2014 in review

Some 2014 stats porn courtesy of WordPress. I am a bit confused on the San Francisco cable cars as a unit of measure though… but I’m from Australia, we use the metric system.


Happy New Year everyone!

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,800 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 47 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.


Bibliophagy 2015: Sharpening my literary teeth on the Book Riot Read Harder Challenge

BookRiot Reading Harder Challenge 2015

BookRiot Reading Harder Challenge 2015

Here we are. Nearly at the end of 2015. Time for reflection, time for planning. In this post, the reflection, the planning is on one topic: reading. Continue reading

The march of the green


PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg

The men sat on the stairs, holding each other’s hands, watching the inexorable march of the green. Here at the end, the old animosities, the old arguments of faith versus science had availed them of nothing, and they watched the final reclamation of man’s tenancy on earth as friends.

“Perhaps,” said one, “our faith in ourselves was misplaced. Perhaps we should have had faith in something higher.”

“Perhaps,” replied the other, “our sin was not that we bit the apple from the knowledge tree. Perhaps our sin was that we did not eat the whole fruit.”

The green marched on.

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photo credit: rarvesen via photopin cc

photo credit: rarvesen via photopin cc


Living in the country, I would look up at the stars; craning my neck till it ached, staring till my eyes were red-rimmed.

Night was a velvet tapestry of a billion heavenly bodies, shining with a fierce brilliance and mirrored in young imagination.

In the city, against fluorescents and halogens, incandescents and LEDs, stars are all but invisible, wonder all but faded.

Ancient celestials are dimmed against the omnipresent skyglow; the nuclear furnace of great suns reduced to a mere glimmer.

I no longer look up or crane my neck; my eyes remain red-rimmed.

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La petite mort en soie

He shudders under the potency of her touch; flesh responding involuntarily, rebelliously. His heart quickens at each tender, feather-light caress brushing against his side. Breath becomes shallow and urgent as he is enveloped; gasping, panting as she controls him utterly. Her intoxicating kiss robs him of strength, silken bonds as restraining steel shackles.

He is at her mercy, but she is merciless. She explores his body, touching and tasting him as she is lost in the moment. Kisses graduate in step with her passion, soft tickling, to nibbling, on to painful biting. Each sensation building, escalating to climax…

She penetrates.

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The storm had flushed the streets, expunging the city of years of accumulated garbage, but it had simply been carried to where the river narrowed. The homeless had been similarly relocated, and now waded waist-deep in swirling muck, picking though the floating trash. Building mounds of sad treasures.

I stood with Mark on the bridge, watching the winnowers gather their pathetic harvest.

“Look at that filth,” he said, “it’s disgusting.”

I scanned his face, wondering if he referred to washed up rubbish or the unfortunates collecting it. I kept silent, unsure if the question reflected on him or on me.

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Publish or perish

In the centre of the ancient ruins, stars whirling above, the champions of the Order met in deadly combat. This was a ritual battle that had existed almost as long as the stone monoliths that currently contained it, with an outcome impacting history itself. The opposing factions were lined around the circular henge, chanting, cheering, baying, for blood.

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