bajanblueOPSpeightstown, Saint Peter Barbados3,724 posts
silky flesh of avocado pale and bland, granular cold of sorbet mango gold just slightly sweet, hot tang of tea that twists the gelatin of vitamins so briefly in the mouth, a trail of honey slick of butter none of these tastes opens the aha! of satisfaction, recognition; an eight hour fast hungers should twist insideā¦ the plural is the key I flit, poor butterfly in search of nectar, from taste to texture seeking to feed a shadow hunger waiting in the wings to be acknowledged the silver shivers creeping up my nerves seek no meat or bread, wine will not slake the thirst nor water quench incipient fire waiting for a spark.
bajanblueOPSpeightstown, Saint Peter Barbados3,724 posts
Thanks. I used to be an avid King fan and then went cold on him so have not been getting his latest stuff (if it ever reaches the island!). I'll look out for it.
Well, he conquered his addictions, so had a hell of a time finding something scary to write about again...actually "Lisey's Story" is more magic realism than horror...
In "On Writing", he surmised that alot of his earlier fiction was a sublimation of his codependence and addictions into metaphorical representations in his monsters/villians...Salem's lot comes to mind, specifically, as well as Cujo...
My taste in writers has always been a bit odd anyways...I like SF but not if it ignores characterization in favor of gadgetry, I like Fantasy if it doesn't become a cliched rehash of Tolkien, I like suspense/thrillers, but Dean Koontz is kind of losing his "touch" as you say...
bajanblueOPSpeightstown, Saint Peter Barbados3,724 posts
How can one be happy in the face of a dwindling book supply?
Yeah Dean is in maleopause at the moment. Zenna Henderson was another early departure who wrote with a difference, SF fantasy genre.Trudi Canvan shows some promise and of course there is Gaiman & Simon Green and Viehl.
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pale and bland,
granular cold of sorbet
mango gold
just slightly sweet,
hot tang of tea
that twists the gelatin
of vitamins so briefly
in the mouth,
a trail of honey
slick of butter
none of these tastes
opens the aha!
of satisfaction,
recognition;
an eight hour fast
hungers should twist
insideā¦
the plural is the key
I flit, poor butterfly
in search of nectar,
from taste to texture
seeking to feed
a shadow hunger
waiting in the wings
to be acknowledged
the silver shivers
creeping up my nerves
seek no meat
or bread, wine will not
slake the thirst
nor water quench
incipient fire
waiting for a spark.
Good evening.