Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Manifesto

  • Writing Saved My Lost Soul

    It seems that going mad was the best thing that ever happened to me. Before the breakdown of my relationship, and the mess that followed, I’d become complacent. Writing didn’t mean that much to me. Yes, I was working on a novel, but that had been reduced to wallpaper long beforehand. Whenever I tried to Read more

  • Doubt

    Do it like you mean it. Stand up like a nail, and never falter through doubt. Doubt kills like a cancer. To doubt, is to cut ones wrists. It’s to drown in the murky seas, waving like a lunatic as you desperately sink beneath the surface. If you feel it, don’t doubt it. Go ahead Read more

  • Days Of Wonder

      Nothing of any meaning comes from complacency. That’s what I told myself whilst walking around the quarry this afternoon. Just after this photo was taken, it started to piss down. So, taking refuge beneath some trees, I sat and smoked a cigarette. No art of merit is born without pain, I said. There needs Read more

  • Days Of Creation

    After finishing my shift at work today, I now have nine days off. This time last year, I was on holiday with my then lover. Years before that, I was on holiday with a pregnant lover in a log cabin. This time, it will be spent alone. In some ways it’s sad, and it makes Read more

  • Writing, Solitude, and the Need to Express Myself

    Writing gives me two things. The first is an incredible sense of freedom. The second a plateau of loneliness. You need to cut yourself off from people to write, that’s as simple as anything. But it’s not just about needing time alone to physically write, it’s about meditating- losing yourself in your head. Sometimes, I spend Read more

  • You’re Doing It Just Right

      Don’t be upset. There’s no need to feel lonely. Lay down upon your bed, and breathe in the warm air that longs to comfort you. Listen to the birds, to the traffic as it endlessly rolls past outside. Let the tears come, let all the pain in the world empty itself from your tired Read more

  • Never Be Normal, It’s A Fate Worse Than Death

    The secrets of her womb, motel walls painted vagina red. Oh, how the lovers stroll hand in hand, blind and in love. It’s nothing but a cheapened facade though. For their love is false. Born out of boredom, and swallowed up like hospital food. All those burning wheels, turning on the horizon as we fuck Read more

  • Haze

    Read more

  • The Love Of My Tired Heart

    All the lovers, desperately wanting to cling. Give in to lust, to the cheaply things that make us feel so good. Only human, only animal. All days spent bound to the chains of nature. Let it reduce, and let it seduce, you, into thinking it’s some kind of beauty. The pleasures of flesh, of being Read more