A Big Nothing. -S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

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Big Nothing.

They say I’m not romantic, that I’m distant and distracted, but my love shows itself in many different forms. They tell me that I’m cold, that I don’t know how to connect. My defense is that it’s them- it’s them that can’t connect to me because they’re not open to the ebb and flow of my myriad ways. Actually, no, it’s me. I confess. I’m far too strange for those who happen to cross my sullen and maudlin path. Smoking my cigarette, I contemplate my actions but grow bored within the minute. Maybe sooner. My attention span isn’t great at the best of times. There should be writing, should be declarations of love, and yet I keep thinking of all those roads from my childhood that don’t exist anymore and the names of random galaxies I looked up on Wikipedia the other night after polishing off the rest of that red wine I’d been refusing to drink because white is just so much sweeter. Near where my grandparents lived in Lewsey Farm, there was an area of marshland that used to terrify me back when I would stay with them during the holidays as a kid. Not sure why it got under my skin, because it was all fenced off and secure and there was no chance of ever stumbling in. Yet for many years, I just couldn’t help but worry that one day I was going to find myself in a terrible predicament. As the wine does its thing and the wheels in my brain begin to spin, I feel a thought coming on. Y’know, even though we barely speak, maybe we could pay the place a visit? One evening when you’re not too busy wanting to break my bones, and it’s not too cold, we could take a drive up and slip through a hole in the fence before exploring each other’s bodies? I’m having trouble remembering the exact shape of your breasts, and every time I try picturing them I get these nosebleeds that just won’t quit. Every time I close my eyes and taste your lips, there’s a flavour that just won’t shift. It’s one of the skittles, maybe the blue one? Yeah, that’s it. You’re a blue skittle I want to suck and chew beneath a blood-red moon as the ground beneath us swallows us whole until there’s nothing left but our giddy laughter that rattles through the streets like the screams of some long-forgotten knife fight back in the summer of ’92.


S. K. Nicholas is creator of  myredabyss.com and author of A Journal for Damned Lovers, his first novel. He is a brilliant writer and a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective. To learn more about S.K. and A Journal for Damned Lovers read Jasper Kerkau’s interview with S.K. and his review of A Journal for Damned Lovers.

Adult Swim-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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When I’m tired and want to be alone, I go to a forest no one else knows to read my books and sit in silence at one with nature and all the gods that ever existed. Perfectly still with my back resting against a tree, the animals come and go telling stories about how they see her at night among the undergrowth looking up at the moon. She’s often nude, they say, and as she slips in her fingers and curls her toes and her lips tremble in delight at the pleasures she finds within, the earth beneath her body becomes sacred and holy, and when I visit in the days following, I ask them where she was last so I can eat the soil that came into contact with her body and feel at one with all things. There are magpies that have tasted her milk, and mice that…

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Black Tights-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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Black tights, she wears black tights and her legs cross and uncross beneath the table as we wait for our food. It’s Waggamma’s on a Friday night after work. I’m drinking bottled beer while she sips a cup of green tea. The evening’s young and while her body speaks to me in a language that may or may not be Latin, the rain outside washes away our fears. Those curls of her hair- they could be symbols relating to some higher power, or perhaps they offer clues to what mood she’ll be in when I bite her neck in the back row of the cinema after we’ve finished our meal. Those breasts she pushes together whenever we lean forward and kiss- they could just well be the meaning of life, and as much as I’m the dramatic kind, I’m not exaggerating. When our fingers link together as she recites one…

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Say Yes-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

Nose on nose on a balcony that overlooks a disused garage that swims with rats and pornos and junk. Black eyeliner, black tights. Red lips and a ponytail that swings like a pendulum. The smell of your hair and the feel of you pushing yourself against my groin in those hours that escape us upon waking. We sleep outside to be closer to the stars and because when we make love and taste God you want him to see you as a soul and not just a body. Pyjamas not skirts. Flirtation not chitchat. Tigers, dragons. Sushi bars and wet lips. Dimples and your smile and the absence of you when you’re not around and you’re never around but I have my words and my words will become you and that’s just how it is. The evenings are beer and wine and the warmth of your breath against my neck in the back of a taxi and then your arm around my waist in some bar with paintings on the wall I could paint with my dick. Nearly falling off your chair, you snort with laughter and bite my ear. What’s the worst thing about getting old? My hair going curly. The second worst thing? The knowledge that my mind and body are two different things and that the older I get the more conflict there will be between the two. Arguments. Frustration. To sleep. Would you sleep with me? Would you let me take off your socks and massage your feet while we sit in silence too drunk to do anything other than picture ourselves as different people? I hope so. Tears that stain the pillow. The beginning, the end. A writer, a fool. A hand around your throat. A doorway that could be a vortex that could be a portal that could be an opening to something those we have known our entire lives have never come close to. Do you remember when we were strangers? Can you recall the time you caught me staring at your mouth in the canteen at work not long after you first started? You asked me if I was okay, but I was lost in the future that danced upon your lips and although I didn’t want to be crude, I knew already what was to follow and it caused me to become lightheaded. Two hearts. One mind. That night we were under the stars and I wrote GN-z11 on your arm with a pen and urged you to get it tattooed- you never knew what it meant and I never told you. Well this is the place we shall go after we die and there we shall be free. Free to love without the presence of prying eyes. Type it into Wikipedia, and tell me you’ll say yes.


