http://slow.writerscafe.org/TLK The original writings of author TLK en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775995716 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Yesterday I was one god swamped by a pantheon. Our claychildren pined for justice while imagining us wielding it behind the stars. Lockedaway behind the purple satin of the night I was captive to the gaze of thosemoulded crudely in my shape. They told their children stories about us, first.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1184773/ Lying to himself had been too easy for too long. He looked at his hands: so like his grandfather's, restless in their strength, eager to hew and saw. He wiggled his tongue: so like his father's, shy until loosened by alcohol. Without a mirror he still knew his face to be kind and forgiving l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1184124/ There was to be a tomorrow for us to share, but we ate it yesterday: greedily and with cream. I remember your face lit by the candlelight, so hungry for rebellion -- only as we swallowed the last morsels did we realise that hunger would have its revenge, a consequence of today's emptiness. G.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1183528/ Redleaf likes to sit his daughter on his shoulders and run from camp: across the shore of the lake, into the forest. She giggles until she feels sick. Still she says "more, more".Yesterday she asked: "Daddy? Why is your hair turning white?""I am so tall that my head is close to the clouds, and they .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1183258/ The old man stood in my porch, hemmed in by the glass, fringed by spring daffodils. I didn't know him well enough to say that it was clearly his fault, and I never try to insult my neighbours. So I just nodded as he described his wife of so many years up-and-leaving: with one bag full of crammed wha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1174739/ I refuse to drown in you, he thinks as he looks once more in her tidal eyes. I refuse to drown in you again. Yet she is already unleashing her waves upon his shores. They lap at him with all the conniving eagerness of a dog's aimless devotion. He takes his last breath. His whole being yearns to lose.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1174182/ The atheist awoke clutching a nightmare of a new Messiah. This one would invoke terror and burning with such a simple message. Turning water into blood -- all the better to keep them sober -- so that the thickness would bond all men as brothers and all women as equals. And the Old Order would build .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1172639/ The enclosed haven of the stairway bounced around the sound of laughter; laughter at the shared realisation that they had averted Hemingway's crisis of the unused baby shoes. They each held one and climbed while their faces shook free of the wrinkles from the smiles. They would never admit it to eac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1172024/ When times were better -- before you met her and decided that love's string was only so long and not longer -- our arms were stronger so we held each other more tightly, cat's cradles weaved around us. It was then that you thought of me and said I will build you a memory palace and into it you packe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1171552/ I shall love you in all the small moments; I shall live in those scant seconds when you forget. I will be the bursting seam of a lie in your mouth; I will nestle amongst the many frayed edges of your hungry anemone heart. Feed on our memories and sense the truth that true love stains you, through an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1169887/ pop with pompous pride http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1168808/ I ask myself the same question every moment I realise I am empty of everything apart from my swirling mind. This question starts: "How hungry must you be..."I look in the knife mirrors of smashed glass that are my remnants of home and I see my face thick with bacon. It drips so lovingly and drapes s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1168755/ You knew this day was coming. You woke up and touched yourself. You did not know if it was your hand that was cold or the back of your neck. As you grasped the hollow metal of the tap you realised that it did not burn with freshness. Your children rushed in and grabbed at your questing fingers and f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1164474/ See title. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1163398/ They came to him with no new giftsSo the tyrant took all they had."Never forget what I own," he chastised.Already hungry for tomorrow they complied.They came to him on their kneesSo the tyrant removed their feet."These, you do not need," he counselled.Heads scraping the floor, they shuffled.They cam.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1162323/ Look.The sack of meat has eyesJust like they doBut even though swollenRed flesh puffs oozingThey are the pair thatStill seem alive.Just like any wet sackRedness tracks behind itRed eddies lay satedOn the ground's lips.The sack of meat has voiceJust like they doBut thi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1162062/ siege, besieged, love, beloved http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1159971/ She looked at the back of his head,and said,I haven't loved you for years,you know,Not since the first time you lied --which wasProbably before you even met me:maybe evenYou called me by someone else's name'Su - san' ?That first time, and I let it slide.But now I am not blind.Maybe all the girls lov.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1156340/ It's sad when things change, worse when they stay the same. It's plain that you're the one who is staying, for yesterdays live in what you are saying -- along with the tomorrows that never happened the way they were meant to, and all the apologies that that I forgot to send you. Sometimes not leavin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1135348/ They lose their lives to small hates so easily that you wonder if they are allergic to love. Perhaps these gangsters, revelling in their roadsters, go banging in their round pools of darkness to shut out the light, light so bright that it will reveal something sick about themselves. Their hair is so.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1130759/ Untied sneakers make snakes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1128574/ "I can make you beautiful," he said, holding her gaze with his blackly reflective eyes.She nodded, once, slowly."All you have to do is to give me something beautiful in return."She thought about this, blinked once; slowly. Struggling under a canopy of dreams she heard voices rolling in the deep, tur.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1101580/ I am Ignorance and I run funnels through your world. When you say "Oh, I did not know," and cover up your distastes and discriminations as decorum instead of prejudiced protestations I grow stronger, oh I grow, I have grown child-to-grave slowly and now you can see me as not-so-lowly. You cloak your.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1101368/ I am young and my father is instructing me.