bearhat


Profile

bearhat
City: Adelaide
Country: Australia
Joined: Mar 2007

Spindle I am. Spindle I be. In the cogs of mediocrity. An insignificant sprocket in the belching machinery. I be. My days at the coal face are lost to me.

But at night…

I am transformed. I churn. I burn. I write. I am else.

I am a peace-pipe being smoked by purple dogs in the river of sin.

Nightly this calumet of catastrophic metamorphic wordism tap-taps his type to tell his tales, to scatter his stories out into the ether.

Shoveller of words, shifter of prose and sculptor of sentence and syntax I be.

I jest and I jape, I weep in my cape, and rattle through six cups of tea. Nightly.

night-night.

Journal Entries

these are the names of my pets (real and/or imagined)

Posted 4 months ago.

the end of haiku

Posted 10 months ago.

reading list 2008

Posted 11 months ago.

meat boy

Posted about 1 year ago.

band names

Posted about 1 year ago, 3 comments so far.

whiskey a-go-go

Posted about 1 year ago, 7 comments so far.

nashville

Posted about 1 year ago, 5 comments so far.

writing from the inside out

Posted about 1 year ago, 2 comments so far.

the clipsal 500 pisses me

Posted about 1 year ago, 3 comments so far.

Alice's Blues (A Character Development Exercise)

Posted about 1 year ago, 1 comment so far.

Writing

bird will sing

Now I sing him a different kind o song.

the haiku marathon (part 12, the final mile)

17-12-08 / i blush at your glance / turn my head just a little / and swallow my heart 18-12-08 / when your man slew me / on a card in my pocket / he left your number 19-12-08 / i am breaking thr…

the haiku marathon (part 11)

the prince sold his doves / for a cup of lime jelly / ate it in the sun

by the pricking of my thumbs... (part 1)

I still remember my first blood sacrifice. Dared by neighbourhood ruffians I was too eager to befriend, I found myself creeping under the muddy canvas flap of a crowded pavilion to spy on a travelling…

my Spanish dream

As the light fades over the sea, the night will erupt with music and I, sun-smacked, barefoot and reckless, will spill down onto the sand from the door of the playa casa, to dance. / They say the …

Little Red Riding Boots

We bury Sally in her shiny black shoes with the decorative white bows on the side, but every time I look at them I can’t help wondering what happened to her scuffed red boots. I don’t remember…

Watchlist

  • SD Smart
  • koukei
  • Philip Rogan
  • pAgEdOwN
  • laurenrabbit
  • ffarff