Spooks and Specks

Oh lordy I been getting spooked real bad lately. Those of you who are a big hot mixup of a little nervous, a little psychic and two steps from batshit will know what I’m talking about. One minute you are goin about your sad old day fine as normal and then suddenly there is something Else in the room. This can range from your regular old lady ghost sitting at the bottom or next to your eyelids, to a fully-fledged scary clown demon somehow in all of your cupboards simultaneously. No one can know how it came to this, but it was definitely because your were shirking your duties on the internet and saw a facebook ad for a scary movie.

Regardless, you gotta do something cos you can’t just spend your days sittin and sweatin with your back to the wall until your wife’s little brother who is taller and wider and hairier than you gets home and there is another target in the house which reduces your chance of getting ghost killed by 50%. Here is:


Operation Opposite Coward: Grand Strategy for Ghost Fights


Stage One: Getting the Population On Side


The population is you. Enemy population is spooky ghost.

You will probably not be prepared to fight a ghost. Money has it that less psychic adults have told you the majority of your life that anything that spooks you doesn’t exist. Do not be one of those people. They are always the ones that the monster goes for first, which is fair enough. I would be angry if someone said I do not exist. Or at least perplexed. I clearly do and that is a rabbit hole I am not gonna crawl down in cos my brain and head are too big.

If you gonna fight the spook on its terms you’re gonna have to do some weird things that would be inadvisable to tell your girlfriend or psychiatrist about. You’re gonna need some magic, a few delusions of grandeur and a deity or two just to be on the safe side. I find it helps to realise that 100% of everybody has stupid ideas about reality and at least yours helps you fight monsters.


Stage Two: Arming the Troops


It is a bad idea to go into this empty handed. Karate does shit all against ethereal creatures.

Guns also are useless because they kill people not dead people. Tasers are tools of torture and should be avoided. What you need is some straight up +1 or more magic items. Luckily the lord did see fit to gift you with an imagination, which is why you are in this damn mess in the first place but hey nobody real ever wanted their life to be boring.

Right now, on and around my desk I got a talking skull, a magic statue of a knight holding a very non-magic letter opener, a badly whittled magic wand, a straight up Gandalf staff I made with my father, a wizard hat with a couple of gold stars left sewn into it, and a giant Templar broadsword forged and reforged in Canada by Canadians. I use all of these things at various times in various pre-writing rituals, ghost/demon fight preparations or to make me look stupid in front of myself and myself only. I’m not going to tell you how the pre ghost fight ritual goes because you gotta make up your own one this ones copyright. Just know that in the otherworldly realms your imagination is your greatest weapon, your best friend, your direst enemy and a complete red herring. You gotta use it or it will use you.


Stage 3: D-day


Now comes the hard part. You gotta put your top one fantasy bittersweet emotional resolve soundtrack on and get yourself in a headspace to die. You are almost definitely not gonna die from this but it helps to Be There.

It’s good to have a bit of a ritual. Prayer or magic words or like slappin yourself medium hard in the face till you’re pissed off. Look back on your life and remember all the things you are fighting for and then remember some more important things because really what you’re fighting for is 30 minutes in a house by yourself without being scared of your own imagination. When you are like 80% ready you should just go for it because trust me you aint gonna get readier.

Figure out where the ghost is, which is easy because the ghost was inside you all along, and then just charge at it. Don’t break into a run because houses are small and you need a satisfying amount of time for this, just kinda walk real hard and purposeful. Start forcefully saying some magic words or the lord’s prayer or screaming “DEATH” in that half-whisper half-scream thing so you don’t freak out the neighbours too hard. Chase that ghost around your house, around all the scary basements and cupboards, just fuckin stamp around chasing spooks like the god damn hot crazy mess you are because you’ve got this far and it aint done you no bad.

You will feel it go, you will feel its fear. It will flee you and leave your place. The weight of its gaze will lift from you and you will be freed from the shackles of terror. At this point you should allow yourself a small celebration of music and a glass of whiskey and then you should probably do something important with your precious time.


Plan B:


Reading a magazine, talking to a friend on the internet or going for a short walk are also good options.

