http://slow.writerscafe.org/cibopathcibopath The original writings of author N. Hadley en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776006306 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 my stagnate states, as of late, necessitates freedomlike balloons breaking away from a baboon child's hand.to be candid I'm sick of f*****g being branded  by the corporate lies of the supposedly civilized simians in charge,Marge Simpson took on the monorail and I'll take on the world, whirling .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/822812/ Your mind is a trashcanempty it regularly,daily if nessecary,hourly if nessecary.Don't let it wait.Have you ever waited in the checkout at Any-Supermarket USAand the person in front of you,a middle to late aged womanis causing a scene?She appears to ready to swallow the cashier whole,like a serpent,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/818495/ Wilfredo sees my father pull up and start his approach,he knows what's coming.My father will grab a Red Bull from the case,place it on the counter, take out his wallet beforeputting on the goofiest smile imaginablethen as if he's never walked in the store before,he'll ask for two scratch tickets and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/818492/ To the MarrowHeathcliffBottom of the Well*Good WritingI amTruths*Buying Scratch TicketsTelevison DreamsAll the Zoos*The DoldrumsHenry ChinaskiTerracotaArchitectureSunkenshipWatching GrassBuried ItObilivion TreeCutsManufactured Cynicism* http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/798022/ Miss Lenin's Ghost takes ordersfrom Mrs Iolanata Podkopayeva, widowerage 85 from Patterson,New Jerseyand though it all,naturally, sounds likebabble to me, I thinkI know roughly whatthey're saying Every Da and Horosho is haunted by that diasporafeeling, it pricks my skinlike the t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/778740/ I dreamt last night,I was carrying you downa mountain on my backyou clung to me likea child playing piggybackyou told me how you missedme and how you wished thingsturned out differentlyyou said someday soon wewill drift back into each other's lives andforget what separatedus in the first p.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/774406/ No one knows what's really going on,they're all bullshitting you.God bullshits you.Your friends bullshit you.Your country bullshits you.Your thoughts bullshit you.You bullshit you.Took you long enough to get the memosincerly,Me(and like a wisp of smokehe's gone) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/772753/ One time, at the peak of a mushroom trip, Jane threw up. Lurched over the toilet bowl afterward, staring down at her own bile floating on top of the water, she realized it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She'd never be able to describe or explain why it was, except that it was. For .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/768933/ A buddy of mine was into Emma Watson, you know, the girlwho played Hermione in the Harry Potter films. The girl we all watchedmetamorphosize from an awkward, curly haired shrub of a person into one of moregorgeous young actresses of the silver screen. Many guys (especially thenerdier ones) .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/766115/ "It'll get better," they say, "thisthing called life. You just got towait. Good thing comes to thosewho wait."I sigh and shrug and spit venom,"I've been living my life in a waiting room. Staring at my own two feet,holding idle, banal conversation withyou other farts who are waiting too,even if .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/732005/ a last request,Buy More and Save!console yourselfabsorb yourselfdestroy yourselftoo hungry, we aretransforming not only ourselves but, everything we touchthe storm of the hidden assassinawaits http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/726625/ Teddy(a self-destructive ocean):he thwarted everycontact with the"Yeti"Maybe he was crazy,there was no Yeti"you're not into the world" I'd sayno armor, reality shootsright through him http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/726624/ "Hate to bother you during yourmeal guy but, could spare a brothera dollar? I'm hungry, haven't eatenyet today."and just like that i suddenly becameaware of the bubble that has encapuslated mesince i left the womb,maybe even before thatmy eyes began to pick up iridescent patternsin the airand in my .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/725676/ Of all the seven deadly sinssloth is the mostwickedi speak from experiencei may look human, my fleshmay be humanbut my bones, down to themarrow are those ofthe Paramylodon harlaniI should be in a museum,in a glass case, witha plaque in front that readsHERE BE WHAT REMAINS OF THEGIANT SLOTH, ALI.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/712667/ It is my own two handsthat are wrapped aroundmy throat, tight like the coil of a snake.It has always been my own two hands.It always will bemy own two hands. