Thursday, 17 February 2011

A Big Thank you!

I would like to say thank you very much to everyone who has recently joined Literary Litter! I hope you have enjoyed my work. Please feel free to comment any constructive criticism is most welcome!

Next Installment of The Success Vice will be 23/2/11!!!

Also look out for my new Spring poem!

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

The Sucsess Vice Chapters One and Two.

Chapter One 

Signing the note. A shaking hand. Couldn’t I just man up and live with my decision? Apparently not as  tears dropped onto the white paper with the spidery hand like rain on a pond.  I looked at my self in the mirror. Who am I?  I asked myself?  You’re the one about to end who you are.  I answered?  No I’m about to end who I was.


Yes me too. I hate myself. Charlotte would understand. Grieve, yet understand and Sam, Alexandra and Richard would be better without me. Yeah, who needs an alcoholic drug addict father, whose temper was, well shall we say -inconsistent.  

A tide that would recede to reveal a beautiful white beach of affection, but after moonlight, the noontide of rage would envelop my beloved family with rage and abuse. So it’s time to go. I climbed to the top of my tree looked out and up, eyes strained for haven, but it was not there. Failure made me fall. No success made me fail.  So I fell  hitting every branch of the tree on the way down, now I am at the bottom of the success tree in the failure mud, my eyes are searching for hell.

So I wrapped the Italian leather belt around my neck with a warped sense of finesse as if I was dressing for some hideous cooperate job and applying a boring and mundane neck tie. Carefully I attached a second belt to the end of the first. I moved from the bathroom, with a euphoric sense of ending. I stood on the oaken chair, how funny, ironic  that it would be those ‘classy’ and ’rustic’ beams of my country cottage I had worked so hard to afford;  would be the ones to end me. My success would be the death of me and my failure to.  Success the promoter of joy and riches, also the secrete promoter of failure and failure promoted my death. Shakily I made a hitch around the beam.  

Flinching at the webs of spiders I encountered at the touch, ha! I thought- spiders! Spiders eat themselves when they have nothing to feed on. Yes I am like a spider I thought, economical; no flies flew my way at the end of my woeful web of a life. But flies would fly on my body. 

Yes. I would eat myself. End myself.

I kicked the chair away...

Chapter Two 

I am terribly sorry! So very sorry. I have just told you the end haven’t I? Well you’re probably confused so here is the story from the top.  Again I’m being rude let me introduce myself.

Hello. I’m Paul, Paul Striders the name. 

This is a story about my life. Yeah I know. Your probably thinking I have read a million stories about the life’s of people called Paul, John, Fidel, Karl, Vladimir But shut up now and listen.  This is the most important one yet and it’ll teach you something that may save you. Stop you ending the way I finished. Yes it will help you finish before you end yourself. But first you have to promise to read this with an open mind and don’t judge me until you finish. 

No. Don’t say ‘the dirty socialist’ or that ‘ignorant idealist.’

To tell you the truth I hate Karl and Margaret too. 

So I’m like the double agent who was triple crossed, betrayed by all agencies. My life grew me up like a tree in a renewable forest, inevitably waiting for me to grow bark, then they me cut me down. Only to press me into thin paper. Paper is a funny thing; you see it’s plain yet pure and impressionable. All it takes is some crazy fool with black inc to come along and scribble all over it like a signature. 

Think of the ideas that have been turned into millions from paper, think of the manifestos that have lead to dictatorships - written on paper. Think of all the money ever made form paper! Listen please, I am not an unreasonable socialist although this story will tell you that capitalism is the devils whore, so I’m not one of those either. Maybe I am just a moralist? You deicide.

I grabbed the change, my hand trembling. My body was convulsing begging for the fix.  I striped open the thin plastic wrapping that covered my Marlboro Reds like a starving monkey stripping its bamboo to eat. I planted the brown rooted cigarette into my fertile crack of a moth.

Sparked. Walked. Exhaled

How joyous! How liberating! The nicotine precipitation on my parched crop of addiction.  I strolled back now, the way I had come. Back the way I had limped 10 minutes previously in search of my fix. 
Then all I remember was - I think .. Pounding footsteps behind me. A  smashing sound and something trickling down my head . Then waking up in hospital. 

HA! How I fucking hate hospitals. 

Mylz Furlonge-Walke

Aestas, Lord of Seasons

SEE 'MY POEMS' For my first ever poem!

Monday, 14 February 2011

The Sucsess Vice


The Success Vice is about the eccentric and depression prone Paul Strider. He is both well educated and wealthy. However when his father; losses his business and fortune, his wealth is destroyed. Naturally, Paul finds refuge in drugs and alcohol However, when Paul decides to become a writer; he finds himself in a hideous double jeopardy of successes when he is most unhappy and vice dependant and failure when he is clean. What is the Solution? Stop drugs and risk falling novels or become clean save his marriage but forfeit the success he craves…

I will publish the instalments of the story weekly.. ENJOY!  

Any constructive criticism would be most welcome!

In addition, WATCH this space for a debate on the notion of 'What is success and how can it be measured?'