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The Cozy Spot

5 posts categorized "horror"

September 02, 2007

Said the Spider, to the Fly

Said the Spider, to the Fly

"The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line." - Alexander Pope

You know you’ve let yourself go when you seldom shave your legs; the only time taken is during the last minute date, the one made with a fly-by-night virtual person who has said the right things, who has fallen into your web of sparkling bullshit.

A nick, two, three…blood, and a ‘fuck!’ here and there, as the warm water sprays skin; the comfort of being in one’s own skin?

It all unfolded like an overstated script; full of clichés, something that would fit into any B grade Hollywood flick, or ghastly porno film by the time the lights switch off and the grope begins. We settled into a comfortable zone, one that can be summed up with one word: tolerance. Tolerance is strange; to tolerate something is to grudgingly accept it, when many parts of you don’t necessarily appreciate it.

They’re never the same as what they are on the screen, often transforming into a partial shrinking violet, don a conservative bowler hat by the time their ass settles in the chair, and offer a soft gaze, one that never leaps forth to daringly tease or titillate.

Continue reading "Said the Spider, to the Fly" »

July 08, 2007

Atelier - fiction

I’ve attempted to construct a bridge to unite the erotic or sexual, with elements of horror or fear. The comic book is a prop in the story, and its importance becomes more pronounced as the story progresses. There is only one word I can use in association with Atelier. Creepy.


He whistled while he sketched. The Acropolis towered over the nefos that plagued the city below; modernity coexisted with antiquity, while the people bustled underneath, often taking the relic for granted. Tourists roamed, and steel cased digital cameras glimmered; their Rockports hugged ancient rocks as their eyes surveyed past millennia. His ears pricked up to tour guides, and the tourist caught his eye. Lagging behind, she rolled her eyes at the small group, and continued to dawdle.

‘It’s a nice day for a tour,’ he said, continuing his tune.

Captured, her curiosity got the better of her.

‘What are you sketching?’ she asked. He hugged his sketchpad protectively.

Drawn, like an iron filing to a magnet, she gazed into his eyes. Blinking, she smiled and gathered her wits. A sensual face, marked with full mouth, his symmetry riveted her to the ancient ground.

'It is unfinished.'

His spoken English laced with a cornucopia of accents, slithered; music to her ears. A definitive change from the posed intonations she’d been accustomed to. His tan confirmed a Mediterranean leaning; white, a predominant shade of summer, swathed his limbs.

‘Are you drawing the Parthenon?’

He shook his head, and presented his surprise. Each flowing line, every precise curve, muffled her voice. She inspected his hands, from the calloused mounds cushioning the base of his digits, to the sinuous stretch of ligaments housed between his metacarpals.

‘Do you live here?’

‘No,’ he said. His mellow and resonant drifted through the air between them like smooth cigarette smoke, as it effortlessly blended with air molecules, to form a symmetrical helix.


‘έτσι και έτσι,’ he replied, his left hand teetering this way and that.


‘A little of this, a little of that, and the other.’

Continue reading "Atelier - fiction" »

June 11, 2007

Electric Blue - Fiction

This story started at the café this afternoon. It walks on the wild (crazy) side of the street and thought I’d post it in its entirety. It kind of takes me back to those old movies, where a person ends up meeting a dreadful, nightmarish fate. Don’t let the title fool you, the story isn’t about porn.

Electric Blue

It all became a little crazier the morning she woke up. She’d seen him before she actually saw him. As weird as it may be to an ordinary human being, it didn’t rub off as a strange thing to her. There were many incidents she could select, like the time she dropped a bag of oranges in the fruit market, to be injected with that familiar twinge; someone walked over her grave.

The day in the fruit market didn’t surprise her. She filed away a hundred or so incidents very much like it. Others have obsessions about number 666. Hers involved one of the most ancient of all, that involving destiny or the three women who’d preside over a mortal’s fate. Everyone pondered fate, kismet or destiny at one point or another, and there were those who’d amuse her, the skeptics, who’d be defiant to incorporate modern scientific logic. Her friends, those who evaporated one by one, began to express their skeptical thoughts.

‘You make your own destiny,’ they’d say at some point or another, often over skim lattes.

‘But, how do you really know?’

The last person she asked, who remained her loyal friend was a financial analyst named Jarrod. He moved in the flat next door. The rent was cheap, and this enabled him to update his wardrobe regularly. This further enabled him to chart his climb. The corporate ladder amazed and revolved him; the potential freedom it offered enticed him more than the nubile girl at the local bar.

‘I don’t know. It’s not the same concept as it was a thousand years ago. We’re at the mercy of many influences, incidents and people. Anything can happen. It’s more chaotic.’

‘Who’s to say there’s no order in chaos?’

‘Chaos isn’t about an invisible hand guiding an outcome or influencing a decision.’

‘That’s what the scientists say, they always say that because they’ll never be able to pinpoint it.’

‘It could be that you, or me for that matter, do control our destiny through the choices we make.’

‘But what if we don’t’ make a full choice. You know.’

‘I don’t. Explain a little.’

‘You’ll laugh. It’s a stupid example, hardly on the level of hurricanes, earthquakes or apocalyptic visions.’ She lowered her voice toward the end. A waiter hovered around their table, watching their consumption.

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June 10, 2007

"The Glow in the Dark Project"

This is like the condom equivalent of the Blair Witch Project. Three guys camping out, on a scary night...listening to screams, that scare the crap out of them. But there's a solution. This little ad also says a lot about energy conservation, in the form of a glow in the dark condom. Why waste electricity or battery power, when you have a glow in the dark franger? Do you think Al Gore will appreciate this innovative, alternative use of light energy? This Aussie condom ad is hilarious.

June 04, 2007

The Collector IV (final)

Thought I’d kick off Monday with the final, gruesome instalment of The Collector, which can be found in its own index/page. It has a few themes that I thought necessary for the main character (Samantha) to have, elements that chart her evolution. The Collector was, from its conception, a horror story and it's not for the faint of heart.


Impressive, there was no other word to describe his robust capacity to endure the sun, and maintain a steady clipping pace. They’d filled two wooden crates, and left them in the center of each row for her to collect at the end of their session.

Crouching, with a half full bottle of water, she watched James straightening up. The moment took on a different air. Samantha likened it to the unknown, that which seeped through the collective conscious of everything; much like a waking dream. Déjà vu.

Continue reading "The Collector IV (final)" »

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