Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
A Prelude As sea monsters of legend, they share an unbreakable bond. Thinking as one, feminine strength has been mortifying for flesh and bone men who quiver, petrified of the merest mention of these maritime females. Mighty gods, brave sailors, even the likes of Odysseus, they have challenged, rising above Read more
*Opening of a short story entitled ‘Camille’ focusing on a perceived vampire of the Victorian era, Camille Monfort. Men flock to me as hungry birds, ravenous for otherness, an exotic morsel to devour. I’m a unique flower, one that grows on mountaintops, cast away from all others that pale in Read more
She eyes me above water-fill lines brimming with confidence and ruby-red smiles boasting crimson-stained cheeks, her merriment swirls by candlelit chimeras showcasing nuances of red, bookmarks of who she is. Slowly, a carmine chant rotates in her waters, vermillion-coated, dark as molasses enticing lovers to hold her crystal stem drowning Read more
A knot binds tight in a birdcage chest pulling taut like harness straps; breath falters edgily in gasps and gritty gaps struggling for free passage in staccato, high-heeled beats. Achieving lung-full, fresh, rejuvenating air: an impossibility. With the bindings, a nervousness attends surveying coldly from the sidelines; my play stutters, Read more
Austrian winters cut deep, brandishing exposed skin with bitingly cold plumes, descending from mountain tops. The only feasible way to survive a rural Austrian winter in 1820, especially the duration of its bleakest months, December to March, is to obtain a box-bed. A simple box-bed. Raised from the floor, enclosed Read more
Hiding. Always hiding. He keeps to dark corners of woodland, ghosting trees, with sharpened blades for claws. Often fractious, taking to gouging lines of discontent within woody bark, leaving imprints of dissatisfaction in his wake: macabre tattoos that speak of moroseness and an unspoken curfew. His having, and then, not Read more
For one hundred and twenty-five years, I’ve been nothing more than a watery whisper, dissipating in shifting waves, crumbling to shadowy fragments, perpetually washed upon the sandy shore. My fingers are ghosts stretching longingly and painfully back to Norway, where love was once known. Cruelly, my spirit is trapped here: entrapped Read more
A mistress at thirteen. Shocking for you – now. Not so for me – then. Juliet was only thirteen when she met, fell in love, and all too hastily, married Romeo. Perhaps that’s where life and art merge? The cloudy yet wholesome translucency of writing from experience. It isn’t a Read more