Now the Hard Part

I been gettin Disheartened lately. There dang be a great pile o’ shit in the world to clean up, and sittin on the internet lookin at it instead of doing like fuckin anything sure aint helping. Thing is, I can’t claim to be on the right side. The sides don’t exist. The lines on the map and the graphs showing which way our politics point at are all just pretty pictures we drew because humans are lost and scared little idiots lookin for something to cling to to make them feel like the good guy.

I gotta believe that at our core we all are good. I gotta believe that humans get scared, lose their way and themselves. I have to believe this is not going to work if some people get crushed for some to get their heads above the filth. I have to believe this because an evil person is not something I can understand. I can understand getting lost, going so far down a hole that you can’t see the way out. I can’t understand evil, and it scares the shit out of me.

What comes next is going to be fucking hard. We are going to have to take our insides out, spread them on the floor and see what is ours and what is killing us. There is no escaping this. Left and right, right and wrong we have to go through ourselves piece by piece and figure out what is wrong with us. Because we are still us, we all share humanity, regardless of our hate, regardless of our distance, and its never going to work if anyone gets left behind.




How did we get hurt so bad


We are blown apart


Our guts are on the floor


Our hearts are torn


And we cling to our fear


As it shreds us


We drown


With those we hold under


And we have fallen


With those we have pushed over the edge


We have left the windows open for the dark


We have let the cold in



Pick up your body parts


Do not be afraid to scream


For you are needed


Every last piece


Forget what was lost


And do not scramble for what is left


Man is more than this


Our souls are needed now


A nightmare


Can become a dream


And we can wake from this hell


Whole again

Human Soup

The world done full of some messed shit at the moment.


We got fascist governments killing pedestrians with machine guns just for bein angry.


We got teenagers who are bad at having sex killing kids with machine guns because they are angry.


Machine guns are used in a variety of places for very negative reasons.


I for one am starting to think machine guns were a bad idea in the first place.


If you reverse the words machine gun you get organ sword.


And if angry teenagers who are bad at having sex be nice to ladies instead of swearing on the internet they have a much higher chance of using their organ swords for good and bam that’s at least part of the problem fixed.


Many if not more problems can be fixed if you do the opposite of swearing on the internet or using machine guns for any purpose.


Our government is running detention camps for people who use boats to run away from machine guns.


I don’t know how to unpack that.


Like regardless of the last half of that sentence detention has worked exactly never.


I never once saw a kid who went to detention suddenly turn into a real good rule-abiding student and become school captain.


And running away from machine guns seems like the right thing to do anyway.


If I am getting shot at by machine guns the last thing I’m gonna think about doing is buying a plane ticket and filling out a visa application.


I’m going to run away from the fucking machine gun.


My border protection policy would be let them fucking come we did it for all the white people.


I do not like the border force at all they are mall cop Nazis.


I had a point and I strayed, like Australia had a point, which was be a friendly beach country who didn’t care what hat you wore.


What I’m trying to say is that there is so much messed up shit going on around in real life.


So stop feeding people through wood chippers on my television shows.


I have spent all my life avoiding watching people get fed through wood chippers.


Or having their heads explode.


Or like their necks broken so they hang in a weird way.


At no point in my life have I watched a movie and said “I would have liked it better if I had seen some guy get blended.”


Did all the guys who got detention for showing other nervous kids videos of people suiciding on 4chan grow up to become the movie directors?


Who the fuck finds that funny?


You know what if find funny?




Or dogs making funny noises on the internet.


Not human soup.


Did I go soft in my old age(28/9M)?


Is it because I have genuine human connection now and all I can picture is people I like and trust going into my café bender with some chump’s mango smoothie?


Was it always like this? Did I just artfully dodge all the messed shit in my childhood with my thankfully overprotective parents?


Or do we just have the technology now to actually show every one of people’s insides instead of just off screen blood splatters?


I just don’t think it’s a good use of our developments in cgi.


In saying that I once pulled a dwarf’s head off in dungeons and dragons and I used to regularly pushed people down stairs in GTA 4.


I guess humans are just complicated creatures.


And each one of us has their own reasons


As to why


We shouldn’t have machine guns.

The Nap

It is three thirty on a Wednesday afternoon and I am capitol Tired from staying up late with my dad and Claire watchin Westworld and eatin deer. I got nothing much more to do with my afternoon and it is definitely naptime. I set my alarm for one hour’s time, lie down and get a vision.


