join on the nostalgic ride and put on your rose tinted glasses as we travel back in time to experience rock throughout the decades.
Categories: fiction, short stories, Tags: alien, Civistine, clones, dark, fog, girl, humming, innocence, island, Part 1, September free choice, time and space, TwoFace, Weird
Thanks to losscross for the beginning
It was known as the Island. The Island under the fog. There lives the unknown and everyone wants to know. People come from all over, trying to get past the wall of fog. Some simple disappeared never to be seen again, others came back broken in ways no one could understand but none could get any closer. Until one day the fog cleared as fast as it had appeared, and scientists scrambled towards the Island they called… Cevistine.
Categories: fiction, poems, Tags: bridge, dreamers, madness, May poem, river, time and space, Weird
Down by the river
a bridge, connecting the land to its water into one body
Made from rainy day concrete
With two hobbit hole, one for the begin and one for the end,
like open doors silently beckoning you
into realms unknown
I watch, perched on smooth stepping stones invisible to the world except for the birds in the sky or
the furry four legged creatures amongst the tress,
These humans cross the bridg
e; walk holding hands, gazing dreamily at the rushing river or biking,
impatiently zipping in and around people going to slow
Categories: poems, Tags: Bow View Manor, childhood, Elizabeth, England, Music, non-fiction, Piano, Yorkshire
Piano discovered you,
Bound you up in it’s sweet tangled ribbons of melody;
(The keys timed with your steps)
The white keys,
(For the snowy wool in the mills of your childhood)
The black keys,
(For the muddied streets of London where adulthood greeted you)
Finally shedding the navy blue uniform,
For the intangible silks of music.
You said you loved classical music
(Beethoven’s sprawling genius)
And so you passed the melody on
To younger hands
Categories: fiction, poems, Tags: buddha's hand citron, cult, dark, death, Deep in the Forest, human sacrifice, kids, May free choice, strangling fruit, Weird
“Where lies the strangling fruit that came from the hand of the sinner I shall bring forth the seeds of the dead to share with the worms that gather in the darkness . In the black water with the sun shining at midnight, those fruit shall come ripe and in the darkness of that which is golden shall split open to reveal the revelation of the fatal softness in the earth.”
There we were, hidden within the edges of the darkness
Swathed among the underbrush and dead leaves on the forest floor, our eyes glued to the circular
clearing a mere feet away,
illuminated by the full light of the midnight sun.
Hidden like us, in plain sight, a faded wood sign
entwined and nestled in a swath of twisted vines, hanging dangerously above the eerily lit clearing.
With words we knew nothing of until now; Where lies the strangling fruit…
Categories: fiction, short stories, Tags: death, Free choice April, ginger bread, girl, obsession, Weird
Oh crap, she thought to herself as the room began to spin, Its happening. Everyday at 1:35 the events of that day come back to her like the forgotten land of an immigrant. It doesn’t matter where she is or what she’s doing, she is mentally transported to her now abandoned childhood home to live out that perfect nightmare…
It was a special day, branded with a scarlet M. and sat lurking in the shadows of her consciousness, gleefully waiting for the rusted clock hands to strike 1:35.
Categories: Feature Articles, Tags: 19 century, cosplay, Feature article, gears, gears and googles, March, non-fiction, retro futuristic, science fiction, Steampunk, victorian
Imagine the motions of gears and oil turning and turning , slowly but purposefully generating a science fantasy technologically designed 19 century era hidden and buried to most of the world. it only shows it face to those who dare to take an ancient, long abandoned path. This retro futuristic world is built on technology from steam power while revolving around a strange era long forgotten. But nothing stays hidden for long and suddenly that world is dragged into the spotlight. That world is steampunk
Steampunk is a hybrid literary genre that combines historical elements with anachronistic technological features inspired by science fiction. The inspiration is derived from the Victorian era (1837-1901).
It started out as a science-fiction sub-genre in the 1970s but its fundamental inspirations go all the way back to 19th century Victorian writers, among other things.
Categories: fiction, short stories, Tags: death, Free choice February, girl, mental, Mirror, murder, nostalgia, short story, Weird
I woke with a start, my ancient heart shuttering in protest; knowing that today will be that day. The morning sunrise had simply shattered the window in my tiny room, covering every exposed surface in broken glass. My old color blind eyes staring at the faces and figures on the ceiling. The light filled room sculpted their emotionless faces with sharp lines and deep shadows. They shook their heads at me mocking me with their empty eyes and closed fists, daring me to retaliate, to get up. I glared at them in response and watching as they took in the shattered window and the orange kissed light filling the room, reflecting off the glass strewn all over the room.
