Two poems about Synaesthesia

And a free trial for everyone

Hello all.

Before we begin, I just wanted to let you all know that my next post is going to be a big reveal about the book SEVEN STORIES ABOUT TIME TRAVEL and it has a paywall in the middle which leads to behind-the-scenes content, dark comedy, and spoilers. I wanted you all to be able to peer over that paywall, so I’ve given everybody a week’s free trial starting about six hours ago. That way you can see how you feel about the paid content and help me refine it.

I’ll be adding more behind-the-scenes content to my stories and poems in the future, as well as writing advice and publishing tips that correspond to what I’m writing. The idea is to add value, not arbitrarily slap paywalls down. One upcoming post is going to be about how to make time travel entertaining. Another idea is to post my concept art for the stories, which I have never done before. I’m also thinking about paid subscriber contests. Basically, I have a lot of ideas and I’m looking forward to finding which ones work.

This post has a paywall right after the poems which dives into my philosophy about the poems, and how I think meme culture is going to eventually eat spoken word poetry. It’s also got a few dark jokes. You can hop right over that paywall this week and see what you think about it.

Anyway, poems.

Texture (15/10/2022)

Cruising over the lined pages of tarmac

The brain says blue green blue and casts the colour

Into each ear where it spirals into reality

The unseen collapsing into the seen

And a brown sort of feeling envelops vibrating legs

As the car trundles onward

Then it’s gone, a blip of yellow

Before another green flattens out and shifts underneath

a party trick in reverse

and again onto textured surface

it rises from the bridge of the nose and diagonally into eye sockets

where it should be cold and white

where it whirrs into a whistling vortex

blue yellow blue green blue

where it spins into reality and leaves again

clouding the mind with sense experience

Brain

Naughty brains get sent to the vacuous room

where fluorescent tube and off-white walls scrap against cork

and trains screech-stop, sending their violent waves crashing

if you want to leave, you’ll have to tell us what the woman on TV says

in her inescapable drawl, the endless accented speech

labyrinthine in its highs and lows, the words feel split in their middles

and glued back together back to front

don’t ask for subtitles, they’ll think you weren’t listening

when listening is a picking apart of this sound-puzzle

they’ll think you were putting your own one together

deep in your head, in that alien head of yours

and the lights are too bright for you to hear

and the room is too smelly for you to remember the homework

and the teacher’s shrill voice cuts into your marrow

and the kid behind you is listening to shit music

on shit speakers, echoing like someone pissing into a pile of cans

filled with wasps, and each wasp is singing a song you don’t like

and the room is too cold, so everything is too bright

and it’s a feedback loop

and Mister Carter, weren’t you paying attention last time?

Naughty brains get sent to the vacuous room

Here be paywall, where wigglycosmic stringbeasts of code prevent you from seeing the weird thoughts in my head unless you have paid to see them, or unless you’ve got a free trial.

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