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Vexations and the Vile: Impallor

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Friday, February 6, 2015. Toronto is bitterly cold when I arrive. Attempting to scrupulously avoid whatever mystery opener is gracing the stage tonight, I arrive at eight thirty, my ride letting me out as the motorcade in front of us slows down, a gaudy salt-stained white Hummer stretch limo illegally parked, evincing the curb in favour of half of the narrow road more narrow by the furrow of fresh snow deposited by the snow plows. I am not that person anymore. I never was. I eclipse this. Disposable Teen...

vexationsandthevile.com

Vexations and the Vile: Servility

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Friday, August 7, 2015. Dawn ’til dusk he shapes his fellow man,. Moulding tepid wax one form at a time. He, the weak oppressor, hides behind two-way mirrors. Smiles with only his mouth,. Quickly buried to his eyeballs. Then wiping the filth from the anus of society —. He said, “it’s a living.”. Posted by Colin Andrew MacDougall. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Writings herein are read at the viewers discretion; opinions are the writers own. View my complete profile. Death is a Slow March.

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Vexations and the Vile: Quiver

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Tuesday, August 11, 2015. As some long-lost boomerang, she comes. Whirling back to me, aquiver. Holds arrows, a pincushion does just this. As do i — have i. Been so (and so on). Like a doormat, intrinsically underfoot—. The beaten submission only took three vertebrae and all my knuckles. The rest is rust and written in dust. As my knees fittingly buckle. Posted by Colin Andrew MacDougall. Labels: colin andrew macdougall. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Death is a Slow March.

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Vexations and the Vile: Ω

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Wednesday, February 11, 2015. A sinusoidal cicada scream, ever-blossoming. Impels, tympanics symphonies conducted. In concert the disconcerting drone of. Disenchantment : incorporates vagaries ;. Streamlined haikus of no consequence. Bled the dolorous chickenhawk. Corrupted without being charming. Slit chitter-chatter : torturous sympath. Theoretically void of allure. Deviancy constrains all moral injunction. Natter sweetly, acidic cicada ;. Call decisively : smatter certitude. Winter gnaws, fondly acrid.

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Vexations and the Vile: Luminous

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Sunday, June 28, 2015. Velvet blades of grass sashay and smelling not earth. But heady wine and the aged skins it animates. Chromal drapes cocoon peripheries of. Sheer domes surveying the unchecked dominion of Man —. He’d better check himself. Rubbing stomach, feeling the dust and swimming. Among thermal intricacies the sandstone rasping. In violent throes of violet echoes of ossuaries. Maraca tail rattles : a whisper, warning vaulted scrapings. Tasting desert boleros afly &. Undulate without exception ;.

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Vexations and the Vile: Flick

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Friday, May 15, 2015. It’s like a blade meeting a blade. With impact, and sparks — rings. Clear and sonorous; mallet strikes bell. I duck my eyes as bashful doves —. I didn’t expect the glancing blow to connect. Posted by Colin Andrew MacDougall. Labels: colin andrew macdougall. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Writings herein are read at the viewers discretion; opinions are the writers own. View my complete profile. Death is a Slow March. Petals on a . [Poetry/Prose]. In One Word, Subjects.

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Vexations and the Vile: Inkstain

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Sunday, April 26, 2015. Scribblebacks bereft of value and without blood, ink, or. Braided tedium mitigates fascination. Quiet croak : hapless platitudes. Posted by Colin Andrew MacDougall. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Writings herein are read at the viewers discretion; opinions are the writers own. View my complete profile. Death is a Slow March. Petals on a . [Poetry/Prose]. In One Word, Subjects. Death is a slow march. Angels burning in hell. Beyond good and evil. Edward st. aubyn. I had a dream.

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Vexations and the Vile: Inveigle

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Tuesday, April 7, 2015. Your tongue is a viper. Your eyes are black holes. I’ve found my fondness for ophus . . . for singularities). My tongue is the moon. My eyes are photons. Posted by Colin Andrew MacDougall. Labels: colin andrew macdougall. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Writings herein are read at the viewers discretion; opinions are the writers own. View my complete profile. Death is a Slow March. Petals on a . [Poetry/Prose]. In One Word, Subjects. Death is a slow march. Beyond good and evil.