Your Mid-Week Update for 10/26/16

Round and round the merry go round.. Allude WALKING BACKWARDS TOWARDS THE SUNSET. What is blue? I see wolves leaping over trees Watermelon everywhere. Wrath of the gods raining down up the enemies of watermelon. Native souls of the island will be purged to make way for my glory. Everyone is just dead. Au=ion cantaloupe elope elope elope you sit on a throne of lies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you’re a weasel, Can’t stop me now. Cause we’re havin a good time, haavin a good time polepot? No, you’re wrong. Why would put carrots in that? Too many people. Too many ideas floating round in my head. Like little spots floating in Jell-O. Dogs nipping at your heels bodies dropping from the ceiling always coming down down down. What are you doing here? Why are you saying that? I can’t believe you’d do that. Oh my god not the giraffe. George Washington’s nurse is here. She is so sweet. She smells like pistachios. And chocolate cherries. Mmm. Pistachios. I don’t want radishes. What are those boxes floating above my head? I could reach out and grab them. But then I’d have boxes and I don’t want that many boxes. Stick monkeys don’t make sense. But parakeets do. There’s no reason to put cyanide in the toilet bowl the dog is too fat. We can’t. Ugh! There’s nothing keeping me from being purple. What does that even doing? You are so potato. I think I need help. I need help. I’m losing a lot of blood and this cloth isn’t helping. It’s leaking and and ebbing. I can’t feel anything. I think I’m going to die. That’s the only conclusion. I’m going to die. And there’s nothing she can do without it. What will I tell Andrew? He’ll never know. She’ll never forgive me but that’s not my fault. Yeah. Oh pickles. Little green pills. Tastes like bubbles. And lime. I just want to close my eyes. I’ll sleep, I promise. I’ll be a good girl. Good night, mother.

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/19/16

My god, it’s so cold in my office.

I came in early to get some work done and I’m already freezing to death. My fingertips are blue. I hate this time of year. It’s so cold in the morning but it’s too warm in the afternoon. And the pumpkin spice – sweet Jesus it’s everywhere. Plus the heater in my office smells weird; I swear it's going to explode any day now. This is no way to live.

So I kill.

My alter ego’s body count is up to four so far and I’ve officially been dubbed a serial killer by the press. I made it really easy and gave them a pun no one could resist. For my last two victims, I took their hand and left them on church steps around the city.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:

The Hand of God Killer.

So cheesy, I know; but I didn’t come up with it. Apparently some officer was joking around at the scene of the fourth crime and the press ran with it.

…

If I find out that James had a hand in naming me…

Any hand-related wordplay is just lost on me now. My lovely husband and I have been using every phrase in the book. I can’t believe there’s another week and a half of this. Maybe I’ll keep it going every once in a while to keep the story fresh but I’m definitely over the whole pun thing. It’s getting a bit heavy-handed.

Okay, okay, I’ll stop. I admit this is getting out of hand.

Oh come on, you’ve got to hand it to me, these ones practically write themselves.

I’m done, I promise.

I’m just so bored and apparently I have no concentration this morning. I don’t want to be at work today and I’m so fucking cold. What else is there to say? Maybe I’ll snap someone’s neck during my lunch break; the adrenaline rush always perks me right up. It’ll be so easy to find some unsuspecting victim on the street that time of day. I have to admit, it is so handy working near the downtown area.

Alright I’m done.

Back to work, I suppose.

Is it lunch time yet?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/12/16

I had a dream about babies last night. Just holding and coddling a crying baby for what felt like hours. I woke up feeling empty and confused. I found myself thinking about children as I got ready for work; my resolve not to have any of my own.

I stand by it.

There are no newborns in my future. Neither James nor I have the time for something that requires so much attention. And yet…

It’s all because of Lydia.

She’s a new hire who is incredibly enthusiastic to the point that I want to put a pencil through my eye. I don’t even want to hurt her I just want her to leave me alone. She’s so fucking nosy but she’s getting her work done and picking it up quickly. I admire work ethic more than a mild annoyance so I’ll put up with her for the time being. But yesterday she found me during my lunch hour and just sat down and started talking. She asked me questions about my life, and my family. I kept my answers brief and as non-descript as possible but then she asked me why my husband and I never had children of our own.

I’d known this woman for a day and a half. Seriously? You don’t just ask people those kinds of questions – especially if you’re just co-workers. And yet…

I dreamt about babies.

I looked up dream meanings because there’s no way in hell my subconscious wants me to give birth. Apparently a crying baby means I am neglecting some part of my life. I don’t know what my mind thinks I’m lacking but it’s going to be bothering me all day. All because of Lydia.

