http://slow.writerscafe.org/philsoliman The original writings of author Hairy and Confused en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775423616 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 When will I beMe as I’ve writtenAnd carry on my headThese things I’ve laid outPluck up these plansStretched taut across the futureWaiting for a tripWhen will he see meThe way I’ve been drawnChest out, face bristlingMind like a clockPendulous cockA lad on each shoulderWhispering my .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/1174562/ The plot congeals http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/372739/ This bin is proving particularly difficult to tip over. It's just rolling. I push and push but it's too heavy and I only succeed in pushing it across the street. So I leave it there and try another one, this time pushing it in the opposite direction, using the curb as a chock. The bin falls over bac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/372592/ He is pulling on his jeans. He is sniffing his shirt, turning it inside out. He is reaching up to push his arms through the armholes. I am staring at the thick tufts of hair sticking straight out of his armpits. He is watching himself. I am watching him. The phone rings. "Would you get that.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/372194/ There is a beautiful boy who just looked at me like maybe he liked my beard or my Radiohead t-shirt or maybe he's a little unnerved by the way I'm silently sullenly staring at him, like I'm pissed off that he stepped on my foot without saying sorry or something. Should I be tuned in on that partic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/371042/ An intimate journey through one man's internal landscape becomes a terrifying fight for his freedom. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/371040/ Blue Line. The lights on the wall of the tunnel flashed past and flashed past and flashed past and they made me dizzy and I started thinking about my Mum sitting in front of the window with the sun making her old tired face neon bright like the Coke Sign in Kings Cross, and Oscar kneeling obediently.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370983/ Three steps in and alreadyI like your shapeless hair,And your stubborn belly,Where your music comes from.Your armsAre like trunks, downy andYour stubble sparksRed lights.I can't sit down.You open your eyes too filled withBright water blue glass andYour fingers are moving .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370981/                 the fog lightsthe streaming colourmy ears ringinglaughing at my friends laughingat unheard remarks on the fuckability of that particularmusically inclined heroin addict so.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370754/                 Sorry.I'm really attracted to the shape of your neckSeen from aboveAnd when you turn to say somethingYour eyes catch in my throatI imagine what it would be likeTo kiss that pale patc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370751/ How can a picture make you feelhe asks me,shimmering pixels at the corners of a mouthset in a searching line.There’s something in my eyeI say, rubbing furiously.There’s something wrong with my stomach;I shat three times today,and nothing came out,only food, weak from di.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370749/                 You know meYou must rememberHalf-hearted questionsTo half-stammered answersTrembling eyelash and twitching mouthCausing earthquakes and tidal wavesDown further southWhile your tefl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370724/                 Escalators UndergroundFluorescents glint quietly on their teethShifting patterns dance and swayIn time with the Muzak. A man is breathing musicShaping the air into Art.The.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370723/                 TV shadows drift on his cheekAn Extreme Close-UpReveals the blade’s inconsistencies The people in that box chatterPretending not to watch usWhispering, they marvel at .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370722/                 At the beachOn a winter's MondayThere are mothersCoaxing tiny staggering goats across the sandThere are couplesHunched over greasy bouquets of butcher's paperThere are fuzzy pear-sha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370721/ In darkness I callMy fluorescent doveTo light the wayAlong this lonely shoreFrom a thousand stonesLaid bare at my feetI pick the oneMost unsure of its placeThe shape of this stoneAll it can tellI smell its cracks andListen to its weightI speak to itWith plastic .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/philsoliman/370720/