Poem – Lost Hours

I found the place where we lost our hours,

abandoning grace in the sheer damp of the forest.

Walking for miles, familiarity shrouded itself in gold leaves

and swept up my footsteps.

 

Places like this convince you

that stories are carried page by page.

Invariably, they’ll flow when you aren’t watching.

 

The scrapes on our knees were compared then,

as boastful adventures found etched into skin.

Little branches – never veins. We were crude and brave.

At times I had to force the invulnerability.

 

We thought ourselves so powerful,

but fearfulness declared war

on the freezing river, for biting our ankles.

 

Now we’re beyond a peace treaty.

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Poem – Points of Contact

We would sing if our lips were free,

and our lungs not swollen with the vacant heat

that comes from seeing you again.

 

Here there is pale softness that stretches on

far further than my fingertips can reach, but I attempt it

over and over again.

You’ve asked me to.

 

A heavy silence fills gaps between the chorus

and what comes after. Something unnamed, but it’s

all familiar. I’ve looked for you in everyone.

 

Stay long enough to keep sunlight on your skin .

Drift away and return to gather more.

Fade before I remember.

You’ve asked me not to.


I write poetry to permit the use of the most flowery language I can come up with, and I usually write this physical romance because I simply love to describe it.

I think i’m without structure, but I really do enjoy it; so for this one I wholeheartedly welcome feedback and criticism. It’s not much, but hey, this blog needs some life again!

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Recent Interest

I’m not normally one to update frequently enough to comment on the comings and goings of my blog, but I’d just like to take the chance here now to say welcome to all the new followers I’ve somehow been lucky enough to earn lately. 

I think I owe it to some Nosleep attention, which is fantastic, but no matter the reason I hope you find something you like on here. Actually, I mostly hope that you continue to find pieces that you like! Updates won’t be set to a schedule, but there is definitely more coming, don’t worry about that.

This is an innocuous enough little post, but really this means the world to me so it’s absolutely worth mentioning.

I value you all, look at how much I GODDAMN VALUE YOU!!!

 

Here’s hoping I do everything but bore you.

Much love, 
Conor x

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Two Short Stories Now On /r/Nosleep

So to tide you over until my next update, I thought I’d let you know that I’ve recently posted two short (and semi-ongoing) stories to the horror subreddit /r/nosleep. 

Merger:  The story of a man trapped within his own town.

I write reality:  When a writer discovers a way to make his words really count, he                                      calls on readers to suggest how far he takes it.

For those of you unfamiliar with the forum, it’s a place for horror writers to tell a story to an audience encouraged to believe every word. As such, I’m constantly drawn to the place out of sheer fascination. Reading is one thing, but when suspension of disbelief is strong enough to take it as absolute fact, some really interesting things can be done.

Keep an eye on ‘I write reality’ in particular, as the fact that I ask for outside input means the story is likely to continue on for quite a while yet through updates and comment replies. I’m really enjoying it, taking on my character fulltime and immersing myself in this little idea I’ve created.

I hope you enjoy, and I’m sure I’ll be posting here in earnest soon enough. 

Much love!!

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Leaving Home

A very dear friend of mine left the country recently, and it’s gotten me thinking about the concept of moving quite a bit. She’s gone to England, which isn’t geographically that far away, but when you think of the great upheaval that goes with actually moving your life somewhere else, it feels like another world entirely. On my end it’s just strange knowing that plans to meet aren’t as simple as making the time  anymore, and that still hasn’t entirely kicked in. An Ocean now blocks off a night out, not just a bus journey. I admire her greatly for it, I know she’ll thrive over there which is a comfort that stops me from missing her too much, and I’ve sort of always seen it coming anyway.

When we’d talk about the future, which we actually did quite often through laughter and cups of coffee, she never seemed anywhere near as content to stay put as I. Getting a job after college, the kinds of paths we’d like to walk; these topics came up all the time, but I quickly learned that she was far more sure about her answers. I always tended to babble, to laugh it off and say it’d work out, but really I didn’t devote serious thought to it. You see I worry, but in the least helpful way possible. One of us knew there were more opportunities for them abroad, and the other couldn’t even think past the next godawful assignment at college. Different cups of coffee entirely.

For her, it was inevitable. Ireland had worn out a lot of its charm and she was dying to take in a new culture, a new home. I would see her talk vividly about Paris, Berlin, these places just waiting to claim her for their own, and she perhaps realized that home just wasn’t home for her anymore. Her career didn’t have legs here, goals weren’t achievable, so…why stay? There’s a courage to that, stepping out the door and settling down somewhere else entirely, and for all my talk it was something I definitely lacked.

