Saturday, 23 June 2018

Half-Year Book Review

So, 6 months into the year, 42 books read, of which 36 are fiction, with works from Iraq, Chile, Brazil and France among the UK & USA titles.

Here's my video from Booktube summarising the 6 months to date.

Other videos Mentioned
Philip Roth "The Great American Novel & Rana Dasgupta "Solo"
Jaroslave Kulfar "The Spaceman Of Bohemia"

Ali Smith "Autumn"

Nicola Barker "Happy"
Franz Kafka "Amerika"
Will Self
Why I won't watch film adaptations of novels
Book Covers

28 More Random Questions

Thursday, 14 June 2018

B1nary - Flash Fiction

1’m standing with the streetlamp sp0tl1ght1ng my n1ghtly catwalk str1ptease.

Bar1ng plenty t0 h00k the j0hns, c0vered up just en0ugh t0 thr0w 0ff the c0ps.

Th0ugh they kn0w us, s1nce un1quely they are fam1l1ar with our faces.

F0r the rest, n0 k1ss1ng, n0 r1mm1ng. M0uth and backd00r rema1n 0ff l1m1ts. 

Access granted s0lely t0 the pr1me 0ne 0f my zer0es. 

0nly 1n return m1nd f0r s0me 0f th0se pr1nted 0n p0und n0tes. Preferably the 0ne with the f1gure f1ve bef0re the zer0.

Step r1ght up, d0n’t be c0c0nut shy, cum 1nt0 my 0r1f1ce.

0ur mutual l0ve c0ntract, y0ur pen1s, my h0le, ten0n and m0rt1se.

Th0ugh y0ur number 0ne is t0 be encl0sed 1n a c0nd0m at all t1me.

D0uble the length, d0uble the pleasure my guarantee, 0n my h0n0ur.

And y0urs the 1 pr0m1se t0 pay sanct10ned by Her Majesty the Queen’s f1zz0g 0n th0se there bankn0tes, c01n 0f the realm. 1llegal but tender.

Her Maj the l0ne key that turns the l0ck of my chast1ty belt, p0rtal to my vaj.

Payment up fr0nt 0r 1 dr0p d0wn the p0rtcull1s 0n y0ur ard0ur. Deflated l1b1d0 rap1d0. 

0h yeah? Well 1 kn0w a1k1do. Yeah that’s right, beg0ne with y0u. Ta1l between y0ur legs. And when 1 say ta1l, 1 mean of course… 

D0esn’t help bus1ness any. N0 matter h0w many n0ughts there are.

W1th0ut a 0ne bef0re them 1 bear abs0lutely n0 value. 

Sunday, 3 June 2018

Pestle And Mortar - Flash Fiction

My mother was a casualty of the war they call life, or life-giving. Sapper me tore her up from inside. Bayonetted trench warfare as I emerged from gerrymandered dimensions of the tunnel complex and out over the top into the light. I detonated into the world. The medics stitched her back together down there, but she was no longer fit for active services to parturition; a pessary to prop up the collapsed sump and berm. Awarded an honourable discharge, with blood clotted me serving as the dishonourable discharge that emerged from her. She wasn’t fit for much in the way of anything. Shellshocked or gassed, it amounted to the same nullity. She regressed in her behaviour even as I advanced. She got down on the floor and played with my sister’s dolls as if they were Action Men. She pulled them out from beneath her skirt pleats like hand grenades and then flung them across the room. I knew they were representations of me and my unwitting violence heaped upon her, unfriendly fire apparently. I enlisted for a permanent tour of Freudian duty, a casualty of war in peacetime as I devoted my unconscious life to reconstructing the fragments of my cluster bomb that had blasted my mother apart.