http://slow.writerscafe.org/pergarok The original writings of author TNT en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776357631 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 An empty bottle. A fermenting room. The stagnant mind. The soul in its tomb.The world is plasticI am wretched from my grave Suffering is fantastic That woman the MaeveI lurch over from my bed and the weight of my body upon itself heaves out to draw a breath from the stale air. I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2819717/ The dusk on the first day of fall. The first gentle breeze of nature's exhalation and the beginning of winter drawing its first breath. Marked by the air that now snuffs the fire in its body. A familiar breeze that elicits a memory from thousands of miles away. Beyond the horizon on the shores where.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2791247/ Again the trembling starts. An exordium to the nights vicissitude. Not before horror or the obscenities of day. But within; the terror stirs the maelstrom to abrade with wicked gales and petrify with frigid tempestuous squalls. I've stood conscious and steadfast in face of the uncertain and with it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2765642/ Among the arbors in the reaches of of the emerald sea there is a place. None can sense it but the keenest intuitions. The one who plays with magick and fire. I found myself delving to a region unknown. Shrouded the abysmal flora I was enraptured by the peculiar emollience and the gossip of avifauna .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764510/ If the sky could talk what would it say? Would the cosmos wish to confide or advise? To withhold or deceive? My minds preponderance of thoughts that rave in the night. As l lie in bed. I like to believe the heavens bear no part in our many theatres of discourse. But if I should cull my own tongue an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764508/ What have I become? I dont belong here. What have I wrought? And what have others sewn from me? What sinister discord hath wretched this umbral, odious, vengeful agony forth from the fathoms of myself. Is this all me? Rage turned to the deepest ebony writhing and undulating neath the light of day be.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764505/ If I'm ever lost. Whether by my own whim or the whim of the universe. Should the tides obfuscate the oceans floor and lure me to the coral sepulchre with an aqueous melody upon the cliffside. If ever the zephyrs of the heavens weave the tapestry of ones velvet caress upon your window and whisper thr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764503/ The fibrous wick like witches wrapped around each other burning in the dusk. Arms wrapped each others shoulders in an emblazoned devious accord. Merely the crackle of flames singeing the charcoal and thatch. No wails, no laments, no arduous cries to pierce the umbral twilight. Simply the fragile mur.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764502/ Lately, the confines of this sapphire have bogged down and come onerous. All of us shades like grains of sand brushing past millions in the maelstrom of earth. The soil rich or poor yields to the pressure and feeling my outline bind and buckle. Contort and wretch into a misshapen form. Against you. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764501/ So I am here. The castaway. Who had spent a decade tossed by the sea. The squalls and wicked gales, the voracious splendors of the maritime maelstrom that lashed upon my crude and weathered raft. That had stared through eons of the moor in the dazed seconds of ruminations in the vastness of the unkn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/2764497/ These memories come like raindrops in my mind. I stare up at them through the glass ceiling of time. Each one containing a moment in life that I've lived. The wind of the future; the wind that blows my memories around in its stormy gales. What will become of these warm memories? Will they be lost to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/1323464/ Of what transcendence does death manifest its macabre touch?Like black steel claws that torment the crippled while grinding on their crutch.How ominous this pall cast over the world and so falls the curtain of nightAnd in the dusk while light retreats from its daily reign and blinding gripeI.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/1322307/ Be wary of that which may be your undoing http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/1322306/ Neath the curtain of the night the rays of the moon cast its glimmering reflection upon the shifting waters of the lake. At the edge of this dark aqueous mirror sits a mahogany lakehouse. From its windows a warm golden light fades as a somber reminiscent piano melody plays. This woman that sits and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/1322304/ A dark short story if you will. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/pergarok/1322017/