Picturing her lighting up a whole other continent was easy, especially when she had already brought them to life for me in stories from prior visits. I could tell she’d considered a life in each, and quite different lives to boot. I’m half-American (or an affectionately-titled ‘Yank’), I’ve been fortunate enough to visit countless times and I adore the place, but even it couldn’t call me to shore so easily. I would hover around the edges of thought, picking places I’d like to live but never committing to it, never even coming close.

So why do I stay? Could I get better opportunities to write abroad? Probably, yeah. In fact I’ve lost out on a shot at my dream job as a direct result and that alone is enough to make it seem almost idiotic to stay, yet here I am.  I can’t tell you why some people are susceptible to wanderlust and others aren’t, not today at least. What I can tell you is that even the lure of Californian sun and London markets aren’t always enough to budge those with deep roots. That’s been me for quite a while, but it’s ironic that a sad departure is what suddenly has me motivated. 

Something that really stayed with me as I said goodbye, was that she truly recognised that there was no reason to come back to Ireland after moving. This was it.  I understood that, I agreed with her, but I wasn’t sure it could be the same for me. The more sensible of our pair would tell me that Dublin wouldn’t keep me happy forever, and she was right. I work there at the moment and it’s a city I really adore, but there’s an expiration date on that. Even my hometown of Dundalk is starting to get a bit annoying. I love the people there, I love the memories it brings and how it feels like everyone I need is within walking distance, but it’s too sleepy for me now. I’m wearied by the place, though If I leave then I’ll definitely come back, there’s no doubt in my mind

I’d like to get a chance somewhere else and live with excitement and a tinge of the unknown to my routine. My courage is linked somewhat to this blog, as it represents progression in a way that I’ve avoided to my detriment before. I’m ready to keep practicing what I love and focus what I’m best at. Then I take this show on the road and see if I can be brave myself.  As you can tell by reading this post, I’m not quite ready…but England calls, and again – it’s only a short flight away.

Maybe I won’t set up a new home there like my friend did, she’s more daring by far, but I might just set up camp. Who’s to say the temporary can’t feel like a home as well?

What would I miss from Ireland? Glad you asked. Pints at the Bartender, Irish                   forests and rivers, our sense of humour, endless sarcasm, walking down                               O’Connell street at nighttime, Ravensdale, potato bread. Christ I’d miss potato                   bread…. 

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Scene From A Bar

Shamelessly pretentious and inspired by the wonderfully filthy work of Charles Bukowski, this is an extremely short bit of something that resulted from me just wanting to write with a version of his voice. 

There were maybe six others in the bar. I sat in a booth at the back with a really terrible scotch and waited. That’s all I came for, just to wait. I treated the glass in my hand like an excuse to do nothing and hope that my day would just occupy itself, tucking itself in neatly with all the rest I had burned away in the dim light. It was going well so far.

A lot of people need a reason to drink, but my reason was the act itself. Liquor is a catalyst, it makes things happen. Not that I had faith in a cheap bottle of whiskey or anything, not at all. Whatever it was going to set up wouldn’t be worth the price of admission. Still, two mouthfuls and I had gotten used to the taste.

There was one girl in the place; pretty, with blonde hair pulled back too tight into a ponytail. The hum of the music was an annoyance, it distracted me from eyeing her properly. She was with a man who stomped his leg rapidly with either excitement or nerves, neither of which I was sure were justified. His hands painted ten messy pictures as he told her about his lunch or something, and she just looked right past him. She was a wall that he regaled with false stories of bravado and fabricated charisma. He had a routine all lined up and it didn’t matter which beats hit, he’d follow through. The girl pursed her lips after every sip she took, auburn clinging to those pillows from a bottle of house red. He never even touched his, it got in the way of his speech.

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A New Year

First things first, I hope everyone reading this had a long and happy Christmastime filled with far too much food and warmed by good company. Mine was lazy and pleasantly blurred, with days melding together into one very welcome break.

It’s 2014 now, and I haven’t shown myself on here for quite a while, I know. As of November I’ve been writing for Nintendolife.com as a news reporter and occasional reviewer. It’s been keeping me busy on my days off work, and if you’ve an interest in Nintendo at all then I genuinely can’t think of a friendlier and more informative site to recommend. The staff are amazing, and this sounds reallllllly self-serving as I’m now kinda one of them. Next I’ll be putting up banner ads and subliminal messagingVISITNINTENDOLIFE.COMor something.  Check out my profile, and a quick search of ‘Conor McMahon’ should bring up most of the stuff I’ve written so far.

So I’m aiming to get this blog a bit more active again, with a few opinion pieces and bits of fiction in the works for the near future. Today I’ll throw up a very brief piece alongside this, more to come soon as well. I want give my thoughts on the methods of storytelling, review and analyse different films and video games, and hopefully keep to some kind of schedule. This could even be my resolution, actually…

I ramble, so I’ll stop it here and wish you the absolute best for the new year. Make it a good one, do something weird and give up biting your fingernails or something. Though…that’s easier said  than done…

Conor X

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