Category Archives: Fiction

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What of it?

Posted on November 2, 2018 by Catastrophe Jones

What of it what of it what of this shining thing of need, a bloody swelling, some balloon full of a breatheable blood — if you take a mouthful, your voice will rise, rise, rise, become a high pitched scream, … Continue reading →

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3 Responses to What of it?

  1. Trent Lewin says:
    November 5, 2018 at 11:13 pm

    I ain’t forgetting you. Raise your voice, Jones. Nice and loud.

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the world is on fire

Posted on November 1, 2018 by Catastrophe Jones

the world is solution maybe then mediation anything what everyone else says is someone tell between everything is a fake i hope i me someone someone get me anymore but lose myself and i will lose you that is all … Continue reading →

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Know ( )self

Posted on July 18, 2018 by Catastrophe Jones

Intangible thing, a belief in self — how is it that you cannot hold it, cannot wield it, cannot shield yourself with it? Because it cannot be grasped? But in the hands of another, it cuts deeply enough that you … Continue reading →

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White Noise

Posted on July 13, 2018 by Catastrophe Jones

Rising sick a tide of anxious bees pollinating worry inside me like a field of roses surrounding the tower a buzzing reaching for the bottom of my tongue like it will not let me make words only a scream that’s … Continue reading →

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DeathWatch II No. 97 – I am proud of you, my only son.

Posted on May 15, 2018 by Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #97 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II! Happy Reading! PREVIOUS * * … Continue reading →

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4 Responses to DeathWatch II No. 97 – I am proud of you, my only son.

  1. Emily says:
    May 16, 2018 at 11:38 am

    Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh been so long since I’ve readddd it. Now I gotta start from the beginning again so I get a fresh start.

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  2. Victori Rhode says:
    May 23, 2018 at 4:30 pm

    Whoo…. always chilling to read the thoughts of psychopaths; Exosus always makes my skin crawl. Poor Preclaris.

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