Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (113)
Filter by community
What a Chapter
What a chapter, right?! Jeez, the fireball chasing the newly liberated immigrants. How the coldest of cold, bitter of long-legged licorice took Luke’s death. Her unique use of a solid body guitar as both weapon and imprisoning door stopper was ingenious. Credit where it’s due. The symbolic Mustang roar into the sunset to the tune of aspirated breaths of God would be goddamn cruel to kill us now. I mean, that show-stopper speech, when I told the sadistic addict to keep the money and the car, threw her promises and seemingly genuine mournful tears thinking of the fates she forced us all in. A senseless revolt against the cancerous wig splitting she spread and led me on for the greedy loophole in the capitalist morals that pays so handsomely it’s a wonder bounty hunting isn’t a Fortune 500 conglomerate. My triumphant walk from the delusion keeping me warm for over a year, Over A YEAR. I didn’t have to mention the doves that flocked off as I tossed the keys over my shoulder, blowing her fucking mind that I always knew her real name. There’s nothing slicker than an exit strategy with a built-in free plane ticket and tattered flag of an alibi holding just, but that sentence will never be necessary. Wanted to see how it looked.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Chapters
Would That be Terrible?
Time Quake. They get real, regurgitated kill retold all over again, with a leading character name to die for. Kilgore Trout; serious, Indiana Jones? Can you get any blander? And what a premise dropped on your head like a good tragedy should, with a plethora of implications that stretch beyond the book’s intense surface. Dull at times, if only you forget the future to come or the past that led the character there. Now I have no right to slob over this like it’s some new discovery I plan to set on its fiery way from this already-forgotten profile. But, man, what an entry into Kurt Vonnegut. That is to say, I’m not much of a reader. Even interesting books with living spiders promised beyond the cover leave me drooling by page two. That aside, I made it through it in record time, refusing the gloss over a single page in a haze of a failing attention span.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in BookClub
Kind of the First
Truthfully, it has no title. Its current rendition has nothing in common with its origin, and as daring as I thought it was, it was half unofficial military journal, half retooled events with an unfathomable connection to the former. It was disjointed from chapter to chapter with characters, much like now, that are poorly named and swore a lot. Most of it followed me from dropping out of college, traveling abroad (sort of), and surviving the first year of training laced with sanity-slipping. Seven hundred and 53 pages of Microsoft Word textual brain cell dumping putting depraved bandmates through a hell that would be the most insufferable sadistic tortures if they happened to one person. Alas, or thank whatever god suits your fancy, it’s gone.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Confessions
Hap and Let Down
A gift to the world if television plays the standard quarantining roles of whisking away boredom or glazing the room with adventurous background noise. Except for Hap and Leonard’s diluted water ending. Closure wasted; plot teased then tasteless; a sad farewell instead of a monumental example of southern fried greatness. 9/10
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Critique
Wine and Crows
Contrary to the thought of time travel and my current racial standings doesn’t worry me as much as it sparks a particular set of questions with answers that could give life worth reconsidering. However, this is not so much regarding the ripping of the temporal plain as a long-running curiosity about the universe-destroying effects of one dead grandfather. Reading the Iliad felt like a stroll through Athens, leaving on a dirt path under Artemis’ silver-laced sky, beating feet onto the next stop. Sands of timelessness wrapped up the shine and, at the downs of my journey, went untainted by the current hardships of an area that probably isn’t accurate to any genealogy of mine for new ones to navigate. Imaging carrying the message, one theorized to express some tremendous change in the Greek Empire with never a step taken without a purpose for miles of foothills from sea to sea. Possibly during the Ionian Revolt, where tension remained lullingly fever-pitched as battles in Asia moved northward or maybe as the duty became more centered around the emperor’s paranoia. Fun times. Not to add to the mistrust by introducing the sandal-cladded youths to the rage of an Ares war.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
The End is Not for You
While this work and there's doesn't share the same reason for existing, the fear depicted is that of an unknown more horrifying than meeting your final bullet or the imaginary creature you can but refuse to imagine. As our universe coldly gently grants us a peek into its depths, there's nothing to say we've even peered in the correct direction for answers that shake you awake.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
Cart Before the Horse
A mystery to be solved at a later date, I suppose. Yet, in deep diving into the desert that is personal growth, it still powers a witching hour pacing session for two decades since it was introduced. It's the best thing for a restless night awakened from other obsessive nightmares topics. If I may break from the subject a second, I love a good paradox to meditate angrily like a trap without any binds or restraints to take it seriously. This one is forever tiresome and functions with a legitimate living specimen. The complete lack of vision in their vision, passion devoid of devotion, all with hope so worthy of ridicule, it'll jump-start adulthood and confound a mathematician from twenty-three paces. To this examination, my childhood, I warn of its effect can be a sort of spiraling infinitely without progress or direction of any validity. However, this enduring wooden rollercoaster that's beyond too creaky for that seventh loop. The Father mystery wears the mechanism to implosion to the point of a vacuous finality. If you can excuse the nauseating discomfort of too much cotton candy, it goes as follows: 'After your mom and I get rid of our car for an SUV for my hip, we're going to buy that house out in the country. Then I'll see about getting a job.'
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Journal
Retirement Ain't so Great
A mad dash pack-n-scram put a damper on her plans, but efficiency was duly appreciated. The day he had was gold medal worthy at the mundane Olympics. Todd, at check-out, poorly handled a customer complaint claiming his curly blondish hair weaved itself through their bananas. During the oil change, a mechanic attempted an up sale so egregious the lube tech broke ranks to confess on his behalf of his uneducated new management as they wished Lars well sending on his way. To bring this fantasy-level sunshiny day to a victory lap, he visited his P.O. Box to greet a dramatic finality taking over a counter three-fourths the elderly lady’s size. All this, and Sandra was feverishly packing a bag he didn’t know if he had seen prior. And then, from the way its smell wafted to flare Lars’ nostrils, it wasn’t a factory color but a ColorPlace special. That’s not to say the extra pockets crudely stitched amid a firefight aren’t decently symmetrical. He recounted his conversation with the landlord and how keen he was to make a laid-off family of three homeless; Lars caught a glimpse of his favorite shirt folded neatly amongst the madness of stuffed laundry. Then she opened the canned food cabinet, moved everything either to the left or right and opened it again.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
