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literature

crow’s feet

His body was blocking the door. I noticed only as I turned the handle. I could see him through the door’s window. I rapt on the glass with my knuckles. And again. He didn’t budge. My shoulder up against the wooden frame, I put my weight into it. A crack opened wide enough for me to squeeze through. The door fell back again. The man was now flopped over to his side, eyes half open, mouth slightly agape. I knew if I looked hard enough I would see the needle somewhere. I stood watching him for a few moments, considering pulling him up and sitting him out of the way. But I left him there. I didn’t want to touch him. Especially not knowing where the needle was. Twice that day I had seen people in the same state. On a park bench, a girl. Half her back and half her ass exposed, her head hanging between her legs and her dangling arms. In another park, an old man’s head lolled to the side like a dead man’s. Was he old? They all looked old. And not as in elderly. Old as in worn out. The beauty of life sapped from their shells. That’s all their bodies were: battered shells. Housing need. I watched the man’s chest rise and fall. And again. A woman walked by pushing a stroller. Her eyes dropped to the man, and then lifted to mine. She smiled, and I smiled. Our crow’s feet didn’t wrinkle.

(Check out www.blanketsandfrankincense.com for more flash and poetry)

literature

death before decaf

He thinks differently at night. He’s more dramatic. More far-seeing, perhaps, but often to the expense of his optimism, his soul drooping from the weight of the world upon it. Problems become disproportionately big, and the shadow they create even bigger. But when morning comes, the corners of his mind that had grown dark and grim are filled with the sun’s radiant promise of fresh possibilities. Every new day is a fresh start and a chance to make the choices for himself that seemed impossible under the oppression of night.

Perhaps, the alarm goes off, and the hand that finds the snooze button still lingers between worlds; between the night that tormented, the dreams that freed, and the morning that reminds. But his feet know better than to listen to his hands. They are the ones that take him places, whereas hands merely press the snooze button over again. So they drag him out of bed, trusting that if they walk him to the right place, the hands will know how to brew the drink that will revive him. As he shuffles his way to the kitchen, the dreams he had in the night pop their face in and out of his consciousness. There is much strangeness there. He’s wades in it with dull curiosity. Behind it lies the soundless memory of the eve. He approaches it until he stands right at its edge, with great risk of slipping back into the mirky pond of hopelessness. He loses his footing, more than once; he almost falls in, but the hands reach the jar of beans just in time. And with his brain on automatic pilot, he opens it and pours some into the grinder. But, no, life is too much, he thinks. He should just go back to bed. With weak intention, he holds down the button and the beans crack and crinkle in a lovely way. A glimmer of wellness sparks within. But it dies just as quickly when the grinding stops, and he wants to quit everything he ever started, to rot away in his bed where he can just go on sleeping forever. The kettle whistles and beckons to be emptied onto the grinds he’s just put in the reusable cloth filter. His dreams have died but he still needs to save the planet. The liquid tar streams into the cup with the broken handle, the cup that has been loved to pieces because it is just the right size, and his eyes widen. The steam rises, bringing joy to his senses. He wants to go back to bed, but his sleepy mind is sharp enough to know that just a few seconds away, there is salvation for his shadow self, forewarned by the heat seeping into his palms through the walls of the handle-less cup. A stir of sugar to sweeten the bitter awakening, a drop of milk to smoothen the ride, and meaning is brought back to living. He sips. He remembers the night, still, but it shrinks to a dot in a sea of light. It was a false alarm, there is no need to panic. He feels good about staying awake. At this rate, his whole perspective could be revolutionized, his purpose in life rediscovered, even, if he could just make it to the shower.

(Check out www.blanketsandfrankincense.com for more flash and poetry)

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

glittery flats

“It all felt very familiar to Carlie yet so different. Like a worn-out pair of shoes that have been stashed in the closet for years, and when finally put back on feel funny because you just don’t wear glittery flats anymore. She was not the same person as when she left.“

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A quote from my book The Nirvana Threads released this past June

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book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

green eyes

“Carlie noticed only now how green his eyes were. She thought it funny how quickly a person could change in someone’s eyes. For better or for worse.”

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The Nirvana Threads (👈 click for more info + goodies)

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

The Nirvana Threads : book drop

Today’s the day! 🎉❤️🤟Official book drop for The Nirvana Threads

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Check TNT’s webpage for some goodies (But no guacamole lol) like a song playlist, a graphic novel, excerpts and links to buy!🍭🍬

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Read on 🤟

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

a ton of bricks

“The first guitar chord felt like a ton of bricks in her rib cage, vibrating from the inside, filling her completely. The bass drum kicked in, resonating up and down her body, and then it was the snare, tightening her skin with each whipping snap. In seconds, they had made her body feel alive with new vigour; only seconds, and the song was at full speed. And just as quickly the whole floor became a soup of thrashing, wriggling punks.”

The Nirvana Threads is a love story, a spiritual adventure, a nostalgic time travel to the 90s, a playful exploring of the magical.

Check it out • officially drops tomorrow

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

lasers shot from the sky

The winding road curved tightly up a hill, the trees letting through only sporadic dashes of light, like lasers shot from the sky. They turned down a lane, tire tracks the only proof of civilisation. Grass grew high all around, wild flowers higher still. The lane opened up to a small, sun-drenched lot enclosed by an infantry of trees guarding a little wooden cabin with a gable roof. Damien parked the car on a pebbled strip in the freshly mowed front yard.”

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Magical Realism Romance The Nirvana Threads

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

like a ghost

“An out-of-focus, dark-haired woman dressed in white appeared beside her; a doctor. She fiddled with Carlie’s body. Muffled, incomprehensible sounds came from her mouth. Leaning in closer, she stroked Carlie’s hair. The brown of her eyes was the only clearly defined feature on her blurry face. It might have passed unnoticed, but how could it, when the doctor cracked Johnny’s smile, just before fading into the murkiness like a ghost.”

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The Nirvana Threads

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A 90’s Magical Realism Punk & Spiritual Romance

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Click here for more info!

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literature, Topaz

Mirth as per Topaz’s Glossary – “S”

Alphabet_glossary_S_1Alphabet_glossary_S_2Alphabet_glossary_S_3Alphabet_glossary_S_4Alphabet_glossary_S_5

book quote, literature, The Nirvana Threads

the space between them

“The space between them was narrow. The smile that lived beside her just moments before had faded. His curled fingers gouged into his thighs, crumpling the fabric of his jeans. She would have reached for them. She should have. It would have been easy to hold his hand one last time. But her body was stiff, paralysed, her eyes transfixed. The moonlit trees on the horizon, the tall grasses and sign posts beyond the window behind him, all slowed to a near stop, as did her breath and the beating of her heart. Its thudding, held in time like a dripping faucet, echoed loudly in her head. She drove her chin through the mud-thick air to face the front—ahead, where there was now nothing but light.”

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The first paragraph of The Nirvana Threads

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Available in preorder through www.rachel-tremblay.com, otherwise this second baby of mine drops June 1st!

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