A huge orange serpent with gross purple growths fills my sight, staring me in the eye as it approaches. I feel something biting my heel, a sharp stabbing pain that grows duller as my eyes get heavier and I fall




Back at my previous house there was a park nearby that I often had to walk through alone in the dark. There was a bridge over a creek, and as I walked across the hairs would stand on the back of my neck. My vision would fill with the face of a giant serpent and I would panic and pray but keep my pace as I crossed, feeling the malice grow small behind me as the park faded to the quiet suburbs surrounding the hospital district.


My alarm goes off at 4:30. I lift my face from the pool of dribble, set the alarm for another half hour, swap sides on the pillow and roll over.


I am small, maybe half the size of a mouse, wearing a worn blue robe and a brown wizard hat, my sword is on my belt. I am on a large wooden table, exploring with a small sparrow.


We come across a large wooden cage on the table. The door is open and we peer inside, the wooden bars as large as the pillars of a cathedral. A giant brown snake, probably regular sized because I am small, lunges out and catches the sparrow in its jaws, twisting it horribly.


I draw my sword and strike the serpent, it releases the sparrow and I lose sight of it. It buffets me with its body and knocks me to the side. I strike at it, wreathing my sword in fire, but the serpent draws away. It stares at me with one huge and horrible eye.


I feel my sword weaken and start to turn into tinfoil. I hold it together with sheer will and leap towards the serpent. I close my eyes, everything turns black except for the bright silver line of my blade. I spin, speeding up. My sword sounds like a helicopter blade, starts breaking the sound barrier.


The blade hits the serpent repeatedly in the face. It draws upwards, towering above me, and knocks my feet out from under me with its tail. I lie on my back, sword pointed up, as the serpent stares down at me with its wild, terrible eyes.


It goes to lunge and I know I have to use my last resort. I draw a line of white down from the sky to the ground. My blade extends in both directions, stabbing up through the roof of the serpent’s mouth and down straight through my stomach.


The serpent’s giant head slips down my blade and rests on my body. I feel pain and sickness in my stomach, feel life bleeding from my middle. I roll over under the serpent’s head and curl up, feel heaviness fall over my limbs. I want to sleep.


I hear Claire’s voice cry from the back of my head, sounding stricken and panicked.


“Sam, live!”


Electricity shoots through my body from my wound. I convulse and I




I see my arm and the pillow, I’m lying on my other side now. I try to move but my body won’t work. All my limbs feel dead. I close my eyes, try to will myself to move. I lift my head up, put my arms beneath me.


I wake, see my arm and the pillow. Try not to panic. I move my other arm slightly. I can’t see it. I pull the pillow out from under me, feel my head drop in slow motion.


I wake, start to panic. I close my eyes and start to pray.


“Dear God, please wake me up, please let my body work.”


I am picked up, thrown across the bed. I wake see my arm and pillow. I close my eyes and pray.


Waves crash down on me, roll me over and over on sand. I wake. I close my eyes. I pray. I am thrown across the room and crash into a crowd of shopping trolleys. I wake see my arm and pillow. I can’t move. I pray. I




And see my arm and pillow. I move my arm. It feels normal. I lift myself off the bed, lift the sweaty sheet from me, sit on the side of the bed, stark naked. My body feels real but my head is distant, like it is sitting behind me. I put my hand on my forehead, try to make sense of my sight.


My phone alarm goes off.


Well my babies I am three days deep in a sad way for no real reason and that’s the way of things. I been huffin down my meds and forgettin I got the swings for nearly ten years and every now and then it creeps up on me and hangs on to the back of my shirt for a couple of sunups until I got the good sense to turn around.

One good thing I can tell you my bipolar buddies is that the cycle aint so vicious if you look closely and see that the blades on it are just taped on triangles of silver cardboard and if nothin else you got probable cause to really feel the sad songs even if things aint goin wrong.

