http://slow.writerscafe.org/DeadLeaves The original writings of author Dead Leaves en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776010149 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15  Prosthetic Mind  A man had somehow forgotten how to live, misplaced his passions somewhere beneath an important document in his filing tray. If living is the part that happens prior and post-reflection, then he was like a faulty pendulum that had stopped ticking between these.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/403119/  I respected my abuser - he was a sorcerer of sorts.That flight to the darkA surrenderSea foaming and frothingThe lost dead eyes, accumulated in the matter that shrouds usAll these truths, the kind that only creep out in the darkAwoke in meAnd I lusted for them,And for him.I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/401709/ 'Write what you know'. I'm attempting to write about childhood and family; it's coming out light, which is not my usual style. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/365447/ Sallow and hungeringUpon wet pillowsHis mouldy touch in theMorningMimics life.And through his hollow cavityHe forces a curdled brewSqueezes like a crushed lemonHis drip, drip, drip of rancid dew.Mornings come, bear himHalf an unformed childSlurping at a thought heMay have onc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/354746/ Memory litter http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/351843/ Scraps written during 'Alice in Wonderland' (wierd 60s version) that might form a short story eventually. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/340665/ C***s and pricks and c***s and p*****s and meaningless encounters. Learn to act well. School is the first gameshow. Act at being attractive, godlike, a convincing idea of 'female'. Success. A man. A neccessary piece in the game. The name to fill in the gap; He loves me. He buys me things. I did this.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/335031/ Billy wasn’t sensitive, he over-sensed. When others didn’t seem too affected, he was incessantly affected. He trembled like a filled vessel about to fall under the weight of its fluid. He wanted to spill out, everywhere.You might notice someone like him on your next bus journey &ndas.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/335029/ My mind is empty. I want to try scribble down a few memories. What do I remember?That, when I returned, interaction with other children was confused. That I'd never seen snow, and so in the Winter I collected it in a plastic vanity box, to save.The motorway lights, driving back to England, as in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334272/ Bits and bobs http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334271/ If you’re not suited to their world, you have no alternative but to create your own. For Marsha, the humble manifestation of such a world lay within a weathered glass outhouse. She believed that somehow in its unloved state of deterioration it possessed more meaning than the plain w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334270/ Q. What could lead such sincere and thoughtful young adults to become violent?A. That they were sincere and thoughtful. Boats creaked and tugged at their chains like desperate, neglected prisoners. Clotted sea waste swarmed round an orange plastic ball, bobbing on the ocean froth, and t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334269/ I suffer from sunshine sickness – it’s not my disease, it’s a disease of the world. I’ve decided that it manifests itself in the following symptoms:1) The sky becomes completely un-obscured and in doing so dares you to stare in to blue oblivion until you feel that terri.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334268/ Are words more valuable when they flow unrestricted, and convey the honest yet inaccessible stirrings of the unconscious? The chance of offering an accurate slice of my mind is surely more probable then. And isn’t that what art’s about – overcoming the physical limits that divide.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/334267/ �I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end, I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow� - William Blake http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/297411/ Sometimes it's useful to explore an idea without being concerned about the truth of it. At night time, its truth swells. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/292705/ *sigh* love http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/291604/ A narcissistic lady http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/289032/ Stream of consciousness veering on philosophy, yet with little descriptions interjected. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/287042/ Sunshine-sickness http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/286552/ Bizarre, sexually explicit, a thought experiment, perhaps an anti-climax http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/284070/ Victorian era; an enjoyable little excursion in to a male aristocratic pervert http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/DeadLeaves/284069/