The Shining.- S.K. Nicholas

The soothing sounds of the waters of her womb and the sight of fresh snow to ease the dull pain of a hangover not unlike so many that have gone before. Stovington blues and a horseshoe nebula just below her bellybutton. Below. The great below. Like the guy from King Crimson, Adrian Belew, and those fingers of his that work a guitar as if it were a wet clit upon a bed of leaves slipping down the stream of life. Leprosy and the stagnant waters of a womb that’s seen plenty of action but never known true love. Tennis balls down fallopian tubes and the steps it takes to walk to the moon and the feel of a searching tongue gliding around my crown until it’s time to taste a strange wonder. Strawberry kisses and the blah blah blah of a poorly heart caught between the thumb and forefinger of an ex-lover who’d be better off dead. A witch in a bathtub and scratchy pubic hair that gives me a rash and this neck is yours and what’s yours is mine and this wine is here and I am there and the lights of elsewhere shine bright for a while before drifting as they so often do. Damp hair and painted toenails and stretchmarks that speak to me of birthmarks and the shame of a woman who doesn’t want to be a woman because men are like the gunk between sweaty toes and yellowed nails broken from attempting to dance the dance of life but failing miserably. Maybe another glass of the good stuff followed by sketches of bruises between milky legs and the tears that cling to a slight chin before dripping down to the nip nips and the right buttock or maybe the left I can’t remember and I don’t quite care. Lake. As in Greg Lake, the guy from King Crimson who sings Moonchild to me in my dreams. More womb. Free drinks at the bar before these bony fingers of mine slide all the way in. Bourbon in the glass. Some reflections. Mostly old. Many faded. Leaves. Cobwebs. Deadlights. Inner fears and redemption that never comes. A pack of matches to light a fire between us. A road that comes and a road that goes, this way and that, from beginning to end, always, and forever. Yours sincerely, some kinda illusionary.


S.K. Nicholas is the creator of Myredabyss.com, as well as author of three collections of prose: A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1, 2, & 3 (available on Amazon.) Additionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

Pieces of You- S.K. Nicholas

These lazy afternoons are made of bones and tiny pieces of your nose and the image of your outie belly button laced with sugar and a length of string lassoed around a tooth or it could be the moon. Depends whether we’re on talking terms or not. Gonna have a beer and shave my pubes and then place them in an envelope and send them to you sealed with a kiss plus a photograph of me as a kid back when my hair was more ginger and I was a hyperactive dick, as opposed to now when I’m just old and strange. I’ve got sunburn and I’m all out of rolling tobacco and my teeth hurt and there hasn’t been a terrorist attack in months and I’m worried that when I next take the train I’ll be caught up in one and end up as some body outlined by chalk available to view on the internet in just a click so I’m walking through this field and it’s so hot and I see flesh and birth and wombs and honey and the sea and the sea it calls to me and even though I don’t know what to say I’m sure there’s a response in me just waiting to get out so on Monday Wednesday and Friday I do these squats and pretend I’m fucking a supermodel I wanna be just like Bundy wanna be wrapped up in infamy but boredom will no doubt get the better of me and the sweet taste of whiskey is enough to render anyone dumb, especially me. Might grow my hair and blow my brains out but not before I do the dusting and drink a cup of tea while doing my best to fall off the edge because sometimes falling off the edge is just so sweet so maybe come round and fall with me. Should put this in a letter but I’m too tired. I used to be such a romantic, or at least I think I did. Now I’m just bored with everything but there are times when a little light comes through. Not often it must be said, but now and again it happens, and life feels better for it, specially when I write about your smile and how it flares in my mind like an explosion in the sky, like that of a falling satellite, or an angel kicked out of heaven for its love of mirrors and André Previn.


S.K. Nicholas is the creator of Myredabyss.comas well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1 & 2. Both of these books are availableon AmazonAdditionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

Faith Don’t Lie- Christine Ray & S.K. Nicholas

Before you, the days blended one into another, each one as empty as the day before. Hell on earth.  A month of Sundays forced to my bare bloody knees to the cold, hard stone floor by a congregation of pious sleepwalkers, of judgmental sheep. You’ve met their kind. The ones who can’t see. The ones who can’t feel. The ones who worship their shiny toys like idols and pray at the twins altars of willful ignorance and empty contentment. They pointed their fingers at me, sewed a red letter on my chest, called me a heretic for wanting more. For declaring you a true prophet.

My faith don’t lie, so why should yours? At times like these I feel both dead and alive, and this is how I get my kicks. The knife I twist brings with it the lips of those I wish to kiss above all else. May they kiss me under and may the blade take me to another plateau so I can be at one with God, far from those who resemble what I wish never to resemble. Too many days pissed away. Too many hours left hanging by a thread. Just too much time pretending those wrapped in flesh and sin were like me, but they never were, and neither are you. You know it. I can see it in your eyes. Can feel it when you cry as your world comes tumbling down because the faith you seek is in them and not within.

You baptized me in the woods with the wine and the words of burning truth that bled from your mouth. Told me to dig my fingers deep in the rich earth, feel the hum of life all around us. As the bonfire blazed, you molded the shadows and revealed the secrets of your death and resurrection to my open eyes. I could hear the copper sing in your blood. Taste your holiness on my tongue.  I was filled with the crimson gold light of the spirit deep in my marrow.  I knew the excruciating glory of rebirth.