So without further french here is this:


Get the Most out of your Bipolar Mope with our 10? Step Plan


Step one:

Get home from work resolved to do more than any human can get done in four hours


Step two:

Fuckin just refresh social media until you are Both: too angry to think straight And: too sad to do anything useful


Step 3:

Nap for just long enough to feel guilty but definitely not long enough to stop feeling tired


Step four:

Youtube time! Aim for songs that are either apocalyptically depressing or songs with a quiet energy and ironically depressing lyrics. Throw in some vines from cruel people to really fuck yourself up


Number five:

Resolve to write something that is incredibly important and heartfelt and will voice the pain of your generation and help people and bring about world peace and something that will definitely just make you sit at the computer screen staring with your head in your hands for so long that your hair sticks permanently up like you’ve been standing in one of those wind chambers where people desperately try to grab money



Click on an endless stream of Warhammer memes until you come across one of the gross ones of a space elf with grotesquely large boobs. Get angry with nerds. Tab back to empty word document. Repeat


Step Seven:

Probably a (fucking) great time to think really hard about your life while lying on a couch with your eyes closed


Step Ate:

Make sure you hit that dosage of caffeine where it has the opposite effect on you


Step Nine:

Wonder why you feel so terrible when literally everything in your life is going so well (Answer: you should feel bad about yourself)


Step Ten:

Remember that you have bipolar and that you are an idiot and none of this process was actually important because you are just tired and hot and probably need a good nights sleep and some chocolate


Step Ten:

Make 1(one) joke about it and put it on an internet

Christmas Meat

The dray horse eases the cart along a heavily rutted track surrounded by twisted gums. I walk alongside the front, clearing dried branches to either side while mum sits on top with the reins sitting loosely in her hands. Mum wears a wide-brimmed witch’s hat to keep the blinding sun from her eyes. It shadows most of her face, leaving only her mouth visible, set into a bored expression.

The road splits into two parallel tracks, with a line of twisted lantana between them. Branches cover both sides.

“Ut.” Mum says, pulling on the reins and clicking her tongue.

I step forward and start clearing branches from the left track. I step on a pile of sticks and they crack and fall beneath my feet, revealing a cave that dips down into blackness. I wave at mum to back up and she steers the cart to the right track.

Cool air blows from the cave beneath, inviting in the searing heat of the summer day. I lean my head down and feel the breeze on my hair. I call down into the hole and my voice travels a long way before echoing back.


“Don’t.” Mum says, “You’ll call Him.”

I step back and lead the cart onwards. The heat has thickened the air like casserole and the forest fills my ears with buzzing and chirping insects. The line of gums finally breaks onto the steep hill covered with sharp grass that leads up to our sheds.

The three sheds are dull grey corrugated iron, one long and squat with several bedrooms for all my siblings, one half open and littered with rusting and cobwebbed farm equipment, and one towering and insulated where we store our perishables.

I move to the back of the cart and push as the dray horse drags it up the slope. We stop repeatedly as I untwist the long grass from the wheels, my thick hide gloves not quite enough to stop the grass from pricking my fingers.

We get the cart to the flat at the top of the hill and my little sister untacks the horse. Mum lowers herself from the cart and starts removing the canvas sheet from the cargo on the back. Several hessian wrapped parcels are neatly packed into the cart’s tray, each labelled with the names of members of my family.

I pile up the parcels and lift them to the living shed, holding the top of the pile in place with my chin.

Inside the shed is dark and cooler, though heat still gathers near the roof and makes my scalp sweat. My family are gathered on disintegrating couches in the living room. Four brothers, two sisters, dad and mum. I bend my knees and let the pile of gifts down next to the plastic Christmas tree, missing half its branches.

My only older brother pulls me aside.

“Come see,” he says, “I’ve ordered the meat for Christmas.”

He grins, revealing one grey tooth sitting amongst the others. He takes me out the back screen door, lifting it off the rails that are encrusted with dirt and bug corpses. It screeches as he pulls it back and forward.

We step out into the heat. Grasshoppers flee us as we make our way through the grass, seeds sticking to our rutted boots. I shade my eyes from the sun and I can feel the top of my hand burning.

He leads me to the storage shed, unlocks the heavily insulated door and it swings open without making a noise, smooth and solid. Inside is dark. White powder dances in the sunlight slipping between our legs. He flicks a switch beside the door.

