venturus

ian mcLachlan

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The Headshrinkers by venturus, literature

Literature

The Headshrinkers

When Todd opened the bathroom door and found Nick lying fully clothed in the tub with his wrists competently slit, it was not an absolute shock. Like Todd, Nick had had musical aspirations, but where Todd was an extrovert with his own band, The Headshrinkers, Nick had been a regular shut-in, working and reworking his ballads just for his own satisfaction apparently. With Marlboro lights and cheap lager Todd had coaxed Nick out of his shell. ‘Teach me one of yours,’ he’d requested early on. He had even got Nick playing rhythm guitar at a Headshrinkers gig one time. Strumming throughout from behind a veil of hair it was hard t

The Wraith by venturus, literature

Literature

The Wraith

Though he had pre-registered months in advance, when he arrived at reception, the conference hosts could not locate his name on their lists, nor was a “John Wraith” lanyard waiting for him to collect. There were, the wraith noticed, other pale faces checking in, slipping between the hearty flesh-and-blood types who wheeled their compact suitcases about the lobby and gabbed brightly. When his turn came to pass his luggage to the porter for stowing while a room was prepared for him, the man at first overlooked him. Then, handing over the string bag in which he’d packed his best shoes, a black brogue slithered out and tumbled t

25. John Doe by venturus, literature

Literature

25. John Doe

They feed you blood from a machine are kind, want to know about you. They feed you contaminated blood sometimes. Then you see heaven in the sulphur lamp & white walls. Down a plastic tube the blood drip drips. Your forearm itches. Sometimes you see hell. It is bare like the room they keep you in. You wonder if you’ll live forever. They expound the rule of the fittest, population control. They let you go.

24. The Trial by venturus, literature

Literature

24. The Trial

Why should the world sit in judgement on you? Its social contract was a cage, kept men like song birds. You served liberty. As it is the nature of fire to scorch, vapours to rise, each acts according to what it is. For this they would stake your heart. Sunlight like spilt wine on your shirt, you in the pomp of your difference. You tell the wool-wigged lawyers: Compromise dilutes the blood; my life’s an experiment in living.

23. Taken by venturus, literature

Literature

23. Taken

He rides in the back with the other unnamed noblemen because to them he’s the same. It’s like Bastille Day, but he’s in a police van, siren sawing, speeding towards Shepherd’s Bush. Society is a closed shop. The press have displayed a morbid taste for his affairs, often factually flawed; they printed his address as Carfax, declared dead foxes in a cemetery his work. Halting, first from the van, It is the man himself! a hack cries.

22. Burn by venturus, literature

21. Vanity project by venturus, literature

20. Blue movie by venturus, literature

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The Headshrinkers by venturus, literature

Literature

The Headshrinkers

The Wraith by venturus, literature

Literature

The Wraith

25. John Doe by venturus, literature

Literature

25. John Doe

24. The Trial by venturus, literature

Literature

24. The Trial

23. Taken by venturus, literature

Literature

23. Taken

22. Burn by venturus, literature

21. Vanity project by venturus, literature

20. Blue movie by venturus, literature

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Z by Swep-Lovitt, literature

Literature

Z

When I picture you, I see a little Girl, black-haired, chewing her lip. Serious. Working to create A password to open up the world-- To recognize her for the princess She is fated to be--or maybe An alternative route, perhaps men Changed to swine, a sorceress. I called you Circe, many years ago. "Dear Boy, you found yourself Amusing. I am old as Greece itself. You fancied yourself seductive. It was I who took off your clothes. In your mirror, look, a snout?"

China, +on reading a poem, +St. Vincent by Swep-Lovitt, journal

China, +on reading a poem, +St. Vincent

Jan 6, 2018

back from two weeks in china, visiting son jeremy and family of wife ting xuan, and boys etele and nico. the new house they have, wonderful even before he gutted it, and made extensive changes to make it more open, will be their pleasure for a lifetime. ******************** ******************** ******************** each poem is a gift, from the poet to the reader. and then back again, when accepted. before reading get psyched-up, in a low-key way. take off the coat you've worn all day. settle-in, quickened. come to the poem as a separate, original experience. read slowly, with attention. if you don't have a few minutes

Collaboration by Swep-Lovitt, literature

Sapiens (2), the animals by Swep-Lovitt, journal

Sapiens (2), the animals

Jul 18, 2016

the agricultural revolution left sapiens dependent on grains but the faustian bargain between humans and grains was not the only deal our species made. another deal was struck concerning the fate of animals such as sheep, goats, pigs, and chickens. as humans spread around the world, so did their domesticated animals. 10,000 years ago a total of not more than a few million sheep, cattle, goats, boars, and chickens lived in restricted afro-asian niches. today, the world contains a billion sheep, a billion pigs, more than a billion cattle, and more than 25 billion chickens. from an evolutionary perspective the agric. rev. was a wonderfu

We Split The Dalis by Swep-Lovitt, literature

Literature

We Split The Dalis

She got Chagall's Cirque Soleil. I got the four Friedlaenders. We split the Dalis', Helen of Troy And Kissing Grapes,with its glittered Angel, bough of purple skulls. So, we moved, bedroom To bedroom, dining to living room, Pulling art off walls. But not until The den, when I reached to lift Alvar's Espacio Rojo--our first auction-- Did she break down, face In hands, sink to the blue couch. I closed my eyes. Returned, Backtracking, each piece to its home. All the days, the nights, room After room of memories on fire.

Gulf by Swep-Lovitt, literature

Literature

Gulf

Shoulder to shoulder, In a rough surf, they ride A yellow raft, My Mother and Father. At the first drops Of the storm, their faces Side by side, They're slow to move. Legs trailing, now Propelled, now withdrawn, They re-appear Each time farther out. The rhythm of the sea-- I complain it's pulling me Down--the rhythm Is my parents' own. Hugging the raft, They wear the distant smile Of those quietly Listening at a shell.