The sloughed shingles of creased reptilian roofs were the stacked scree of the berm. Under the Lombardy juniper shade a kindle of manticores shaved their feet and kept tails in good nick. A sound of echoing sound sounded from a ceramic sink in the hollow tree, and loose bits of damp soiled bark dribbled from the vault of hesitating fogs up the hill.

Halifax drew a teaspoon of terebinth cordial and simmered it under the sickle sun for auld lang syne. The sloughed shingles that held behind the shoulder brought down a costly hue to the paved slope, and dyed it colourless under the you know what for why. Halifax taught the brittle straws to bend the days into the sheaths of fundaments, and to prick the crane in its jointed arms of vases and ware. The shudder went out into the hesitancies of the heavens.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/18

Halifax wrapped his pillow round his ears; it muffled the grumbling, but the sound was worse when thus indistinct, and also amplified, perhaps because the bed touched the wall. Glimmering grey lines snaked and seethed through the details of the light fixture when Halifax rolled again onto his back. The doleful rubbery sound of the clustered noses against the window punctuated the grumble he had tried to escape. With a grumble of his own, he got up, and waded through the floor, the stalks of shivering dry heads (ambiguously animal or vegetable), till he reached his distant nightstand. He took out the gun, fired some shots, smelled the smoke with some relief, and turned again to his bed.

An errant swog had taken up residence on his sheets. He stowed the gun and waded back. The beast bristled and thrummed in harmony with the grumble. Halifax knew the only way was to seize it in just the way – and it turned into an empty, heavy, and long-haired skin, and all its horns knocked together. This aside, Halifax curled again in his reclaimed nest, and held his scissors tightly in case of sudden hirsutism. In the end the grumble failed to keep him from his sleep.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/08/13

Shallow measures silvered over, taken to the mean junction.

I layer into the frame, and around there is as a ventilation shaft. To go along, and to reach a bend, the smell of fresh scratches and the rims of sections. Neverland is near, on the far sides of these thin walls.

Tricked into the soup, we have a parcel made out to another name, the letter Y in bold letters above our mind; check the gate.

William dressed as William, in a mackerel sky. Acres of uninterrupted path out there.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/07/06

On the drive to Perth there was a junction into a concrete tube, combed with dry wells. I could no longer see the road. At the end a funnel fanned out into the lap of a chess board, and I dragged the old car up onto the gravel shore. There were rooms clinging to the high walls and to the ceiling, like leftover soap bubbles, boxes clinging like residual packing peanuts. I followed the smell into the narrow room, ostensibly near the floor on the south.

A noticeable deterioration allowed me to view a beam’s section of the world around outside – wind-scraped, and hunkered under sliding blades of ground stone meal. I knew then the diversion was heroically in time.

Getting down through the mass of rods to the door, and looking down on the chequered board from a weary bird’s view, I was lost again. Crawled along a ladder in a gritty pipe. Tumbled in a chute that smeared my clothes with tan, and pried a metal door in a squeeze that did not allow my elbows.

But then out, into the dying wind, and I scratched some of the stone from the road with my boot. My grand old car I could not return for, not now, but perhaps I will meet it again.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/06/25

There are four transparent surfaces surrounding, with a faint flow of soapy iridescence, and a roughness above and below like the ends of a broken and worn crystal.

Outside these walls are many other parallel surfaces, eating away at each other’s transparency until it has the obscuring effect of thick fog, without the softness of the form of fog. Even the soapy colours cannot well be seen beyond the closest, except as a hazy movement travelling along vertical knife-edge paths.

A drop of clear yellow falls from above, and is lost on your shoe. A plucking rains over the rigid planes, and the iridescence flees into nothing, leaving all as colourless as the void, or an old photograph. Another drop falls, and you hear the “plick” as it lands again on your shoe; now a crash shakes the light, which gives again a sense of movement to the unmoving clustered walls; this movement the opposite of hazy.

A crack races through within the walls where you stand, and you shift quickly, as it almost trims you. You suddenly beat with your fists on the wall, but this does nothing. Another drop falls, now on your back, making you jerk, and you could not see if it was yellow.

It must have been, as the all the walls open like so many baobab flowers, or bananas, the peeling surfaces passing through each other. You dodge them, spread your wings, and buzz away.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/06/18

Laced miles runting for all runtung. Levered brutes nautically made in maiden string, thin and strengthen more for over. Nave of fair flint oscillates more for upon, the crown of the hastened head upon. Mitre riders run for runtung, and he levered brash glass into the laver. The beaded words meted out in pairs sent to mesh with saved sitters. Landing outstrife while landung brought the sifters braved – a net drawn through the hose across the brush head, heading upon the ride.

Twin layers flung all proportion into runtung revered, if ever reversed he said and sat for sifting silt urns severed off. Without the miles there was salt for every seat in the main, quiet numbers strewn on the masterful floor; never draw the door through a trough crack, for far under the earthen brow braced rests needlepoint graves over the run.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/06/07

Halls, dripping, and seeing out of the drops the jesters; their teeth shatter when their jaws strike the floor.

Halls, long walls, and from between the stones of the walls the fine threads stretched out, crisscrossing, shattered as the ankles wade ripping through them.

Bound, high, scored stones bound in iron ribbands, scored with writings readable to the learned after thousands of times.

Your foot there, then there: if your fingers are tired, rock them in place. The crevice of our natural frame will take us in; the fullness of halls wrapped and bound together for the dramatic critic.

Put your foot…

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/05/30

Rail dark, shipping damp, sister of the moon in the filled pit of grimed nest.

Pallor tide, returned yarrow, oven mit on the flank of snorting catastrophes pulled along the strings.

Drifts on the sloped wedge clipped into long-limbed jungle and foreign creature forms: two on two for the ratty top that fell in two.

My long-limbed jungle and foreign daughter in and out the window, with a note in her pocket and a hair on her coat. Coils of the long tail pile warmly around, combed fur free of small creatures, and the suspicious lump in her hair.

Break on a flash of eyes, the ship pulls out of the wound, and long ago the coils of the hawser told the tale to withering ears, without mine again.

Dance of the flies over the surface of the grime, the throne and tangled crown for ivory images, dragged together for the lightless.

The blank period, cessation of travel, night.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/05/21

Cheaper ferris drew of nightly yards, for pouting gaps in breaching shrouds.
Nick nick nicker nick, nick nick nicker nick, nick nick nick nicker, nick nick ticker tick…

Trounced by a six-legged cat; who buried the gravel in the sand? Never with this, a little with that, a frayed-edged nail, and skin off the back.

Baleens for cheap, who knew the trick; severed in regent claim for nothing we slightly wished. Dry drop of dust in the bottom edge of a pail, a infant moth blown to dust when it fell.
Trick trick fix, tricker six…

Shine after shine, and the slot-mouthed bird trumpets yet.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/05/18

Throughout the upper floors they came upon many signs of the cultists’ presence: fair statues and paintings crudely altered, religious items defaced, sorcerous scrawls, rotting filth. Clothing, especially of children, they found slashed, scorched, and scattered. There was a small prayer book, and somehow all the writing had been turned backwards as if in a mirror. That rich and elegant mansion was like a dollhouse which had been infested by rats.

They found another cultist, sitting languidly in an armchair. He looked up at the inspector as if he recognised him.

“So you’ve come at last, and with your beautiful hound. Well, I have nothing to do; take me to my master.”

Allen put him in manacles and told him to come quietly.

“Happy to,” he said, smiled, and slumped forward. He was dead.

(Excerpt from a project nearing completion).

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/05/09