In the doorway of some restaurant, we share a cigarette and shield ourselves from the harsh wind that blows. In a taxi through the backstreets of an unknown city, you rest your head on my shoulder, and I squeeze your thigh while gazing out the window into the darkness that spreads in every direction. Those… Read more

  The second volume of A Journal for Damned Lovers is comprised of prose written over a twelve-month period from February 2016 to February 2017. During that period, I wrote just under 130k words that ended up on the blog. After the completion of each piece, I saved them in a folder marked ‘Project X’.… Read more

  Prisms. Forests. Eyes of autumn and mouthfuls of air that pass from my mouth to yours. Scratches and handfuls of hair and bite marks that might or might not resemble the telltale signs of the stigmata. Looking at you as these thoughts dance through my mind, my tooth hurts, so I down several beers one… Read more

  Sat looking up at the ceiling with my eyes closed, I pictured her wrapped in a dressing gown, all curled up against me on some winter morning just like any other. It made me want her again, so much so that I grabbed a piece of paper and pen and thought about all the… Read more

  There’s toast and eggs and a few cigarettes and painkillers to ease the aching of my bones, and out of one eye I see you, and out of the other, a wall splashed with grease and other such muck. There’s a spider on the ceiling, and in the dining room, a bird in a cage… Read more

  Bibles. Secretion. Lovers in flames and lovers in denial. A kiss. Kisses. Beer and cigarettes and wine and those streets that dissolve only to come back together again when you’re sleeping. And when you sleep, where do you go? When your defences are down and the universe speaks to you in the language of… Read more

  On the surface of a faraway planet the likes of which none but us will ever glimpse, I make her lie down on her belly on a bed of sand. She rests her chin on the back of her hands, and as I part her legs and spread her sex, her eyes dilate and… Read more

  You get these four-year-old prodigies that can play the piano, and I just look at them and think, you little cunts. Here I am grinding through the days trying to become a better writer, and they just sit there acting like Beethoven as if it were no big deal. They’re almost as bad as… Read more

  In dreams, I’m the man that invented the Ferris wheel. In a bubble of music and laughter on a frozen lake, she’s throwing darts at a line of balloons pinned to a wooden board, and each time one of them pops, she looks over at me so excitedly while biting her lower lip. There are fireworks… Read more

  Draw the curtains and turn out the troublesome light. Smoke a cigarette and crumble and then bloom and crumble and bloom some more. Smile at nothing and then break down with each and every laboured breath while unbuttoning your shirt and touching your breasts even though you’re miles from being in the mood. Sometimes… Read more