Graeme Bones

Possibly Human | Maybe Writer | Probably Spiraling

hot vomit

internal screaming

This is an example of a page constructed by a thing with scrambled eggs and baked beans for brains. Once a lost little creature, it was found, and regretted thoroughly enough that its keeper chose to depart this world rather than continue caring for it. 

Such is life. And death. And all that.

It currently resides in a concrete box full of shiny things and plastic. It makes coin through requested acts of service by day and moonlights as a purveyor of literary autopsy theatre.

It is tired. It, too, will die. But that part comes later. A wait which was deemed rather unfortunate by most persons polled.

  • it was fun while it lasted

    I am the universe experiencing itself. Every day I see myself, interact with myself, laugh with myself, hate myself, wonder about myself. I communicate lofty ideas with myself and recruit other streams of myself to bring these ideas to reality.… more ›

  • stars go dark

    At least in some ways I have conquered my greatest fear: The fear of dying alone. Being that it has already happened, and I wasn’t alone when it happened, the only thing that is left to fear is losing sight… more ›

  • a forest

    You cut your heart out every night just to feel it beat in your chest again by morning. Some kind of Sisyphus shit. And for what crime? For thinking you could ask yourself, “is this all there is to life?”… more ›

  • come back

    How’s the gravity in the human realm? You loving your tethers well enough? I’ve got my head in the stars, looking back at conventional reality where all my tethers are little plus and minus signs followed by dollar signs and… more ›

  • emptiness, ultimate truth, and you

    Eleven months have passed since I last shared my daily happenings with you. I would like to believe you still have an awareness of my life, its goings on, as it is a very nice belief that you are somewhere,… more ›