History nerd who likes to live in a fictional world... also pretty gay.
I was wearing a new coat. Not my coat, really, my partner’s, but it was warm inside the coat and raining outdoors so I borrowed it.
By AJ Birt3 years ago in Fiction
Looking at photos of the guy I was first in love with, it feels like getting something stuck in your throat. Like hitting a bar or a branch while walking.
By AJ Birt3 years ago in Poets
The first thing he was aware of was his lower back hurting. Was lower the right word? Was it more the middle? What counted as back pain, anyway? Was it just to do with the spine?
I’ve noticed that I tend to change along with the seasons. Not entirely. Not that I become a new person altogether every single year. Not that I don’t have one personality, or name, I just have different variations on the same whole, I suppose.
“Carrots, peas, red pepper, and - what else is in the fridge? - oh yeah, onions, garlic, spring onions maybe? Could put kale in too…”
2022 has seen two unusual reimaginings of the classic children’s tale. Disney has tried its hand again, whilst Netflix has produced a stop-motion creation (more on that later). However, not one rendition of Pinocchio stays true to the 1883 novel. Here is a compilation and comparison of all the bizarre different ways that Pinocchio has been warped over the past century.
By AJ Birt3 years ago in Geeks
The first time I went to a proper barbers, I was 17. One of my friends had to drag me through the door because my anxiety had overwhelmed me entirely. Once in, awkward small talk was made but for the first time in my life I had a proper, cis-approved haircut.
By AJ Birt3 years ago in Pride
As I hear his gentle breathing, I slowly wake and get the feeling That doom approaches, cold and raw ‘Oh god did I lock the front door?’
Inside my brain, there are two hamsters. One runs in its wheel on the left, the other runs on the right. Sometimes, they cooperate and synchronise. Most of the time they are trying to eat each other.
By AJ Birt3 years ago in Psyche
Beyond the glass, there is a corpse, Alive in thought but dead in eyes, If I move, the corpse copies me, If I pretend, it can be my disguise.
Word limits are often the noose that hangs creativity. Consider; you're writing away merrily, thinking you've smashed every important point in an argument, or hit every plot in your story. Then you realise you have a deadline that requires 1000 more words, so you rush out something at half-enthusiasm to purely fulfil an expectation.
Hands and heart are numb Fingers curled, hair askew “Why’d you have to do it, Mum? Why’d it have to be you?” Chords of love connect us.
