Tag Archives: story

Clews…

* …Kierkegaard knows only too well what is at stake here. How the mask can simultaneously both hide and reveal. Especially for those who know how to look… He chooses his psuedonyms very carefully, almost, too perfectly! Johannes-de-Silentio. ‘Silent John’. … Continue reading

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Masks of Sod

* …For those of you who have not yet realised, the preceding monographs have followed, relatively closely, the lines laid out by the Danish Philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, in his master-work, ‘Fear and Trembling’. Quite apart from his unquestionble literary genius … Continue reading

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Carnival… Stuart France

* …Face of moving water Breathing in water The water a breathing face… * Today I will speak to you For, today, we hold a race A sprint to the death Whose spirit yields to the swiftest The fleetest of … Continue reading

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Field of Sheaves: Rowan…

* …When Wen insists… I leave Wen to her circumambulations and try to focus on what little good is to be seen about the place… which amounts to Rowan Trees…a whole raft of them. They never fail to lift my … Continue reading

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Field of Sheaves: Directions…

* …But first the directions… Wen decided to ignore them completely and find the stone by way of Mr Pre-Science-Man which proved to be spectacularly successful only, of course, she did not tell me that this was her plan and … Continue reading

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Egg of the Id… Stuart France

* A story should be taken to heart And incubated Brooded upon Mulled over Savoured. * Continue reading at Stuart France

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Field of Sheaves: Finding…

* …But first to the finding, which was not easy and which though I am utterly loathe to admit it, was down to Wen. I should have known then. Turning up on my patch and finding things! Still I suppose … Continue reading

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Field of Sheaves…

* …I have a bad feeling about this place. But Wen insists, and when Wen insists… not even graphic descriptions of the steepness of the hill itself could deflect her… so here we are… half way up the climb… resting … Continue reading

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Siesta… Stuart France

* Sweating hours. Quiescence lies like a crime. * The crack of dry twigs underfoot… startles! A tumultuous green-flash of thumping rampage. Dog legs. Baboon haunches. A luminous ankh arrows away. A way out to tree-stump. To crook torso and … Continue reading

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Home Invasion ~ Anurag Bakhshi #writephoto

I could smell them long before they came in, dirty, stinky creatures all of them. “Not in my home, not in my home,” I prayed with all my might, but the almighty must have been fast asleep, for they made … Continue reading

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