Walter D——

By Macon Holt.

Walter looked up from his keyboard with extraordinary frustration. He looked incredulously at the document open in front of him. 70,000 words and he had not noticed. He had given the twenty-something protagonist of his newest work of contemporary prose his own name. This of course he had noticed immediately; in fact looking back it had been intentional. “Let the mainstream press pour over this, to try and find the truth of my salad days and let the intellectuals hunt in the gray space between fiction and the world outside”, he had thought. Walter hated the word “fact”, even in his private thoughts, in his work it was a word often used ad-nauseum by antagonists and the absurdly caricatured victims of his memory turned text. A scholarly collection was soon to be released entitled Walter D—— and Facts: Politics, Prose and Truth Content. Walter had been sent copy and replied with his blessings though the volume remained wrapped in publishing house cellophane. This name sharing was not a problem after all, authors using their own names for characters in their work is a well established trope of literary fiction. Indeed in this case Walter had even included the first letter of his last name, though replaced it with and elongated hyphen to add distance and ambiguity. Continue reading


Directions To A Concert.

By Macon Holt

Photo on 12-07-2014 at 13.08“I’m so sorry Edwin couldn’t be here today Charles. It’s just this city y’know, if it’s not one thing it’s
another, I’m sure you understand”, explained Paul Brewer of the MoL office. Only a cynical person would have described Paul’s tone as insincere, but such a person would have been right. When meeting someone serious, someone of influence, not just some white public impressed by arcane verbiage, Edwin could easily be a hindrance. “We just thought, what with the event bearing down on us, as it is, we should really get a motor on. Get some momentum behind the logistics”.
“Paul, I could not agree more, and given that today is a Saturday, only a week to go, I’m sure Mayor Gilbert…”
“Please Charles, call him Edwin. Edwin likes to seem approachable, which he is.”
The interruption caused a pause.
“Okay, Edwin must have had a particularly pressing engagement to keep him away, we know how he so wants to encourage a convergence of cultural and commercial life in the city, and we appreciate it. We’re just so glad to have your good self and?” Continue reading

a simple yet unnecessary soft-journalism team.

By L. A. Hilton

Image           We were stranded in Brindisi for a short time before the next boat out and it was raining. It hadn’t rained at all in two weeks and now that we were out of viable options, it rained. It was the one night on this whole trip – even our whole lives maybe – that we would have to sleep outside on the street. We decided to kill some time in a bar, nursing a beer each, making it last longer than usual so that we could stay inside where it was dry. We knew from the vaguely understandable newspaper weather reports that the rain was supposed to finish in the middle of the night and it wasn’t too heavy so we finished our drinks before the bar got too busy and went outside. We sat on a circular stone bench in the street, amidst cheering Italian drinkers who were presumably celebrating the arrival of the weekend. The Italians stood in the entrances to the busy bars, just about outside, smoking and laughing their rich laughs. The bench was a smooth expensive stone and had an enormous tree in the centre which sheltered us from the majority of the downpour. We’d left our waterproof clothes in France a fortnight before as the heat and sunshine had been ubiquitous on the continent for some time – it meant that all we had was shorts and linen shirts, sandals and sun-cream. Peter would meet us in Athens with our pay from the writing we had done together a month before, back home in London, and what we’d been writing for him since getting out here. We had only to see out one night in Brindisi before boarding the ferry across to Patras; sixteen hours on the boat and we’d be on Greek soil where the rest of the job could be done. Continue reading

Someone Has Been Up To Something

Macon has been publishing things in different places. But he didn’t get paid for it so he can still work here.

For Full Stop



Manifest Destiny

A list of nine rules by which I live my life

There is no easy way to tell somebody that they are going to die. Much less that you are going to kill them.

A boy with no ideas in his head blows his brains out through a hole he makes in the back of his skull with a cordless drill.

When it is wet outside it is wet outside.

The gas leaks out of holes that you cannot see in the cold pavements that border the roads.

The gas first smells like egg, and then it kills you.

Sawdust must have other uses.

The example given on for ‘identical’ is “girls in identical outfits”. This is the example given for the definition: “similar in every detail; exactly alike”.

      • Are you certain that the earth’s population is only 7 billion?