Archive for month: Novembro, 2017

Wendy smashed all the clocks in the flat. She even burned the calendar. “Time has no meaning,” she explained to Mike. “Nothing ever changes.”

from Scary City by Joel Lane

Even the first time was like a ritual. Buying the razor blades at the local chemist’s shop, unwrapping a frail silver of metal, holding the edge up to the light. Guns were difficult and expensive to buy, and even knifes weren’t cheap, but this fragment of death cost no more than a postage stamp.

from Scar City by Joel Lane.

em tom preto

27 Nov

Para contrariar o cinzento, nada como umas camisolas pretas – iguais!

E a ler O Velho Logan.

He has always told me that I am a balloon, taking him to blue places over the hills.

from Experiments at 3 Billion A.M. by Alexander Zelenyj published by David Rix.

de lado – 0066

23 Nov

fui acusado de não ter papas na língua! eu por acaso tenho culpa de ter sido treinado pela minha mãe a papar tudo e a não deixar nada?

“I don’t care about what you’ve done. I need to know… why you didn’t kill me.” There were silence. Twice she began to speak and stopped herself. Then she said quietly: “Because it wasn’t worth it. You’re already dying.”

from Scar City by Joel Lane.

a aldeia de dois nomes

22 Nov

A imagem para ilustrar uma história que decidiu não evoluir.


21 Nov

I had a good idea in my head that insisted on going out for a ride. I covered my ears with spoons. I closed my mouth with the silence of a cello. I sewed the nostrils with the silk of a spider. The idea insisted on leaving. Pounded and pounded inside my head. Bang! Slam! The idea managed to get out in the shape of a thought. And now I have no idea why I struggle with a terrible headache.

Richard’s absence was all I had of him. Once I stopped missing him, he’d be gone.

from Scar City by Joel Lane.

cara, 002

20 Nov

Outro rabisco. Desta feita de um pirata.

© 1999.2018 porta VIII. todos os direitos reservados. alimentado pelo wordpress | alojamento por oitava esfera