scribblings

writing, again.

Handwritten, over coffee for lunch. -- Falling. He remembered falling, from somewhere, but falling through nothingness. Not black, but a... the post »

1990, main road, rondebosch

I'll call him George. I can't remember his real name, but that seems to fit. The first time I saw... the post »

the hunt

He turned, some metallic spark caught in his peripheral vision. His pace and the brisk wind both halt abruptly -... the post »

Tana riva 'wu

This is part of a story, a long story. A novel in thousands of parts on scraps of paper, in... the post »

Argus

circa 2000, unfinished. bored afternoon at a coffee-shop, perhaps there was too much coffee involved. -- It was a dark... the post »