Slowly, painfully I obeyed moving my old wrinkled body off the rickety metal framed bed. Grasping the wall drenched in sticky notes of every size, shape and color for support as I stumbled and limped to the bathroom. Gently closing the sliding door, I turned to the marble topped sink neatly organized with bottles of pill, lotions and various hygiene products. I took a deep breathe as the cool water tiles gently lapped at my feet and slowly turned to the pills on the counter, trying to remember which one Bessie said to take every morning. A wave of panic shot through me, now which one was it?
Categories: fiction, short stories, Tags: Aslym, Danvers Sanatorium, Deep in the Forest, Fae, Feathers, Forest, June Fiction, mental, Moon, Mother of Birds, murder, nostalgia, short story, Swan, Three girls, Water, Weird, Wings
Dedicated to Kira; A girl with a twisted mind 🙂
All was silent deep in the forest. Crystal clear water babbled in the fresh Brooke; a light breeze gently tickled and caressed leaves dipped in shades of green held high by thick gnarled branches; birds chirped good morning to one another; a soft brown faun takes a big gulp of fresh air; a single ray of light beams down on this gentle silence ; a soft thump of footsteps in the distance.
A cry, quick over here. The thumping gets louder and closer. The violent rustle of leaves ripped from their branches, the light pounding of each thumps hit the ground in unison and three figures burst through the bubble, shattering the silence like a broken mirror, its fragments still scattered on the forest floor. Baggy pants and a long shapeless shirt both once a pristine white but now ripped and smeared grey draped gently around their bodies. Danvers Sanatorium for The Mentally Unstable; Ward F threaded neatly with thin black thread, in and out and in and out.
Categories: poems, Tags: 1920's, Bow View Manor, elderly post, June and Anne, June.W, Mailman, non-fiction, pharmacy, rollerskates
Be sophisticated, Be modest. You shall not play baseball anymore! It isn’t typical young girl to be so improper! You are far from being a lady. What a spoiled girl, always getting in trouble, they gossiped. Why should one stop doing the activities they love to satisfy society? June was never known for being particularly ladylike. She saw no value in being a lady, when she could play baseball and hockey. She worked at the local drug store, reading off prescriptions. June was the kind of person that would get up at 4:30 in the morning on Mothers Day to sell daffodils. She would tell people that if you watered them they would be good until Christmas. June had a great sense of humor. Putting on roller skates to be more efficient was how June rolled; using the old noggin. She was always playing some sort of sport, and was friends with every single girl on the basketball team. With a chuckle, June reminiscences, she feels like those times were some of the most special in her life. Working with her best friend at the drugstore never got boring. June and Ann, Ann and June. two peas in a pod.
Categories: Uncategorized, Tags: A to Z, Arteries, Beating heart, Blood, dreamland, Flash fiction, funfair, future, Mall, reality, Stuck in a bathroom, veins
M ~ Mall
The sidewalk is a vein. Follow it, its grey washed color stained and faded from rain and feet and little things. Ahead people cluster in groups; they are the cholesterol creating plaque along the vein’s grey lining, causing the flow of people to clog. One by one they squeeze through, never veering from the grey . Up the hill, trees line the horizon. In the distance, the grey vein twists and turns leading to the pulsing heart; the mall. The sidewalk ends where smooth tile flooring begins. Bodies gush in and split off, letting the force people pull them to the center, the food court. Tables, some of two some of four, clumped together or sitting alone. Anything your craving, it lines the wall like soldiers ready for war. From the center pathways like veins branch out; let the flow carry you. Noise is impossible to describe; like one homogenized sound, a buzzing silence; the talking, whispering, screaming, laughing, no words can describe it. People move past, keeping the flow. The sun shines through like an open wound. The blood doesn’t mind it of course, people move along with their lives like the continuing flow of blood to the heart.
Categories: fiction, free write, short stories, Tags: 3000's, Cake, death, Dinner, dysfunctional family, dystopian, Family, Futuristic, perfection, Static, three's a charm, TV
Perfection. The one thing we as humans never had the chance to experience. The camera focuses on the man sitting upright in a straight black chair behind a small oak desk. A solid black rectangular visor covered his eyes. So we lived; our imperfect, mistake ridden, greedy, bloodthirsty, animalistic, ravenous, disgusting, vainglory, unnatural, tainted bodies lived day and night. We populated the land like a silent disease; savagely ripping big gaping holes in the environment, gross overpopulation, sickening pollution which slowly tainted the very water and nourishment supply. Until, we almost irreversibly damaged the very planet meant to protect us. He laughed a bitter, harsh laugh. The rich just got richer while the poor were pushed beyond the borders of money. The man spoke in a monotone voice, lips perfectly in sync with dead words that forcefully pushed their way out of his mouth like thick black smoke. The windows behind the man displayed pictures of a world on a path to destruction; deformed animals, overcrowded cities, chemical spills, ravaged landscapes, starving poor people. Continue reading →
