poetryplace

It's been a bit of a minute, hasn't it?

So, I've been a busy, busy bee! And can confirm that...

MY POETRY BOOK IS ALMOST DONE!

Hooray, huzzah etc etc.

Why has it taken so long? Because I have ZERO work ethic. Oh and the whole manic depression thing.

But we are getting there! It'll be a few days, maybe a few weeks, till it's available, but for now, do enjoy looking at the Front Cover. Very minimalist, very wow.

Until next time my writing chums!

Man, those Ghibli films sure are pretty, right?

The Wind Rises is my top Ghibli film, which apparently is an unpopular opinion?

H O W E V E R

I made some changes to my book cover! I feel the yellow stands out more and just looks inviting. Do let me know what you think.

Also let me know if just ripping this tooth out with the old string and door handle technique is a good idea

ITS REAL MY POETRY BOOK IS REAL

a few kinks to Iron out but having it in my hands is such a crazy feeling! can't wait for like, five or six people to buy it. that's not even a joke, knowing even one person might read this is crazy to me

posted this one before, but it's becoming a favourite that I've written

oh wow it's also in my upcoming poetry book how super duper and cool!

TW// References to ED and Self Harm

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Its not about weight,

that funny thing, that mass

sagging from bone to the ground.

Its control.

Self medicated hatred.

A reminder to myself to despise the

one who looks back in the mirror.

The throat must burn, as the words do.

It must feel like fire from the

belly of some mythical beast.

The joy of feasting must be

ripped apart, so finally,

all joy has been taken from

my life.

It is what I deserve

for deciding to seek something more

than these simple, masochistic pleasures.

---------------------------------------

TW // Mental Health, Disassociation, Mentions of Alcoholism

Dark roads, lit by

fluorescent headlights.

But on one turn,

there was a deer.

She stood there, eyes wide,

reflecting steel in her gaze.

We stopped in standoff.

A beep of a horn.

Winding down the windows

to shout 'get! go on and get!'.

But there she stood.

And for a moment,

I thought she was sacrifice.

I thought if I ran through her,

ground her under tyre and tar,

the chains of my life would

melt under holy blood splattered

against them.

I felt it in me, a certainty that

God themself placed this animal here,

for me to crush with my misfortunes,

and drive home a happier man.

But as I gripped the wheel,

grasped the handbrake,

and readied my spear of

reconciliation, she pranced away.

A run as graceful as an angel.

I pulled away slowly,

looking through the woods she

went towards, and saw her eyes

A poem written in one continuous take

I feel I am on the cliff of mania.

The foam spits at my shins as

waves crash and bend rock

that could break my spine if I

fell or trip or dare to jump down.

But I'm looking past the horizon,

past the blue,

past the clouds, past the dark

and the stars,

and as a breathe in the air of salt and earth and humanities being,

I think I am God.

No, no it's more than that.

I am lust envy greed wrath pride,

I am chastity and purity and kindness joy and giving.

I am the Roman with the spear I am Christ crying for father I am the deep rich blood that flows down the metal.

I could kill God.

And I'm about to jump, fly away into the heavens and the stars and into being and oneness.

And I think of Pompey.

White knuckled grip on the handle of his sword,

stood at the entrance of the Holy of Holies.

The battle has been over for hours but he hears men

clamoring, swords splintering swords, the weeping of

broken boys, the cheering of his name:

Conqueror

King

God.

He could kill God, snap through that curtain and pierce the heart of Jehovah.

But he hesitates.

Dryness of the mouth, shaking of the hand,

a slip up in his step.

Because there's one part of him,

that one deep seated rational part planted in the conscience of all men, that doubts.

For what if I jump?

What if when that curtain is ripped,

Jehovah strikes Pompey down in flurries of lightning

and fire and flame?

What if the rocks break and twist the vertebrae

and rips viscera from bone as I land in the white foam?

Or what if, he raises the curtain, I step off the ledge,

I sit at night and hear your cries through the night:

"raywriting" I hear you 100% ask for real, "what are your top five books of ALL time?"

Well...since you asked:

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5. Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller

I will not sit here and pretend I am immune to a good gay love story, especially set in Ancient Rome, ESPECIALLY especially with reference to the Story of Achillies, and The Illiad. Well written, made me sob, good stuff.

---

4. The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri

In my mind, the best collection of Epic Poetry written. Containing the well known Inferno, as well as Purgatorio and Paradiso, it is such a fantastic take on the afterlife, suffering, 1300s Italian Politics, and love. Beautifully written, even if a bit self-gratifying (bro literally wrote in all his favourite philosophers saying how based he is). Please read all three parts, it is worth it for the descriptive power of Dante alone.

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3. Flowers For Algernon - Daniel Keyes

Maybe one of the only books written in a journal format which is not a slog to get through, and also carries with it the weight of sudden responsibility, lonliness, osrisisation from society, as well as the societal struggles the mentally handicapped face, all written in the 60s by a dude. Crazy progressive for a white man in the 60s. Also made me cry, and has a super creative format.

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2. House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski

Imagine having a debut novel, which within it contains two novels, one a non-fiction essay in a fake film written by a dead man, and the other a man's slow descent into madness as he reads through a dead man's manuscript, criss0crossig the pages, writing lengths in the footnotes and in spiral patterns, telling the Story of the Minotaur at the same time as a characters labrynthian adventure into the depths of an ever-changing house. That doesn't even scratch the surface of how batshit insane House of Leaves is.

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1. Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

It's funny. I can acknowledge that this is not the best written of the other four here, maybe not even the best. But this book is stuck to my heart. Glued to me like the ashes of burnt books. The story of Montag's trabsformation from Fireman to Book-boy is such an anxiety enducing, exhilerating read. Fantastic setting, an amazing villian who, brilliant themes which, though now overdone, still stand out on each re-read. Always loved Bradbury's prose, and it is the best he's ever managed here. Out of all the books here, I implore you to read this one.

- A Magnus Archives Statement about Garfield

- A Magnus Archives short on the fear of dreaming

- Original Gay Vampire Story

But yes, believe it or not

I HAVE AN AO3 PAGE

If you want to check out the above mentioned, then the link is below! And believe it or not, there is a new intermission for the Gay Vampire story A Thirst to Quench that I haven't posted here yet!

Wow, an exclusive? Now that's advertising!

I cba to post it here yet that's why

Enjoy!

me: