Sunset on London

Seven Seas of London

So this country is an island
this city a thousand more
this street another dozen
maybe fewer, maybe more

A thousand scowling natives
a thousand untapped mines
a thousand golden towers
a thousand untold crimes

And I’m Vasco da Gama,
sometimes Cortés on the shore
struggling to stake new claims
some are bloody, some are poor

I’m the one that watches
the steel wielding end
as all of my old temples fall
ages broken never bend

But there is no choice but sailing on
unless you stay to sink
because the seas between these islands
swallow up those
who stop
to think.

  
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All I want is your heart baby… and maybe a retina or two.

Today’s public service announcement is brought to you by, well, ME. As someone perpetually not arsed to do the things I should be doing I’m always happy to find something completely effort free that’s also undeniably a good thing. Like signing up to give my decaying innards away upon my untimely death in a fist fight with a dozen small monkeys.

Don't weep, wail or despair, it'll be a noble end.
Don’t weep, wail or despair, it’ll be a noble end.

Registering to give your bits over to the NHS, so they can save some poor sods life when you’ve lost yours, is the work of a few minutes. For them though it’s a whole lifetime. Simple enough right? So I’ll stop at that before I go all BBC charity appeal and start posting pictures of starving children and sick looking donkeys.

But really, sign up, don’t be a bastard. You won’t need any of it when you’re gone.

And in case you were wondering…

11. How do they know you are really dead?

  
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Minor Flame

Nothing worse than Whitey from a different country idly writing pretentious poetry about events thousands of miles away. But hey, spirit of the season eh?

A flying fist is a fiery thing
A thousand tanks are not

A dying child makes good print
A thousand dead just rot

An explosive flash in a quiet town
is every anchor’s dream

But a minor flame
on a cold, dark night
is everybody’s shame.

  
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Nautical Interlude

Nothing of a literary nature to share today as editing, cover design and various fiddlings continue around the upcoming Sci-Fi short. I’ve got an international team working round the clock from Deutschland to Dallas to get things ready in time. Sort of. At any rate early December will be the time and the internet will be the place so keep your eyes on this site (or Twitter, Facebook or the mailing list).

And if you find yourself desperate, lost and alone in the meantime? Why Crashed America and Laikanist Times await and like all good books they’ll spend the evening curled up in bed with you even if no one else will.

Anyway, here’s a song I just discovered to tide you over.

 

  
Catford Cat

London – A Study : Catford

I looked into the darkness, my courage fuelled by the gin handed to me by the last friendly face I’d seen. She’d been an ancient, a stooped and broken woman, lurking at the roadside not as a guardian or a guide, but as a farewell. A last moment of truly human contact for those who’d chosen to walk towards their fate. Those who’d chosen to walk to Catford. A journey from which none return, at least not with the souls they’d carried when departing.Continue reading

  

Author Dylan Orchard's Website