Soyos Shorts

I fall. I fall down Parisian steps flowing with bleach in a straight jacket of my own design. I need a thousand dollars worth of dirt to heal my sprained ankle and rule the slaves in my back pocket. I fall. I fall onto the head of a girl holding aloft a zippo lighter at dawn. She cracks a tooth on a zebra crossing and waves goodbye to party nights. Stop, she laughs, then jumps rope and fire. I fall. I fall with a dream of techno clubs lost without a name. This time I shrug and pinch my shoulder like Spock. I need an anaesthetic, fetch me a rollercoaster and send in the dancing girls—let’s roll. I fall. I fall into a bowl of tepid soup and swim to shore with orthodontic braces wrapped around my head. It’s a rainy day and bystanders are brought back to life from the ghetto. The next world is for loners only, riding skateboards, gobbling jambalaya. I fall. I fall from a great height into the cusp of a wave and a jaded snow storm. What’s worse is my shoes are untied and I have to reconstru...

we drove through my hometown late one afternoon, a mid-July breeze kisses my cheeks and whispers over my shoulders through the open window (I always have the windows open)  and the golden light of a yawning sun bounces off the sweaty hoods of a small town summer rush hour. and as we idled there, held by the precious sonance of contentment my love told me a story from his childhood: “when I was a boy back in the UK I had a paper route. along my route, on one of the corners, there was a pear tree ripe with perfectly firm green fruit rouging, softening, by the day. I knew, if I kept myself disciplined, this one tree held just enough fruit for me to have one pear each time I did my route for the season. I was so proud, it was my very own little secret slice of heaven. “on the way home from school one day I took my friends to show them my pear tree. I wanted them to witness the magic of the tree I had spoken so highly of, to share with them a bit of its wonder. we approached the tree, t...

This is the dialectic. Sartre and Hegel. Both slave to philosophy. both slaves to the for-itselfness imbedded in ideology of totalisation. Both masters to history. and so, the irony. The iron will. The aestheticism that elevated their notions nuance and finesse from consciousness and reflective fitness to cooling down intersubjective cooperation. Permanent irreal contemplation. howling about the ontic and the concrete instantiation reifying praxis when the key is, hiding subjectivity in the imagination freely accessible when one pre-reflectively transcends selfless self-fully from facticity through interpolation avoided relativism and solipsism in sensuous situation. The me that justifies itself avoiding for-others and in-itself without oppression and yet for itself, ontologically driven toward the category that is the only avenue to genuine phenomenological conversion. Good faith post bad faith. No overt expression of mere communication. Experience void of self-deception and BANG! th...

  May 12, 2023 It’s easy to forget The feeling of rooms I’ve mourned  The houses I’ve left I've mourned Sunday flowers  Arranged in sepian In a moment of lightness I became a sponge for it Airy  And float Over the embers of last nights fuckery I’ve thought it correct to wake up sore And wash the finery owned by old hands Play slave And grate Play beaten ash To one’s weight Desire the boil of whip wounds To Drug-On Tick tombs Slink into the corner cabinet Lick wounds Swallow mild feminist rubbish  Delivered weak Asinine dribble Emerge moronic Wet consume Your tales of now Help me to wake bitter Spit hot superiority Bullseye To the back of a lovers throat And stir For years And burn and shake  In bled fury It’s all very simple We own no other We possess nothing But our bodies encased But our actions, purposeful But our spirits, fine And all that happened Was that he was tired And wanted to rest beastly The ailing joke - He remained so Blue moons after he woke...

  MARCH 8, 2023 Share Most people like to claim mythical/graceful/stoic/cute creatures as their spirit animal, but for me it is the common pet hamster, rolling around in a plastic ball, it’s own shit constantly raining down on its head with every revolution.   Written by  Alan ten-Hoeve

  MARCH 7, 2023 Share I saw pictures of myself In youth In love And the shudders they gave   Hurt my neck   Written by  Nia Di Gennaro