Home of The Naughty Stories Series
“Honestly,” she said with a sigh, “I never could bring myself to meet any of those people… but they were always on the edge of my nightmares.” In a hotel room in the West End, between promotional duties for a project that he had come to dislike with a young up and coming actress who …
Meanwhile in the private room of the Dorian Grey, a Hamburg nightclub, she became virtually acquainted with her double First there was no news and then there was Julia’s news. The card of a beached fishing smack was sent from Corfu where she’d met a Birmingham boy called Scott, master of torque settings, and scourge …
Guido, I wish that you and Lupo and IWere carried off by magic 1#2I82-3: Book of Skulls and Bones As a teenager, I bought into the whole business of denim jackets, long hair and air-guitars. My elder brother, Sam, who was, by contrast, a new wave fan, used to take the piss out of my …
Why am I always cutting myself? On aspect and tense, Junk Press21 The Doc sat in one of the pews with his hands together; if not in prayer, but by way of imprecation. Then, perhaps out of habit, he crossed himself and stood up. He walked out of the church. He did not meet a …
The gambiarras master made a pneumograph to measure Canario’s heartbeat. During the experiment he asked Canario to drink some water and sing. Under the squiggly line made by Canario’s heartbeat he drew arrows: AGUA CANTOU Jimmy had fourth grade piano and several years of choir practice; Renton who I was jealous of used to play …
Thereafter I was to think of him as a horse with no name, a lion without a mane. In April, several years and several months after J’s disappearance, on Boxing Day, 1999, from a recording studio in Clapham, a horse purporting to work for one of the music magazines she never read anymore phoned up …
“Nothing but dream, shadow,”declared the boxer. Up by the pagoda, the thief came across a scene involving an old drunk and whore who reminded him perversely of his wife, even if she was never a harridan, or shrew. There was a certain way about the whore, perhaps common to all women in the middle of …
Inside the drowned man, Hobbes found the whale. Inside the whale, Hobbes found nothing but junk. Among the cardboard boxes and bin-liners, outside a restaurant called perplexingly Le Chat Noir, someone had dumped a manikin, which appeared to have been super-glued with angel wings. A large black dog or possibly werewolf springs and snaps off …
Over the obdurate face of a woman dressed in the black robes of a widow flowed a sequence of images involving: ground launch missiles, Stalinist propaganda posters, a convoy of tanks rolling through the desert. A mummified figure passed above a massed crowd of flaying and beating breasts; the bandages seemed to come loose over …
“I began,” she declared over the tea strainer, “to note the changes in his appearance… He stopped going to have his hair cut. He began to wash less and less. His jokes became progressively more obscure; he would lapse into long, unaccountable silences, punctured by exclamations and laughter.” In the middle of the hall was …