…

I shouldn’t put so much stock in dream analysis. It’s all new-aged bullshit, completely open to interpretation. And yet…

What could I possibly be lacking? It can’t be my job; I’ve been very successful and may even pitch for a raise once year-end is done. Heather and I have been getting a long fairly well and despite Lydia’s social misconducts, she’s also tolerable. Life at home has been quite stagnant; my sister calls daily wanting to talk to Jason and every day he refuses. James and I have hit a steady rhythm of work and play with the occasional twist to keep things interesting. It’s perfect. Playing a serial killer has been absolutely hilarious; I took a whole hand on Friday instead of just a finger – the news says “the local serial killer is escalating”. I haven’t been named yet. I’d kind of like a name. We’ll see what the public come up with. I think it’s in poor taste to choose your own serial killer name.

What would you name me?

I’m completely open to suggestions. Something with appendages and limbs. Something pun-y. I leave it in your capable hands while I contemplate whatever’s missing in my life.

Thanks Lydia.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/05/16

I thought it would be casual fun to play true “horror-genre” serial killer. It’s incredibly challenging.

I went from three or four random killings a week to one staged murder in a very specific location. Because I have no patience, I caught a quickie on the way home to satisfy my baser urges. Let me tell you: having a psychopathy and specific methodology to my work is hard. I don’t understand how they do it. Acting on the urge to kill for humiliation or revenge or misplaced anger – that I understand – but the need to leave a neon sign saying “I killed her and this is why” has always baffled me.

I really don’t have the desire to psychoanalyse other criminals. Your work is your own, I’m sure you have a perfectly good explanation; I admire your work, really. It just makes no sense to me.

However, in the spirit of the holiday, I’m doing my best to keep an open mind. I’ve chosen black females in their early twenties in the downtown area who are walking alone at night.

If you fit the profile: good luck.

I use the handle of my knife to stun them and then stab once in the femoral artery (and then four more stabs for a staged-overkill). Then I cut off her left ring finger with a cigar cutter and take it home in a plastic bag.

So far the only good thing that’s come out of this is that James and I have been passing the bag back and forth, giving each other “the finger”. Everything else has been normal or more frustrating. Knowing that when I go out, I’ll have no choice but to kill a specific group in a specific way is so stifling. Unpredictability is one of my favourite things about killing – besides, you know…the killing part – I think even a month of this will be torturous.

But I am determined to foll0ow through. I was right: I need the distraction.

Sandra has called me every other hour since she was started her parole on Sunday because she wants to know about her children. She wasn’t able to attend Sandra’s funeral so she wants to visit her grave site. And Jason has refused to give her his cell number. She’s been cut off from her family and it’s now fallen on me to keep her connected. I hate this feeling. Like she’s relying on me – like she’s trusting me.

Why the fuck would she think she can trust me?

…

And I just fielded another call from my sister. If Jason wants to talk to her, he’ll do it himself. I’ve told her that a dozen times but it doesn’t seem to be registering.

I don’t know if I’ll answer her next call.

Why should I?

I’m not her keeper, I’m her sister. And if she thinks she’ll make it in this world, she needs to understand that just because we are family does not mean I have to keep bailing her out.

I won’t do it.

God, she’s been out for three days and I’m already done with her bullshit. How am I going to handle her every single day?

Pray for me.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

300 Things I Hope Blitz

Central Avenue Publishing is proud to present 300 Things I Hope, the latest book by the bestselling poet behind the worldwide sensation, I Wrote This For You by Iain S. Thomas

Initially released as a free download to thank Thomas’ thousands of fans, readers clamoured for it to become a “real” book. The 300 hopes include everything from hoping you always have a pen, to hoping you’re never lonely, and everything in between. The prose is coupled with line drawings by acclaimed illustrator and fellow South African, Carla Kreuser, resulting in a chapbook designed to be read over and over.

From Central Avenue Publishing:

Today’s poetry is different than in previous eras. It’s often shorter, highly emotive and regularly coupled with photography or illustrations. In our connected, digital world, it’s shared instantly, in 140 characters or on blogs. It’s also often on bestseller lists, and today’s poets are young, well-travelled and multicultural. It resonates with those who search for others with like experiences. Those who are in need of sympathy, empathy or just reassurance that someone else feels the same as they do. Today’s poetry is relevant and engages young people like longer literary works cannot.

From Iain Thomas:

“I feel a whole bunch of different things all the time and I go through all these different experiences, as we all do. My writing is a way of capturing that and when I put it out into the world, I’m asking: ‘I have felt this. Have you felt this?’ And if I’m lucky, I can say, ‘You’ve felt this? And I’ve felt this? OK, we’re no longer alone.’”

300 Things I Hope will be available everywhere on October 1, 2016.

Details about giveaways, online events and author appearances will be available at the author’s website at iainsthomas.com.

Thomas is the poet behind I Wrote This For You, a poetry and photography blog that became a series of books in 2011. Since its inception, the poetry has been read and quoted daily by loyal fans, actors, musicians and politicians. His work is beloved by readers of all ages the world over. Carla Kreuser is an acclaimed illustrator whose work has won critical awards and honours. Both Thomas and Kreuser live in Cape Town, South Africa.






Central Avenue Publishing is an independent press based in Delta, Canada, featuring award-winning writers of original fiction, poetry, and creative non fiction. Central Avenue’s books are distributed globally by Independent Publishers Group based in Chicago.