Comments for page "But I Still Got an Space To Fill"

(no title)

Tue, 09 Jan 2024 21:52:22 +0000

the way this twists its imagery around, paints this bleak and desolate southern united states (which you claim is some dying and morally bankrupt "rendition" but would be perfectly at home with its pointed, all-too-realistic critique in As I Lay Dying or Light in August), and then pins it up against the cosmic horror, the unknowable face of destruction and the alien, and invites the reader to ask themselves, "what's the difference, and where else could this possibly be but the heart of Georgia"

absolutely stunning, to say nothing of the craft of the writing itself, which is superb and delectable.

you demand a higher-order reading with writing like this. thank you.

morally rotted +1

(no title)

Fri, 05 Jan 2024 22:22:26 +0000

I think the derth of comments can be put down to how incredibly beautiful yet mysterious your pieces can be. You leave enough to the imagination that the awful details you explicate fill in our sense of intrigue. Excellent piece, mystery meat stew from the shadowy vender in the alley, +1.

Sundown mangroves and mobile home shingles

Tue, 02 Jan 2024 03:13:41 +0000

Written for the 'return to sender' address on the backside of an Fayetteville, GA. Howard Johnson postcard:

"People come,
people go,
some grow young,
some grow cold.
-
I woke up in between
memory and an dream.
-
What I really want to say is
there's just
one way back.
And I'll make it, yeah, my soul
will have to
wait."

⟡

~ "You Don't Know How It Feels, Sublime Ocean Man"

1994

Photograph is an edit of two pictures: (1), the tailfins of an 1959 Cadillac Series 62 and (2), an woman's face taken on B/W film.

An Yuletide 2023 gift to the wonderful MsDirection! An prose poem of runaway memories and hunting eldritch horrors down in an dying/morally bankrupt rendition of the US South (and failing, terribly). Thank you to meltedbee for crit. I had an blast writing this one, mostly vibing to 1990s music and mental fixations on vague memories of speeding down paintbrush highways and figures drinking lemon tea on the sweepback wings of single-seat fighters lined on the tarmac at sunset.