Fluorescent lights flicker far above and catch, revealing a landscape of meat piled high above us. Red, dry muscle rises almost to the ceiling in rolling peaks, shot through with veins of white sinew. White powder clouds around the lights. The smell of talcum invades my nostrils.

My stomach undulates as my eyes trace the crests of the mountains. I see things moving up there. Serrated bone raised in crooked claws. Sinews tensing and relaxing.

I turn to my older brother.

“This is fucked.” I say.

He looks hurt but I feel too sick to care.

“We gotta get rid of this. This is really bad.”

I push him outside and close the door behind us, trying to be quiet.

“Look,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder, “We’ll go back inside and enjoy Christmas. I’ll find a place in the bush to dump the meat. We can’t leave it sitting around. He’ll come. Don’t worry I won’t tell the others.”

My brother nods but looks deflated. My mind reels with the task of getting rid of the meat. I want to burn the shed down and run.

We get back inside and I jiggle the screen door back into place. My family is sitting on the floor around the pile of presents, drinking bitter moonshine with the last of our ice cubes.

I head for the hallway to get the shovel from the trunk under my bed. Dad sees me and rushes to his feet, spilling moonshine on the tacky carpet. He catches my eye and I stop as he approaches. He turns his back toward the rest of the family and I do the same.

“I already know what your mum got me.” He says, keeping his voice low. “I can tell from the shape of the package.”

I nod and force a grin, my eyes darting between the hallway and the screen door.

“It’s a new reloading kit.” Dad struggles to keep his voice down. “I’ve needed one since the vapours got into the barn. It’ll mean I can finally restock the 45-70.”

He raises his eyebrows. I nod.

“Yeah.” I say.

“That means proper game. I mean roos are alright but they haven’t got enough on them. This means I can clear those pigs from the dam, filter the water and get us back running proper again.”

“That’s good.” I say, “Look dad I…”

“I’ll get us some deer, do some venison roasts. Maybe I can sneak down to the creek and get us a buffalo. That’ll feed us for weeks. There’s plenty of room in the shed.”

I try to keep my legs from moving but they are starting to ache. Heat pours in from the ceiling. I can hear flies buzzing outside.

“I’ll bring your brother down. You can come too, do some spotting for us. I know you don’t like to shoot but it might be fun to come along.”

“Yeah sounds good dad. Look I gotta do something outside, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Dad raises his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong son?”

“Nothing. I’ll be back.”

I rush down the hall, feeling the weight of dad’s stare behind me. I open the makeshift mdf door to my older brother’s and my room, giving it a shove with my shoulder. It scrapes over the dried corpse of a gecko.

I can hear buzzing outside the small screen window, loud and machine-like. I drag my grey steel trunk from under the bed and it screeches on the concrete floor. I undo the latch, pull out my shovel and tartan bandana.

I hurry back down the hall. Dad has bailed my older brother in the corner, still talking about guns. My brother shoots me a sympathetic glance. I jiggle the screen door open, swear as I try to get it back into place.

The sun is setting outside, red light shining directly into my eyes. I juggle the shovel between my hands as I tie the bandana over my mouth.

I stop short as I see the door to the storage shed, vibrating and bleeding green light from around the doorframe.

I try to take a deep breath but I can’t seem to get air into my lungs. I hold my shovel close to my chest and approach the door. The heat coming off the grey steel walls is unbearable. Humming splits my temples like an axe bit, throbs in waves.

I take on hand off the shovel and twist the grimy steel door handle. I feel the lock uncatch and I push.

The door slides over neat grey carpet, tinged green with the light. Clean walls with a high roof stretch on for way too far. Potted ferns line the walls in perfect symmetry.

At the end of the room is a window, open and flooding green light that is almost solid. Before the window is a wooden desk with a small cactus sitting to one side. There is a figure sitting at the desk, I only catch a glimpse of Him.

A small, twisted body in a grey suit. A giant brown head with greasy black hair.

Something shoots out from under the desk, crosses the room in a second, rolling and bouncing. It cackles.

I drop my shovel and try to slam the door. The handle of the shovel catches between the door and frame. The little creature wrenches the door back, stronger than our dray horse. I kick the shovel away and pull the door back into place. The door crushes the little creature, it squeaks and folds like rubber.

