Stories that fly under a dark banner.

Reality

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Nothing is true.

Nothing

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Seeing red.

Seeing Red

See other images stacked in the cupboard in Poetry Jars


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Difference

In need of some feedback here. I have two versions of difference. The first used a very cartoon-like thought bubble. The more I looked at it over the course of the day and the photographs I used, the more I felt I hadn’t done justice to the brick. So I produced a more formal image. Feedback and let me know which one you prefer.

Difference II

leaf on the wind

See other images stacked in the cupboard in Poetry Jars


The Stars in Twin Lakes.

Supernova1987

Bubbles spiraled to the surface in the darkness. Each gently glowing as they rose towards us outlining their delicate shapes twisting, creeping out of the depths. The boat sat motionless on the lake which was now begin to simmer as the bubbles broke the surface. Behind us the waterfall still could be heard but the it too was glowing, frozen in time, as if photographs had been overlapped to blur its structure. Above me the stars seemed to mirror the bubbles beneath us, dropping from there positions, dancing around each other in merry loops, merging and breaking like cells under the microscope. They were filling the sky with brilliant movement.

Andrea and John didn’t seem to notice, focusing on the first of the bubbles to reach the surface. John reached down, the movement of his arm tracing a glowing arc through the air. Andrea was giggling and running her fingers…

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Enter the Realm of the Dark Banner…


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Placid Island

lovecraft

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Aside

Another story from the archives. Transformation story.

Supernova1987

sandswimmer

First Transition had warned me that the most painful moment would be forgetting my name but I had never taken it seriously. I was convinced that the tattoo would suffice, a coded image keeping me in touch with my mother and father all those leagues away. Now as I look at it all I see in an image of something I cannot remember gradually fading as my new skin pushes away the ink. Already I feel the constant hunger and, when I have fed, I know that Portside will become nothing but a distant and unintelligible memory.

Already there are missing parts. I share the knowledge of the First Transition which the sands pour into my mind every day. It becomes clearer, the connection between us all. Now I have only a few images of them. I see my mother sweeping all of the sand out of the house to…

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Aside

First published in 2011, tonight’s reblogged story is a chilling tale of dreamscape detective work.

Supernova1987

It was a Tuesday morning in early June when I was called to investigate a curious incident by the sea. A hotel had been thrown into disarray at five in the morning by what could only be described as a herd of stampeding Rhinos. Luckily most of the patrons had been asleep at the time on the first floor and above. Only the night porter had been injured and taken to the local hospital with a broken arm and bruising down his left side. Aside from shock and nerves, most of the guests and staff were in good health but the proprietor could not be found.

This incident in itself would seem curious enough to most if it wasn’t for the fact that exactly seven minutes after the beasts had filled the ground floor spaces of the hotel causing countless damages, they had disappeared without any trace of exit or…

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Truth and Symmetry

How can it be that when we speak
A difference clearly I can see,
And yet when I look in your eyes
there are mine in perfect symmetry?


hrc
In Support of the Human Rights Campaign.

truth and symmetry

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From the Archives… Written in 2011.

Supernova1987

Picture your home. The objects around you. When you first arrive at the place you live they are placed around you in locations that feel comfortable. As time passes you start to notice they are more comfortable elsewhere. Objects are moved around without us really being conscious of their movement. They move to where they are more convenient or useful. They move to where we find them more pleasing.

Our relations with the objects in our houses are close. Our desires give them a life, purpose, a quest for harmony. Less useful and unpleasant objects are placed in less prominent places, sometimes banished to drawers and cupboards or at worst disposed of and discarded. We judge ourselves on our ability to manage and control our objects and our objects compete against each other for dominance within the environment. There is a certain symbiosis.

This was all explained to me by Alice Milner over coffee…

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