My faith don’t lie, so why should yours? They spit at the sky and claim the rain falls only on them. Them and their desperate need for affection never giving so much as a thoughtful ear in return. They see shapes while we observe miracles. They hear noise while we hear songs as old as the universe. Yet all they do is try convincing us the magic in our bones is mere illusion. That what we’ve got to give don’t mean shit. But we know that’s not true. We’ve known right from the start. It’s in our hearts and these visions that push us further away, but if we’ve got each other, the more adrift we become the better. So take my hand. Take it now and let’s find a beautiful place to get lost.

We turn our backs to the unbelievers, with their deaf ears and eyes that choose not see.  It is not our work to proselytize to the masses.  We will minister to ones like us, who cannot settle for the stale, tasteless bread, the white picket fences.  Those with fire in their blood, those who hunger.


Christine Ray is a writing, editing tornado who touches down at Brave and RecklessSudden DenouementSudden Denouement PublishingWhisper and the RoarBlood Into Ink, the Go Dog Go Cafe, FVR Publishing, and Indie Blu(e).

S.K. Nicholas is the creator of Myredabyss.comas well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1 & 2. Both of these books are availableon AmazonAdditionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

 

Excerpt from Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective- Say Yes/S.K. Nicholas

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.

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is available at Amazon.com, Amazon Europe, Amazon Canada, Book Depository, and other major book retailers


S.K. Nicholas  is the creator of Myredabyss.com, as well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1 & 2. Both of these books are available Amazon.  Additionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

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

Beware the moon, boy. Beware her swollen belly too as she stumbles into the room demanding the last of your Jaffa Cakes. Even if you really love someone, you should never give them the last of your Jaffa Cakes. It’s just one of those things you never do, right? As she hobbles around in a temper while you stuff the last of the cakes into your grubby mouth, she tells you to massage her feet, of which you then duly oblige. She moans and groans and purrs like a cat, but the second you unzip yourself and rub your cock against her pinkies, she calls you a pervert and turns her back with a huff and a puff. Building herself a nest, she quickly glares at you then buries her body deep into the bedsheets. The sheets haven’t been washed in weeks. Every time you try, she begs you not to. She says the scent of your smelly bodies is too much of a good thing to just wash away. After a while, she emerges from her nest looking all flustered and promptly removes her top. She’s got fluff in her belly button. You try flicking it out but she gets upset and pretends to cry. Pouring two glasses of wine, she downs hers in one swift gulp then curls into a ball singing one of her songs as you sit by her side doing your best to write a handful of lines that will no doubt become progressively worse with each mouthful of Chardonnay you knock back. The next morning they’ll all be scrapped, but for now, as the blue moon keeps watch through the window, you do your best to tap into the secret vision while letting her know you want to merge. You keep touching her. Keep reaching through the folds of the duvet grabbing her bits telling her how much you want to fill her up. She calls you a beast and a filthy swine, and yet when you retreat, she comes out and nuzzles herself against your leg while batting her eyelashes like she don’t know what she doing but she knows alright. Shedding the rest of her layers, she spreads herself and pushes your fingers deep inside and then she makes you kiss her wet bits and as you’re struggling to breathe, she raises her face to the ceiling and laughs as your own face turns as red as a tomato. Guess it serves you right for not giving her the last of your Jaffa Cakes. You should always give the one you love the last of your Jaffa Cakes. It’s just common sense.


S.K. Nicholas is the creator of Myredabyss.comas well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1 & 2. Both of these books are available on AmazonAdditionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

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

Yeah gone lick her neck an’ when she roll about the bed I take her little fingers an’ slid em in my mouth an’ when she smile showing dem milky teeth I touch her face letting her know she be mine an’ me be hers an’ there’s this music on the screwy radio that lift me higher an’ higher an’ when she take off her clothes I jus’ sit there touching myself knowing I’m low but she be heaven yeah she heaven cast in orange sunlight an’ dust an’ when I push her legs apart she squeeze her nip nips an’ stick her tongue out at me an’ when I feel how wet she is it’s like life touch me somehow like I alive but ain’t no time to think cause she grab my ear an’ push me down yeah she make me eat her sweaty mush mush while she spread her fingers through my hair like I spread her lips an’ when I lick she grip an’ twist me like she wanna cut me an’ see blood so red like these lips I suck sticking in stained fingers all the way in to the knuckle so she arch her back an’ wiggle her toes yeah she wiggle her toes an’ chew ghosts an’ when she kick her feet the electricity come tingling through her spine like life be fine an’ when we clean up an’ go for food in some greasy spoon we eat chicken doused with salt an’ talk about Ghostbusters 2 an’ that river of slime an’ I tell her it’s like her bits an’ she says bits? an’ I’m like yeah your bits an’ her lip curls an’ she grins kicking my leg under the table an’ just like that I know she dig me an’ I dig her for she ain’t no ordinary soul cause she know the stuff that need to be seen an’ she see it even when they say she can’t an’ that’s why I love her an’ we gonna do this all on our own yeah we do this all by ourselves so there I go leaning over the table an’ here she come right back at me an’ when we kiss I feel her smiling ‘gainst me so I lick the grease off her chin an’ press my fingers into her glowy skin an’ she look me in the eyes calling me her sweet an’ life be fine yeah life be jus’ fine.


S.K. Nicholas is the creator of Myredabyss.com, as well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1 & 2. Both of these books are available on Amazon. Additionally, Nicholas is a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.