freedom costs money - shorts, the zero hour, the rest, poems and lyrics

A Strangled Vision

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 12:25:09 +0100

More Sohail poetry.........

Fragmented relics contract.
Embryonic orb ablaze ruptures wintry expanse.

Stranded
on spacetime
canvas. Fused into
mosaic of dimensions.
Existing within a particle of

Bang. - The Zero hour

Thu, 01 Feb 2007 14:16:32 +0000

Phillip John Mitchell walked slowly down the centre of the road, he was naked, his flesh black with soot and smoke, and red with blood, his head ached on one side and his brow felt wet. Smoke and flames wrapped him in their silent embrace before the wind chased them away, the scene cleared briefly, and he saw he was not the only one; others were moving, trying to stand looking about them in dazed and calm acceptance. Then wind turned back on itself and the scene was gone, there was Mitchell, the road, and that far away ringing in his ears that was all he could hear…

The Zero Hour - The Story of Paddington Station

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 22:16:25 +0000

Chapter 7

On his knees with his head against the wall Jeffrey could only listen to what went on around him. His hands were held behind his back with a plastic tie. It was twenty minutes since it had been confirmed from inside the contaminated zone that yes, it was just a case of cows falling from the sky and not the next 911. Gloria had been attempting to negotiate his release with the medic who was tending to her head wound.

A Lost Alien

Fri, 10 Nov 2006 14:02:10 +0000

Another contribution from Sohail!

Lying among the corpses of the forgotten,
I awoke to find birds, teacups, planets and stars
In constant motion

The humans that I met would dissolve into teardrops.

The Zero Hour, a random Chapter.

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 20:00:28 +0100

The Zero Hour, a random Chapter.
DCI Brecon Beacon looked out of the window of the luxury suite of the Cheshire Prussian Hotel, on the expensive side of Park lane. Outside the sun was barely making itself known despite the fact that it had been up for 23 minutes, by Beacon’s watch. Dull, half-hearted rain threw itself limply against the pane of glass and below maybe a hundred reporters pushed and shoved around the entrance to the Hotel. Four overwhelmed policemen were patiently loosing their voices shouting for the photographers to get back. Press, can’t lock ‘em up, can’t beat ‘em up…

Metamorphosis

Fri, 27 Oct 2006 12:19:35 +0100

Thought I'd submit this on behalf of my friend Sohail who lives in Manchester. He's just started writing poems again. This makes me happy!

Composed of mysterious atoms.
Part of nature’s brutal beauty.

Go (I won't let you)

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 16:02:53 +0100

She said "It's not enough to be here, when you're not

With your mistress your music"

She said "It's not enough that you try to make clear, if

I leave you alone you might lose it"

Go I won't let you

Advanced Disclosures

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 12:24:47 +0100

Is it too crowded there?
To get closer?
To my fair share?
Does it suit you?
To love a stupid boy
Who controls you
I lost the only war
With no soldiers

So here's an empty room
And yet it's full of

Fountain

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 18:33:31 +0100

Detective Inspector Aaron Cardigan peered over Sergeant Finial’s shoulder at the fuzzy monochrome image that the computer monitor displayed. It showed a back street overshadowed by vast neo-classical buildings without windows; an estate car was parked in the street, tailgate open. Finial clicked onto the next image: it showed a man struggling under the weight of what looked like a urinal. It was a urinal. Whether he was unloading it from the car or loading it was unclear; he seemed about to drop the heavy urinal. Thank god he didn’t, mused Cardigan.

On The Rocks (April 1979)

Tue, 05 Sep 2006 17:16:03 +0100

The following is one of a series of articles published in Apropos, the parish magazine of Rimmington Mains throughout 1978 and 1979; entitled On The Rocks, they were one man’s lament for the loss of the Britain of his youth, a Britain that he thought ought not be lost. The author, Major Laurence Alamein, was something of a war hero, fighting in North Africa under Montgomery (he captured an airstrip practically single handedly using only a Mills grenade and a captured Axis motorcycle) and later became Managing Director of Shoshone Oil. He died at Armley in 1985.

Scene Changes: Bly

Sun, 10 Sep 2006 19:05:00 +0100

This is a format which I have shamelessly stolen from Osbert Lancaster's Scene Changes: Great Houses of Fiction Revisited. It's really an excellent book that's worth seeking out, though I think it may be out of print now.

Patna

Tue, 01 Aug 2006 19:43:01 +0100

Since I've finished War in English's Apodidraskiana, I've moved onto what that novel was supposed to be in the first place. If I can control myself and not put in a load of war criminals and nuclear bombs, it may very well turn into The Family Plot. It's probably not going to be as bleak as this little bit suggests it might be. Yes, it's set in Tierra del Mar. I can't help it. I just can't.

The Editor's Note on the Author

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 14:44:27 +0100

Here is the Editor’s Note on the Author from my most recently completed novel: it is presented as having been written by Ted English and edited by me, which cunningly allows me to abdicate responsibility for the many mistakes which it is bound to contain. English has spelt taut as taught? Perhaps he meant something by it. I am only the editor, after all...

The Editor's Note on the Text

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 14:35:47 +0100

Here is the Editor’s Note on the Text from my most recently completed novel: it is presented as having been written by Ted English and edited by me, which cunningly allows me to abdicate responsibility for the many mistakes which it is bound to contain. English has spelt taut as taught? Perhaps he meant something by it. I am only the editor, after all...

Tell CNN

Fri, 30 Jun 2006 16:22:30 +0100

There's an urban myth with some people that everyone wrote a 9-11 song, well i'm afraid i did, this is it...

Well Bobby’s got a job now
Bobby’s getting paid,
Better play it cool Bobby