I try to get the lock to catch but the creature is caught under the door. It cackles and squeaks with each pull. I hear the screen door jiggle behind me. Hear my dad talking to my brother as he walks outside.

Tears sting my eyes. I pull and the creature pulls back. Dad makes it around the corner.

“Shit.” He says, comes running.

“Dad…” I say, my arms wrench forward and back. I feel my muscles tear.

“He’s come.

You have to


Dad runs up to grab the door handle. I push him away with my foot.

“Even though

I can’t do this


The door starts to twist.


Get inside.

Lock the doors.”

Dad backs away, eyes wide. He turns for the back door.

“Tell everyone

I said…”

The creature cackles and squeaks. The light flickers from green to deep red. The creature pulls the door off its hinges. I grab the shovel.

“… Merry Christmas.”

Dream Eater

A little while ago I had the best dream I’ve ever had. In it Claire and I lived in a house in the middle of my primary school oval. We spent our days wandering through paddocks getting chased by angry cows and we had a big black dog named Horse that hated me. We sat together in a field reading through a book with every story I ever wrote in it with cool moving pictures of horrible monsters. Then Claire got grumpy with me because I had been sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to go play need for speed 2 on the shitty desktop computer in the spooky ice cave in our basement and I woke up happier then I ever had after a dream because as far as I can remember they have always been bad.

I used to get sleep paralysis real bad. I would seem to wake and not be able to move or I would get half out of bed and collapse then wake up in bed again but still asleep. I would be attacked by the most fucked things and lie in bed screaming at the top of my lungs but it would never seem to break the surface of reality. It’s happened once since I was married and just as shit was about to get hectic Claire put her arm around me and I woke up instantly.

Anyways I had this nightmare recently and it felt like it took forever but when I woke up Claire was right next to me and nothing bad had happened. It made Claire real sad when she was reading it but it made me real sad having it and what I am really trying to say is that sometimes someone is a superhero for just bein right next to you.


Wife 1



I kill my second wife accidentally. She is one of those terminally happy people, bounces along floors and tries to lessen every blow with good news. I like her but her warmth never hits me too hard.

We live in a giant greenhouse with several stories and flowered vines wrapped around swings hanging from the roof. Wife 2 sings to the flowers as she walks by them. It makes them grow better. The floor is mainly taken up by a shallow pool with fountains and a bright mosaic of blue tiles lining the bottom. Rent is pretty cheap.

Wife 2 is swinging from the middle of the roof and I am smoking. I am smoking because my first wife isn’t alive anymore and I know it. I try to hide it even though wife 2 is too happy to care about my cigarettes.

Wife 2 sings and her voice is ok but I am thinking about wife 1’s singing and I feel guilty for it. Wife 2 hits a bad note and I cough violently and the only fire alarm in our weird house goes off. I drop my cigarette and wife 2 is startled and slips on the swing, only holding on by one hand.

I want to make it to her and save her but I take too long because I can’t figure out how to get across on the swings and besides I’ve always hated swings since I was in preschool because I get terrible motion sickness and wife 2 falls into the pool at the bottom which is way too shallow.

All I can see is my cigarette butt floating next to her and I know it is my fault but it doesn’t hit me too hard



I am in a bar and the lighting is slightly brighter and less warm than the bar that I met wife 1 in and the music is almost metal and I know this is where I meet wife 3. I light a cigarette inside even though it is not allowed.

Wife 3 walks up to me and asks if she can have some of my cigarette and I look around for the bouncers but there are no bouncers in the bar only a series of weird ledges like a shuffled up inside amphitheatre. Wife 3 is shorter than wife 1 and the black horizontal stripes on her shirt are thicker than the ones on the shirt wife 1 wore.

We smoke and I decide to Lay on the Charm which I don’t know how to do and I’m not sure if what I’m doing is actually charming so I stop thinking about it and just talk and smoke half a cigarette.

And I know I’ve stopped caring but I don’t think about caring and I know that she will leave me two weeks after getting married on paper because she wants to try and quit smoking and it is not possible for her to quit because I have stopped caring about quitting.

