Noinvisiblehand is back for ever. He writes two blogs, one of which ismostly private, the other one (which is pure fiction)is called parallellondon, which you really should visit…
I am unpretentious, and have not read a huge amount, preferring to keep my writing style as uninfluenced as possible. When I do read, it’s trashy spies chasing spies and ufos landing on earth, stuff which I can analyse quickly and forget just as fast. I have little patience for over analysis, and believe the feeling carried on my words should be enough to give you an understanding of my work.
Still, Stepphen King has had an unfortunate effect on my writing (overarching sketichiness which gets a bit irritating at times) but we all have our faults.
I am introspective too, which is a nigh impossible to keep out of my fictional stuff, and I use to its full advantage in my poetry. My poetry, more or less, is a journal of feelings through time, although I do work on epic and self standing poems which are less about me and more about my perception of others.
The reason I give this long intro is because it is the season of the Narcissus… and I saw a narcissus introduction which was quite glossy…......
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My cross is borne / on slight shoulders / my rectitude forms / dung beetle boulders. In this recycle / shadows at noon / I push down and cycle / the city, my cocoon. My African snakebite / my f…
insecurity / rising / poverty biting / there is no / way out of / it all. / not now / but soon / i’ll find the / way out / into / security. flow / with / my art my / pain it / starts to / ri…
late sun heat pools / vivid year time / time for nursery rhyme / in traffic grumbling / —haze producing / (with up aove / holiday vapour memories)
It’s today’s quagmire / Eighties in the seventies / Way – / You came into my mind / And what I find / I don’t mind / Even tho / It uptites me / To the point / Of a champagne-type / Cork – wo…
And that, / was existence / brassy self serving / crowd phobia increasing. self worth / is a material thing / and in being / material / is what the / stores do with me. I store recollection / an…
a short story by / noinvisiblehand / Ian James McAdam 2009 The town’s police station is a nineteen-seventies concrete mess. I had never been inside it before, and was still not sure why Mich…