“People don’t want to live,” he says. “They just want to diemore slowly.”The problem is not what he is saying. The problem is that Iam listening to it.As his tongue unwinds under the amber relaxation of liqu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1097618/ You know. You know. You always knew. And you know. You know now, you knew then, you know that you know. You know it now, and you will know it forever. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1070203/ I expect God to be angry with me;for He must know that I am angry with myself.I want his righteous indignation to join with mine,to consume me,offer up sweet savour to our LORD.But perhaps it is more Adonis than ADONAI that I seek,some bronzed impossibility leering cheekily from the sky,telling me t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1066408/   Who are you?  they ask  faces hidden behind their masks:  sheets of cellophane used to cover their vague and unformed souls.  I answer.  I remain your best nightmare,  the brightest one you had --  the silent thought that fell from the dark sky with all the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1058888/ I have tried to take you, but you dance away to attend yourdaily prayers; I am left holding sunbeams in bear paws on empty stairs.Clasping you to me, you turn to liquid, gush between my claws: youmake me feel ungainly, untoward, a beaten Beast crushing Belle under his mistimedfeet. So now .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1058337/ -- 1 --He has a need to expend his seed: it is a never-endingendeavour, the smack of wood against leather. In the hot rush to consummate his love he must burn a moreenergy-rich depravity -- must look for a certain seriousness, a gravity. Rightnow he is past the ‘w****s’ and the &ls.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1058010/ The old man lies stationary, red-shifting into oblivion.He realised that he was an outbound Voyager when the swirlingspot of that giant, Jupiter, came into view. It tore at his own lungs and madehim damn his own vices. The harsh radiation of this encounter made his devicesscreech and wail .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1057994/ I would read for you any number of lies. I would let themspill from my lips, in any colour that you desired. Do you want blood? I will liein blood for you. A whole library of such false sputum iscontained within me, each tome written one-handed and furtive by an author witha dagger. Eyes hav.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1056565/ What are humans but dirt, the preacher asked, letting soilfall from his workless fingers. I jostled amongst hip-bones at the front, andsaw them: shy and pudgy with prayer, useful only for accepting the efforts ofothers and grasping it tight with thanks. They offended me with their pinkness... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1056551/ I thought her some fat salty mermaid, freshly spat from thecrests of waves. There she sat, faulty and unswayed, legs splayed treacherouson land. Her sea-spray face tasted wet with tears, each cheek a diary of oneyear’s sorrows. “Say what you like,” she sighed, “but I&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1052802/ I know no-one like this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1041971/ Thecorridor was cold because it had been dug into the earth. The corridor was darkbecause the only light came from the front room. The corridor was silentbecause he was holding his breath.The boy rubbedhis hands together, and thought about the business of normal life. He ofteneaves.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1041943/ Fiction that is around 800 words and over. Take some scrolling to read. Need to be held in both hands to be eaten. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1041583/ People rub against hardware so often that,inevitably,some rubs off.We spend so much time with software that,inevitably,we become soft.Mixing together, like this,one day,there will be a child born of us who lives in both words.Cautious, like humans, sensing the possibility of pain.Patient, like compu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1036396/  I see living people. It is a burden. I learned language from them. Trying to ignore their stench and their wild movements, I would lean in close and hear them muttering to the Ancestors. Having lived by my wits and through trial-and-error I somehow knew that there was an importance to the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1036332/ We were so used to seeing the hunger-management of anorexia that we forgot to ask any other questions. Such as, is ittruly anorexia when you enjoy eating at regular times, no matter how unusualthe spaces between those times are? Does anorexia deepen and lengthen your voice, like rope spoolin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1035352/ He was born to fulfil his motto, to stamp it onto each and every part of his life: even though he never actually said it out loud. The motto was Too Little, Too Late, and the evidence of his loyalty to the idea can still be found everywhere -- in amongst the artefacts he has left behind, in amongst .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1035279/ Please see my blog for definition of 'prose poetry'. It is an odd beast that is not one thing to all people. Perhaps not even one thing to one person. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1034632/ Flash fiction. Short and easily readable. Like this description. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1034627/ Here are things that never happened, except for one, which almost sorta kinda did happen. The way they are arranged is such to facilitate some kind of rhythm; or so I think. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1034621/ Prose poetry, sorta. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1034585/ Here's the cure. Pass it on. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1032717/ Apologies, but the sentiments of this story are not necessarily in line with orthodox religious sensibilities. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1031579/   My body has long been used to clenching and unclenching.  Training for boxing left me strong and nervous, blood pumping  in my palms, never unaware of my own frailty.  Unsure feet are a poor foundation for the art.  Accordingly, I hated being in the ring.  Far better .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1031007/ He is a teacher of the virtue of waiting. He has the philosophical understanding of time attained by those who have always been rewarded patience. If not now, then; this is enough.His understanding leads him to shop carefully, for he enjoys the anticipation of a useful purchase. And it is not a prob.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1030865/ We have all imagined a worldwhere humanity has successfully orphaned itself.  Perhaps out of some self-hatingidentification with the impersonal majesty of nature; perhaps out of the needto deride this vision as an impossible dystopia.  Either because we want to warn of it, orbeca.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1026945/ The lonely form crowds on the street. They collect at the corners, letting the whole world drown in their silence. They are a flashmob without the flash, and a mob that mobs no-one. Each of them is you, a someone you used to be, and therefore each of them is no-one. No-one did this, the blind Cyclop.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1025550/