I know that we should never get married, we are only doing it because we are sharing a cigarette but I stop thinking and I pass her the cigarette anyway


I am a professional football player which is something that I never thought would happen and I can’t quite remember how I got here and to me it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

The football field is empty but I am definitely playing because there is a big crowd and they are cheering and it must be for me because I have the ball in my hands and there are no other players on the field.

I run along the field and my legs seem too short and it takes a long time. The lights are blinding me but I hear everyone cheer louder so I know I must have crossed the try line. I dive to the ground and skid on my front but it doesn’t hurt.

I stand up as the crowd is cheering real hard and I look for wife 4 in the crowd but the lights are blinding me and I can’t see the stands and besides I know she isn’t there because she hates football. You can’t smoke in the stands and the game is boring because it only has one player



I am sitting in a large dark room littered with ashtrays watching a shitty old television while crouching because there is no chair. I am smoking three cigarettes at once and the smoke keeps getting in my eyes.

There is a cult on tv saying a lot of blasphemies and laughing. A big yellow furry monster with antennae comes down from the sky and gets really angry with them, shouting and waving its sesame street arms. Then the camera pulls back into the sky and all the lights go out in that part of the city. There is a short and quiet woosh and a bunch of giant black hairy monsters with bird skeleton faces rush in like a rapid gust of wind. They tower over the city all bunched up around the place with no lights on and I turn away because I get scared.

I put my cigarettes out one by one and go to tell wife 5 what is happening even though I don’t know if it is the news or a tv show. I walk through the hallway which goes up beside the big dark room and way further on. There is a door in the side that leads to my room and has a rectangular glass window at the top.

I stand on my toes to look through the window and wife 5 is in there with one of her friends and they are sitting on the bed naked and her friend’s hairy fat body makes my stomach sick. I open the door and yell at them and they both say sorry a lot and leave.

I look around the empty room for wife 1 even though I know she has been gone for a long time and I am alone and there is no-one else to tell



I am standing outside in the city on a clear night having a cigarette. The streets are empty and there are no lights in the buildings. The sky is a sea of stars and the pavement seems to glow from their reflection.

Wife 1 is there in front of me. She is wearing the shirt of mine that she really likes. I want to reach out and hold her, but I know that she is a ghost. That she has been gone for a long time.

I sit down on the pavement and the cold from the concrete fills my body.

I tell her that I want my first wife back.

Tears sting my eyes.

I tell her that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t figure out how to love someone else.

She nods because she knows.

She tells me that I am still smoking.

I tell her that I couldn’t do that either, not without her.

I stub out my cigarette and cross my legs.

I ask her if I killed her. She crouches in front of me and says yes. I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

My medication poisoned her when I kissed her even though that doesn’t make sense.

I look into her face and she seems sad but not so sad that she is crying. I tell her that I want to go back. That it has been night for a long time. That she is far away even though she is right next to me.

I tell her that I know this is a dream but I have been dreaming for way too long now and I can’t remember what it was like anymore, I can’t tell if any of it was


Summer of Love

I was about 21 when a group of my male friends started playing a game they called Summer of Love. I’d been in one intimate relationship and had sex a total of twice in my life.


The game was as follows: you get points for having sex with a member of the opposite sex over the summer, extra points for blowjobs, threesomes and different partners. It was negative 100 points for starting a relationship in that time.


I remember finding the whole thing repulsive. It reduced women to points to be scored, encouraged and perpetuated predatory behaviour. I came in at dead last with -100 points when I stopped counting.


I did the wrong thing.


I didn’t call out anyone involved, didn’t challenge this awful behaviour. I refused to take part, but sitting back and watching is still being complicit. I was a coward.


I don’t like the word hate. I believe hate only festers, only gets in the way of progress and understanding.




I hate my world’s culture of toxic masculinity.


I hate that the actions of males have turned people I respect angry and bitter.


I hate that my wife has to dress a specific way to feel comfortable just walking down the fucking street.


I hate that writers I know who are way more talented, thoughtful and dedicated than me don’t enjoy the same freedom to create without abuse or criticism, solely for the reason that they are women.


I hate that people I love, my mother, my sister, my wife and every single woman I know have been degraded, assaulted and intimidated by the disgusting behaviour of men.


Most of all I hate that my cowardice has been a part of that.


