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Pan of the Cruising Ground
The cruising ground was surprisingly busy; a dozen or more men had prowled past me during the brief time I’d sat on the rotting log. My mind was clogged with a thick sludge of thoughts and worries, a sticky bolus of information that my brain could not process nor make sense of, its neural net already struggling to assimilate the back-log of data; ( Read more... ) -
The Old Man of the K-Hole
For the last five days, I have been taking two grams of ketamine each night. My dealer had sold out of both whizz and coke, and faced with the dreariness of a week spent overdosing on reality’s pure hit, neither diluted with amphetamine or cut with cocaine, I eagerly grabbed the K. What started as a simple dalliance fuelled by necessity had ( Read more... ) -
Together, We Tyrants Will...
I woke late today with the static roar of the afternoon storm stirring me from Diazapan’s sluggishness; outside, the ferocious onslaught of rain had filled the empty bottles of booze and overflowing ashtrays strewn upon the balcony from last night. I’d sat there entranced, gaping through the black railings at the myriad lights dancing above the ( Read more... ) -
I Live To Spite Others; I Live To Spite Myself (Continued Below)
The psychoanalyst handed me a glass of water, a look of concern at last troubling the expressionless mask she wore during each session. Leaning forward, clutching my throbbing head in my hands, I unthreaded the black skinny tie from around my neck, confused as to what had just happened. Involuntarily I shivered; it was as if a shadow had fallen ( Read more... ) -
I Live To Spite Others; I live To Spite Myself
As I left the Georgian town house that doubled as my psychoanalyst’s practice, overcome with exhaustion from the gruelling hour-long session, I had already decided where I would go to pick up cock. My appointment card fell from my pocket as I pulled out a packet of cigarettes, my lighter’s flame powerless against the violent gusts of wind dragging ( Read more... ) -
The Fascist Cunts Have Made Me Do This
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Spitting in the Face of Love
I’d seen him in a small club off Old Compton Street, his blonde hair dry and brittle from too much peroxide, which, as the spinning dance floor lights struck it with their pulsing beams, always reminded me of a field of sun-scorched corn. His narrow ribcage would jut through his tight crop top with his pierced nipples poking prominently through the ( Read more... ) -
We Hunger
The same woman that had accosted me earlier that day approached again as I headed back to my apartment, a clipboard held in her hands, and the red sash hanging across her shoulders printed with the name of a charity. Since the local hostel had closed two months ago, the streets were now brimming with fundraising do-gooders and gaggles of ( Read more... ) -
Closer
The bar was secreted down a backstreet behind a funeral parlour, out of which a suited man slowly and solemnly stepped, his shoulders sagging and his face grey as he gratefully dragged on a cigarette. With its windows blacked out, and its peeling paintwork stained with dirt, the pub looked virtually derelict; I’d been drinking here for years, and ( Read more... )
