Welcome. Anonymous Author holds a mirror to the face of humanity, asking what it really means to be human,

and in doing so blurs the line between what is good and bad writing.

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Wednesday, April 27, 2011


It was rain-dark. Silverbeet coloured trees which were neither silver nor red shrouded the slick roads. He walked too fast, bouncing off strangers. Mist permeated their angry, sibilant voices with coldness and the white noise of tires on wet asphalt became ugly. He would have welcomed the punch in the face – it was the threat of the punch that caused more damage. Peering back every few steps, through the inkiness, he felt sick. We want to see the colour of your fear, they'd told him. Well, this was it; a boy tearing through blackness, all his light absorbed.

Friday, April 22, 2011


Which reminds me, I must come up with a memorable opening line.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


She grinned like she had the pleasure of a secret. Lovely to see you. He pecked her lightly on the cheek and felt the suede warmth of her flesh. Closing his eyes and pressing his lips a little firmer, surprised with the elevating pleasure of the exchange, he inhaled and was mildly perturbed to discover the scent she wore – or had worn today – was the same fragrance his daughter favoured. But she must be three times her age? He kissed her face harder still, confused, put off his stride. His lips widened just enough for his tongue to emerge and faintly taste skin and perfume mingling with a mysterious womanly concoction of powders and creams. She stiffened; her grin waned. He looked away and mumbled a weak apology, his mouth dry with embarrassment. The moment had become horribly awkward, as social rituals do if you repeat them often enough. 

Friday, April 15, 2011


I've emerged from Plato's cave to view truth in light and shadow and reflection. My mind has been coaxed and trained from obscurity, like an eye illuminated with the brightness of reality. I seek warped watery images; impressions of forms too dazzling, too profound, to examine in ordinary light.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


When the first human spoke the first word how did the speaker know what he or she meant, and how did the listener understand how to interpret the utterance? Answers on the back of a holographic postcard to: 
"WTF are you saying?" Apt 13, 10010110 State Highway 1, Auckland. 
Attn: Anonymous Author.

Sunday, April 10, 2011


In life, not everything is relevant; in literature, this is not so. His creative paralysis stemmed from the pressure to emulate prior barely comprehensible eruptions of earnestness. Deliberate obfuscation intensified despite his unnerving emotional clarity.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


If I was as lazy with my writing as you are with your speech idt b dixwlt s udersnda w((woz drtyinf to?say doo uou/.

Monday, April 4, 2011


He was difficult to be around but I enjoyed spending time with him. It meant I was not the most offensive person in the room.