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Catastrophe Jones
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Writer, painter, artist, poet, sculptor, mommy extraordinaire...
Writer, painter, artist, poet, sculptor, mommy extraordinaire...

77 followers
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You may have noticed the Audio Version of #DeathWatch hasn’t come out — but I have a good reason, I swear. I started recording, and I was doing just fine until it came time to ‘do the voices’.  In my head, it was to be just a read-aloud version of each…

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This is Issue #103 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up. Happy Reading! PREVIOUS * * * “Jet.” The voice was familiar, but Jet didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to listen.…

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This is Issue #102 of DeathWatch, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find ‘A Beginning’ and read from there, if you need to catch up. Happy Reading! PREVIOUS * * * Headed for the horizon, Kieron saw Hana, and when she saw him, she was both shocked…

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I’ve got a thing for her. Not because he wants her. Not because she wants him. Not because she’s bigger, better, prettier than me, but because she’s gorgeous, all on her own. Because she knows how to dance and how to bake bread and how to break bread and…

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It was hard to watch, to know I could have been something more than I am. It was hard to look at, to know instinctively that my worth had been judged, set, carved into time half a century prior, and I had not examined it for flaws, merely accepted it as…

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“You know, every time I walk down this alleyway, I think I’m gonna see Batman.” “You know what would make a good band name? Surgical gloves and toast.” “I’m just gonna put this thing here. In you.” “You can’t let them get to you like that. Nobody else…

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The smile of the angel is torture and rapture. The kiss of the whore is always the same. Is it any wonder we expect our pleasure to come with a measure of delirious pain?

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If I cut away this flesh and I strip away this voice and I reduce myself to the nothing but 1s and 0s that will ultimately be left behind, I am not entirely sure I see enough of anything to be memorable. Time to start blowing shit up.

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I’m worried I won’t be the man you need. I worry I’m not enough to fulfill you. I worry I’m not strong enough, not big enough, not hard enough. Even in my most perfect days, I already know I’m not man enough.

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Once you were between my legs, and you saw me — not the man I pretend to be, but just me. “Just look at how wet you are for me,” you said. It was one of the only times I felt like it was us making love, and not a hundred thousand lies between us. […]
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