S. K. Nicholas is blogger at myredabyss.com and author of A Journal for Damned Lovers.  To learn more about S.K. and A Journal for Damned Lovers read Jasper Kerkau’s interview with S.K. and his review of A Journal for Damned Lovers.

Our New Publications Page

We are thrilled to announce that the writers of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective have been so productive lately that we have needed to create a Publications page on our site.  See below for a sneak peak and look for the page in our top menu.  We expect to be updating it regularly!

Books

Sarah Doughty

Heartstring Eulogies

Earthen Witch Novels

The Silence Between Moonbeams

Rana Kelly

2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

2016

Until Her Darkness Goes

David Lohrey

2016

The Other Is Oneself: Postcolonial Identity in a Century of War: 20th Century African and American Writers Respond to Survival and Genocide

 Nicole Lyons

The Lithium Chronicles

2017

Hush

 S.K. Nicholas

A Journal for Damned Lovers

2016

A Journal for Damned Lovers

United Kingdom

United States

Georgia Park

Private Bad Thoughts

2017

Quit Your Job and Become a Poet

Paperback

EBook

Imaginationland-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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The supermarket near where we live is flooded but we make the trip anyway. The aisles are full of driftwood and our clothes soaked but it’s no big deal because we have pizza and beer and we are young and free. I’m smoking, and although it’s just a few, you don’t like it and threaten to stop coming around but you never stay true to your word so I carry on regardless. When we pass through the shopping centre and look through the windows at all the things we can’t afford you squeeze my hand and whimper. You want jewellery and clothes and candles and books and cuddly toys in all shapes and sizes. You with that look on your face. Those puppy-dog eyes you pull knowing I’m a sucker for emotion. When we’re moving through the park I tell you there’s a place we belong far away from those…

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Gag Reflex-Introducing New Sudden Denouement Member S. K. Nicholas

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is thrilled to introduce new Collective Member S. K. Nicholas.  S.K. is the gritty lyrical voice behind A Journal for Damned Lovers.


Triptych personality and a taste for the beaten and crushed. Favoured positions. Preferred imagery including a crushed butterfly placed so sweetly on her navel- the one that swims with my seed. Specks of blood on the bed sheets from our collision- the one I try denying but keeps happening anyway. In lipstick upon the wall, I scrawl my desires in lowercase. I spell out what I mean to say which always seems to escape me when she’s gagging on my fumes. I’m a good guy at heart, but a single droplet puts me in a rage like you wouldn’t believe. Shards of glass and portals. Lonely roads and stories gathering dust, but there will come a day when everything makes sense. There will be a moment when the end is not the end and an exit is not an exit but a door to a river where resides the girl who started it all. I go in and out- I pass through on the off chance she’s around. Lights and nipples and stretch marks. Torn lingerie and tourniquets. Vampires, lovers, killers. A painter, a writer. There exists celluloid imagery of my actions. There are photos of body parts and vials full of hair which fuels the fantasy more and more. There was once a golden light but it was snatched away and now I take from others because my future was taken from me. Souls and slaves. The ties that bind. Scenes missing until she’s wrapped in a blanket because this world doesn’t care and although my hands are cruel I do it because I care and no one cares as much as me. She is mother and enemy. She offers salvation and torment but the more I do it the less I can tell which is which. Flowers pressed in a book. Numbed fingers from two bottles of wine as she shaves her pubic hair at my request. She is not her own woman, she is my girl. The girl by the river who visits me after I pass out in the early hours of the morning halfway up the stairs. She flickers in the eyes of those who get too close. She dances in the mirror and kisses my neck when the right scent ignites what’s left of me. That cherub heart, it’s been gone for years and no matter what I do, and no matter how many times I try bringing her back, it won’t beat again.


S. K. Nicholas is blogger at myredabyss.com and author of A Journal for Damned Lovers.  To learn more about S.K. and A Journal for Damned Lovers read Jasper Kerkau’s interview with S.K. and his review of A Journal for Damned Lovers.