6:00pm, 11th March 2016
A Debutante in the Underworld
This cover of New Order's Blue Monday done with instruments from 1933 is haunting my mind, and I find myself writing fanfiction for a cover song. Listen to it as you read.
TAGS: nonsense
6:00pm, 11th March 2016
This cover of New Order's Blue Monday done with instruments from 1933 is haunting my mind, and I find myself writing fanfiction for a cover song. Listen to it as you read.
TAGS: nonsense
10:10am, 16th December 2015
There is an art, a delicate gift, to the act of bringing dead technology back to life. It is an art I know well. Let me tell you of it.
TAGS: nonsense
9:07pm, 4th November 2015
It can be tough to peak early in your career, and know that it's all downhill from here, but sometimes you've just gotta take what the fates deal you. Will I ever hit the heady heights of local press again? Is this my sole moment in the blinding sunlight of Lincolnshire gossip?
TAGS: nonsense
Matt Dovey is a writer of short speculative fiction. He is very tall, very British, and probably drinking a cup of tea right now. His surname rhymes with “Dopey”, but any other similarities to the dwarf are purely coincidental. More →
You're not a person, they say, circling. You're one of Them. From the other side.
”"Well played," muttered Rogers, the majordomo of the Wanderers' Club, amidst the gentlemanly utterances of "Good show," "Hear, hear," and even "Huzzah" as Sir Algernon Hogshead finished his tale with a dramatic flourish.
Though not so socially gregarious as to partake in the verbal bonhomie, I thumped my ivory serpent's-head cane a few times, myself, in collegial support of my frenetic friend as his bizarre, but well-told, tale had come to its breathtaking and remarkable conclusion. Truth told, the hubbub of excited utterances and exclamations regarding Sir Hogshead's fanciful quest were well-said, but, greater truth yet, I had become more and more pensive and apprehensive as the tale progressed.
I knew what was coming next. Not within the story, but after.
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Where hunger, discomfort and anger had all failed to rouse her before, cruelty, at last, animated her to motion. "Well then," she said, sitting forward from her armchair. "Perhaps the hunger will be an object lesson to you. Perhaps, as your belly rumbles, and your sister cries in pain, you will think on what it means to have duties, and what it means to fail in them. Perhaps then you will not disappoint me again."
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