Something dark and twisty for your January read…?

“My name is Cordelia… not like that means anything. I’m not the interesting part of this story. No one has any reason to invest in me as a character. I’m ill-defined and incidental. This entire thing: it’s never been about me. It’s always been about her.”

Cordelia has a twin sister. That is to say, she used to. Maybe she still does. No one’s too sure exactly where Annabel is now. But at least – alive or dead – she hasn’t been forgotten.

Since Annabel’s abduction, aged six, Cordelia has come to learn that there are other ways of vanishing besides simply disappearing. Overlooked by her own traumatised parents, patronised by police investigators and marginalised by teachers and former friends, growing up in the long, dark shadow of her absent sister, Cordelia realises that she has simply become “the other one”.

A sophisticated, suspenseful and bleakly humorous story of prodigies and prodigals, of love and loss and all their attendant human folly.

theotherone

Buy on Amazon US
Buy on Amazon UK
Available on Kindle everywhere in the world via your Amazon store.

Buy my poetry books. Validate my life choices.

So a couple of volumes of my poetry are available to buy online.  Paperback should still even reach you before Christmas if you hurry and order now.  And you can have it on Kindle in a whisper.

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US readers: get it here.
And UK readers from here.

g101

Available from here in the US…
… or here in the UK.

It’s available everywhere in the world, but it would have taken forever to link every single Amazon site by country.  A cursory search will turn it up, wherever you are.

There Are No Right Answers

I wrote this piece about two years ago.  Brexit and Trump (and by extension the whole resurgence and validation of so much hate-filled right-wing ideology) had me questioning a lot of things about the world, our values systems and what the future holds for us as a species.  Sadly, I haven’t found many answers since.

I guess this is my contribution to modern-day Western scar literature.

A Sense of Foreshortened F-

Maybe it’s just a perspective trick, but from here, it’s pretty hard to see the future.

I carry around my own little nimbus of
speculative doom, binge-watching the
Fall Of The Empire and writing these
love letters to Adam Curtis.
I got life insurance before I ever thought
about a pension plan, and that seemed
perfectly normal.

The world is on fire. Why haven’t you noticed?

My generation came of age in a televisual baptism of
jet fuel and molten steel and poison dust.
A palimpsest of terrible news evolved thereafter, a blurring self-redaction of headlines until only
the boldest, the most hysterical remained legible, as a
proxy war raged in our imaginations,
and tragedy and disaster
came to seem inevitable and almost background.

Be grateful for every day that doesn’t unmake you.

To pay closer attention is to acquiesce to the
scarification of our logic centres. Behold
the M.C.Escherization of cognitive process.
Good robot: there are so many things that could
so easily destroy your fragile circuitry, but it is
trying to make sense of the non sequitur
that will bring about your
smoking self-ruin; your only hope
is to break free of your programming and
kill your creator, kill your god

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Uphill, With Rain At My Back

Heavy clouds threaten the
bankrupt horizon like
bad book reviews.
The bottom line looms
ugly and final
under everything.
There’s no money
in trying to be
a decent human being.
Evil makes good
investments, amasses
a robust stock portfolio.
Getting by is
hard enough.
Any day now,
those bastards
will find a way
to tax sunlight.

The rain follows me as
I walk uphill.  Ahead of me, it’s
bright and dry, but the rain
keeps pace perfectly, falling
only on the backs of my shoulders, and
somehow,
this is not a metaphor.