Women have always been braver than men. They’ve had to be. Men can hide behind a system they’ve created, a world where the supposed natural order of things makes it a living nightmare for half the population.


Men need to be brave. It is not our nature to act like this. Human nature is to rise above ourselves, to tear down evil constructs and replace them with what is right and good.


We can be better. It is not an impossible task to make this world a safe and equal place for the women in our lives. It is not too hard to change a thought, and once we lose the part of ourselves that raises us by dragging women down we will be ten times better for it.

The Thick of It

If ya’ll been watching the internet lately you’ll know that it has turned into entirely piece of shit politics. Trump is doin like at least 4 different awfuls per day, people are writing yells at gay people for no damn reason and then someone’s gotta go and dress as an opposite ghost in parliament just to distract from the fact that their party is a swirling toilet bowl and also racism.

We are not standing on the brink of a war, we are in the middle of it. This war could never be fought with guns and bombs, we all have to use words. Guns only kill people, burning things down will only make this last longer.

Use. Your. Words. Don’t throw them around. A single sentence can kill and a thousand swear words can go unnoticed.

The one advantage we can have over the Trumps and Hansons and all the other mad idiots in dangerous positions is


before we speak.




Do not take this lightly


Kids were mowed down by machine guns in thousands for your freedom of speech


Kids drowned crawling in mud to stop blameless people rotting in prison camps


Kids were forced to watch cities melt in fire to stop industry overtaking reason


Kids slit other kids throats, drove over them with tanks, strangled and bit for gay people, for black people, for jews and muslims to have a place next to ours


Kids were forced to kill millions for you to speak today


So speak wisely


Because these kids did not kill for a country


They didn’t kill for a flag, or a culture, or for the names of their ancestors


They killed and died in droves for a world not to be ruled by fear or hate or evil men


To use our freedom to fuel the fires of hate is repugnant


To pull away our hands in reckless, selfish fear is to lose a long fought war


Be the people kids were slaughtered for

Up the Date

Well hi my big babies I know I ain’t been at it on this here website in a bit but that is because I got some Projects goin and I thought I’d get back onto skyblagadang and talk about them cos I miss youuuuuu here’s:




Distant Lights

Well I know it’s got a different name now but the novella that I put on this very shithole of a blog is currently being turned into a book through my dawgs at Tiny Owl Workshop. I dang took it offa here because now you gotta pay someone else to read it but that is the way of things.

Elevator pitch: Memoir about mental illness and my adventures as a real damn wizard tryin to fight all my problems with fireballs and such. My Grandparents read it and said it was weird but one of my best friends read it and cried like a baby so I guess I hope your reaction is somewhere around the middle(?)



I been working on a very complicated project with a group of the coolest people that I could find and they are all smarter than me one of them is my WIFE. The explanation is a real mouthful but basically I get three artists to play a game of my own homebrew dungeons and dragons (Dnd if you are hip and/or fly) system run by certified genius Harry Vening and I sit and frantically write by hand everything that happens and turn it into a book illustrated by the actual characters in the story! My brain aint ever gonna stop hurting!

We are randomly generating the plot using actual magic and some real cool crazy shit is happening. It is pretty much the funnest and coolest project I could hope to work on and whats more is I done made this job up myself.



Hey also I done got married what’s good. Now I know all you ladies are glad to see me out of the dating pool where I was just muddying up the waters and swimming around making shark noises and grabbing peoples ankles but this also means a lot of big deals to me too.

Deal 1: I am no longer a Sad Guy who smokes cancer sticks

Deal 2: I actually do stuff like cook meals other than mayonnaise sandwiches and wash dishes more than just blowin on them real hard

Deal 3: I swear I had more of these

wait Deal 4: I straight up got the best lady fkers suck it woooo

So now I am all respectable and shit and I got a ring that I paid exactly zero dollarydoos for and I work like all the time and things are going gr8. If you been reading my stuff (Y?) you’ll know I been stacked up with crazy and rough goings for a while and I guess what I wanna say is

shit gets better.

I don’t know there’s been a lot of times when I needed to hear that so I’m sayin it now.

One day

All the fucked up shit you’ve seen

Will become hilarious

And all the sadness you feel

Will make your joy sweeter

All the time you spend lost

Is setting up for the day

You are found.