Change is an unnatural state, we’re fickle slabs of metal, purpose built cars refusing to be taken consciously by the crusher at the scrapyard. Yet as the metal contorts and writhes you’ve got to wonder is the damage eternally irreversible? The past collides with the present, I’m watching the future float out of eyesight, like … Continue reading Scrapyard
In Hell, an Irish bar
This hangover has got me reminiscing about the days we spent together, inseparable and enamoured.Our last fuck was to Doja Cat’s Streets. We didn’t even say a proper goodbye that night. I admit that it still cuts deep. Fuck, I’ll say it, I hope you’re happy. Knocking back drinks with the girls, acting like we … Continue reading In Hell, an Irish bar
Well Mr. Brizell it seems that the world’s changing
This life is filthy. I should be dead and buried but I’m still here somehow. My liver and lungs are rotting. I’m fatigued from the hangover. What day is it darling? I often forget. The world’s changing and I’m changing with it. Borderline personality disorder’s corroding my existence. I’m drinking gin most nights, reflecting on … Continue reading Well Mr. Brizell it seems that the world’s changing
Oh baby, this is just so prophetic and emblematic
Sit back and imagine that in this very moment, the most important thing you’ve ever had to do is take one or the other off their ventilator. An undeniably nauseating choice, intrinsically intertwined with egotism, you could argue. One dies, another lives, so on and so forth * or alternatively you could flip the script … Continue reading Oh baby, this is just so prophetic and emblematic
The exit on your left leads to your mother’s uterus
I’m sat down and then with a screech it all comes out; Ben, we’re bored of all that tits and ass business. This is 2020! We want adventure, a space opera, with fluffy bears. Oh, we want great medieval dramas at war for the very freedom you have. Well fuck you. Maybe tits and asses … Continue reading The exit on your left leads to your mother’s uterus
Ambivalence is the key
Welcome back to the shitshow. I'll finger you like it's our last night out at McCooley's. My head swirls with liquor stained imagery. I can't tell what's real and what's not anymore. It's a postmodern existential crisis at its finest. If one more person takes a crap selfie, gives it a shit caption and slaps … Continue reading Ambivalence is the key
Britain’s going to fall, so let’s make it sexy
They're going to raid Downing Street, lop off some heads, then paint a Westminster primary school with Johnson's blood and use Corbyn's entrails as decoration for a new communal area. I've got no problems with this brutal outcome. Hang Rothko's art on the new walls of a fallen England. The world's going down in flames. … Continue reading Britain’s going to fall, so let’s make it sexy
My reputation precedes me
My life is a swirling, disorienting mess. I hate myself. I'm wounded from the past like the rest of you. Coming to terms with the moment isn't getting any easier. I'm yearning for death. The morality of continued existence poses itself as a defeatist conundrum. Sure you could have it all, but sooner or later … Continue reading My reputation precedes me
Flash fiction: Farming
He was curled up in her lap. His lips wrapped around her nipple. She played with his hair pulling on it causing him to softly moan in pain. Milk stained the rim of his lips. She watched the pig sucking hungrily at her sore teat. She was nursing him with apathy, like she would her … Continue reading Flash fiction: Farming
My bad
All good things come to an end. There's a time limit on it all. I've broken hearts and I've had my heart broken. There's been no right or wrong either time. There's some good, some bad. I just wonder where the worth we once had for one another sits by the end of it all. … Continue reading My bad
Ben Brizell 