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at the moment, while i'm waiting for the last of the feedback on my most recent play, and - like a vacuum-sealed plastic-wrapped suit, consigned to the most tedious clerical job you can possibly imagine - i've found myself spewing out scraps and splinters of prose. the first of these, the unrequited king (as previewed in the 'crucify me' thread) was about a man who utilises a dead body to indirectly beg in the streets, pouring his ill-gotten earnings mostly into console games and fast food.
next up, a couple of irresponsible conceptuals i'll probably find myself scribbling covertly, in between collating data and stuffing envelopes - my animus, which is essentially a porn story set behing the scenes of a software convention (with a twist!) - and back to the sea which is an uncomfortably straight autobiographical piece, projecting a possible near future scenario i could choose to take (essentially, since you asked, or at least didn't stop me in time - giving up writing and finding wonder in the mundane). |
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