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/712665/ Sluggish from the inertia ofwaking up in the middle of a dream,I put on some clothes, brushed my teethand drove to the flea marketfew towns over,it was opening weekend.Bi-polar New England Spring had made up its mind for the momentto be in the mid-fifties witha sunless sky, grey, as if the&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/712664/ my stomachis a washing machine,stuffed to capacity withthe dirtiest load of laundrythat never comes cleanno matter how many cyclesit endures in the never endinghell of spin cycle after spin cycle after spin cycleit makes me nauseous, and sometimes i haveto restrain myself from throwing up&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/712663/        S**t began to get weird the night, the cat (he'll kill me for calling him that) began to talk, and it snowballed from there. That night was about six Earth months ago, maybe longer, maybe shorter, I haven't been counting. I was up late at night (technically morning, I supp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/701839/ we all have those moments of glory,throwing up in sinks whilesome stranger rubs our back,and tell us we'll be ok,his or her voicespinning like the worldaround uswe all those moments of glory,tumbling down by thedoorway on a cool night,muttering an address andsome curse words,onlookers trying to deci.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/701837/ quietly, I was boiledalivelike a lobster,destined to end up afixture on the dinnertable, served with finewine from a fine yeara hungry man, dressed in his Sunday best waited,a bib stuffed down hisshirtfront, to suck thesucculent meat from myshellhe felt no twang ofconsciousness ashe placed.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/701835/ the sound of an air raid sirenthrew his arms around me in atight embrace and cried on my shoulder,he told me, through its pooling tears,that he wished death didn't followhim like a shadow, and the armadaof ghosts (from cities destroyedand buried in debris) would stop haunting him whenever he cl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/651087/ Whoever said "deadmen tell no tales" is a liar because here I am as lifeless as the sunbaked corpse of a bandit who was fucked and left for dead. My cadaverous right hand is recording the tale using the blood of J_____ as ink on the end of a quill. If only you could see his face right now .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650366/ A withered old skeleton cast from theclay of imperalistic dogma sits --tears battering his cheeks like rapid                 gunfire hollering at the wind as it blows by,"Give me back my country,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650361/ The unintended causalities of                       f                    &.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650360/ this scarthis hatsleep deprived eyesblank expression and poetry I woke this morning inhabitingthe body of Henry Chinaski all that's missing is the boozeand the broads one of which wil soon be accounted for I am so lonely. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650356/ applause.laugh, roll curtainsThat’s the joke --now much too small.but in the world isever truly GIANTSOnly here are weagainst wet stone.now, arms crampedAnd you're the big man black if its night)(or gray if its raining -round inches of bluesphere are only a fewThe sky and celestialat the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650350/ Seed after Seedlay their rootsburrowing deepintowet pinkbrainmatter,findingshelterin fieldsof moralitysownwithsaltandplague.Only devilflowers thrivehere,towering highescaping theskulla macabre treegrows outof myhead,spitting moreseedsburrowing .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650347/ Twenty-seven figureheadswith face made of clay.Grand potters shape them,every which way -Today Jane is asaintess,tomorrow she's as**t.John is just as easily sculptedas Jane - a football playertoday,a punk rock rebeltomorrow.My face however,is made of steel -idiosyncratic,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650346/ Imbue the brainwith unholy electricalburst.Awaken the architectureof mummified circuitswithin.Roused from sequesteredsepulchers on graymorning,Skeletons gain flesh,eyes and earstoo.March forwardto conquer space andtime. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650345/ Even god.God is perhapsthe most insane beingthere isHe probably writes his namemiles high in his ownexcrement on the walls ofheavenall the while screaming"Those f*****g Jews,they poisoned the well!"his exposed junk flapping inthe wind for all to see. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650343/ (Cuts from my notebook)2:56 AMCaterwaulingon tovirgin paperits ears arebleeding fromsheer noiseawful,cacophony(like elephantsstepping oninfinitepanes of glass)3:00 .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650340/ There is so much manufactured, superficial cynicism in the world today. The idiots wield it as fact - “Are we an honest society?” a teacher will ask and the kids will laugh and say “No, we are not. Like we don’t care about each other”. They’ve learned these .