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		<title>Jack Heslop | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/heslopian</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Jack Heslop</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>Hunger and Stasis</title>
			<description>Hunger and stasis gather on the porches of my heart. First there was childhood now old  pining from a distant home I don't like visiting. It came and went not saying much. Horror film  devoid of plot. Hunger had been sated once. Then stasis came. Opened like a paper rose. I slept a hundred years.  Y..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/802186/</link>
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			<title>Tyrant</title>
			<description>The tides are rushing forth to flow through a plughole in her breast. Memory and conscience spill  down the blue fields of her blouse.  Somewhere a man of certain race is collected from his home and murdered in a jail cell.  Many years ago a girl was thrust onto a blazing heap. Red cotton socks fall..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801816/</link>
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			<title>The Void</title>
			<description>How do you describe dense black? What fancy metaphors for pain could I devise to make you feel what I've felt on and off of late? Maggots crawling free from hollow eye sockets, corpses bleached to chicken bones beneath a brain dead moon... etcetera. etcetera. I've spent so long sodomising truth for ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801553/</link>
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			<title>Destruction and Creativeness</title>
			<description>Shaving blades, colder than the distant moon,   grey as an old woman's hair, do not dance like daffodils.   The hollows of the subconscious   &amp;nbsp;  where sounds and language sit like books   hold no student's photographs   featuring extended arms,   &amp;nbsp;  a poorly written false wisdom   doodled ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801495/</link>
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			<title>Michelangelo's Mother</title>
			<description>Mary is placid as rain. It will be, it will go,  one day soon may be again.  Returning to the first repose  of a mother, newly spent,  she holds her adult son.  &amp;nbsp; What was once a hairless brow  is fringed with thorns and blood;  Pain has exited the stage;  only applause is left.  We can but pra..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801308/</link>
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			<title>Suffering</title>
			<description>&quot;In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.&quot; - Harry Lim..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801301/</link>
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			<title>Surviving Childhood</title>
			<description>Another death has been announced: schoolboy in New York. Killed himself on reaching home from a camping trip. More videos will now be made on surviving childhood. All of man's stupidity can be found in locker rooms, playgrounds and classes. Children are animals. Stupid, heartless savages emerging fr..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801290/</link>
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			<title>The Living Dead</title>
			<description>How do we survive becoming accidents; bipeds of life split from the ether on attempting a return...  We wanted to regress, click the button, sound the horn, we would-be shades now flickering in weakened wax.  These cobblestones, that bakery, the rows and rows of cakes, dished up by a luscious tart  ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/heslopian/801260/</link>
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