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650337/ No one listensto the motherher religion is nowirrelevant -a sunken shipin an infiniteship graveyard.Shunned by diversand treasure seekersa like - no gold,no glory,no god here.Just a sad oldwoman barkingat the void. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650334/ When did we get boringand miserable?Was it when our legs sproutedinto trees overnight andour arms into branches?Was it when we noticed ourfirst pretty girl and slippedher that note with nervoustrepidation?Did we die a little insidewhen we grew too bigfor the swings and thesli.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650333/ What type of movies do you watch?How often do you rent movies?Connection to engineerthings of this worldthey had discerned mircalous:eyes and hearts.think I buried it.No way you are going to dig. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650331/ Today, I will come out of the closetabout this whole beinga writer thing.And I will begin to scatter the bonesof all the skeletons that weretrapped in there with me."Go on now,you're free to go onto your resting placesthere's no need to be afraid anymore"I'll say to themand I will be at peace with m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650330/ Buying scratch tickets atthe supermarket to breakchange for drugsmy god, what have I created http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650327/ Good writing should be a lotlike taking a s**t. It should build up and swell inside your bowels until itscreams to be expelled from your body, and you're left to immediately releaseit no matter where you happen to be - on a plane, driving on a highway,shopping in the grocery store, sleeping .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650319/ The hierachy of the humanityis unfourtunate:below such dull gems asyour parents,your teachers,cops, politiciansand all the fattenedbourgeois of the world -at the very bottom isyou,the individual.A hamster pinned down by the weight of elephants. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650318/ Whoever said that the doldrums are a part of the sea, spent too much time looking at maps because the truth is the doldrums are everywhere in every city street, in every farmer's field, in every car on the highway (northbound or southbound)in every family phot.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650316/ Its 2am the morning of my nineteenth birthday and I am grabbing nineteen books off the shelf attempting to find nineteen words to describe the nineteen things that I'm not feeling  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650315/ I amreclaimingtime from timethieves and,light from lightthieves and,mind from mind thievesinchbyinchbyincha one maninsurgency http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650314/ collections of colonies of beesbuzzing together in hypnotic synchronicity a siren song,an idiot huma droning in the atmospheresubduing the weak and perverting them into zombiesThey gather and build hivesjoining the collection.Cities of honeycombs lush with sweet amberwill ensnare the might.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650313/ rotted yellow teeth are notthe only crystal clear signsof addiction;opulent white pearls clenchedin the clam of a smile arejust as sure a sign of aworm-eaten brain, tunnelsbored for miles http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650312/ Don't idolize the manwho drives the newest carhome to this playgirl trophy wife sitting at home waiting to spend his money.Don't idolize the man who eats the finest steak dinner in a five-star los angeles or new yorkcity restaurant, alongside a smorgasbord of who's who... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650310/ Death has a funny way of romanticizing people. A person is held in the warmest regards only after they've s**t the bed and croaked. The disgruntled, harsh tempered, abusive father of three becomes the rolemodel family man who 'did everything for his children.' The cokeheaded womanwho couldn't k.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650309/ It’s12am in the morning, and I can’t seem to want to put myself to sleep, despitehaving class at 8am tomorrow. I worked 12 hours today, most of them alone,making sandwiches and doing dishes at Subway. I worked five hours last night aswell. I am exhausted, my chest is in pain and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650306/                 I had adream the other night. I was taking a s**t on my dead grandmother’s toilet. Thedoor was open, and everyone I knew, as well as some people I didn’t know,crowded the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom.  They.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650305/ I am the cancerthat infects an otherwisehealthy child. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650303/ everytime i eatbacon,i get to remind myself the only good pigis a dead one http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/cibopathcibopath/650300/