The Ghosts of Berlin: Die Geister von Berlin OUT NOW!!!

Happy Birthday Berlin my Love. A series of horror stories and poems for the city that saved me. Why horror? If you have to ask, then she’s not for you 😉. Available for purchase on Amazon, iTunes, Barnes&Nobles, and many more!!! 

#awerfjil #aesadeghipour #ghostsofberlin #diegeistervonberlin #mauerfall #mauerfall30 #berlin #berlinwall #fall #fallofthewall #fallofthewall30 #germany #deutschland #unity #reunification #horror #disturbing #beautiful #bdsm #lgbtq #ausländer #weißensee #rainfall #legends #myths #middleeasternfolklore #legendsofafrica #vietnamesemyths #shortstories #poems

Featured post

Why Hello There

It seems that you have stumbled upon this site, for which I have no answer as to why you are here. All I have for you are more questions. Questions upon questions upon questions. So, if you don’t want to think, or you expect some kind of answer, then run little one. Run very quickly away. For this is not the place for you, and you have stumbled into an ever expanding mind with no foreseeable exit.

Featured post

Excerpt from “Nightschool”

Check out the full performance here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wHZqcU6ciiQ

Mama never said I was pretty growing up

She said it was cuz 

She didn’t want it to be my 

Only feature

So I believed to be ugly

And when my breasts grew full

And my knees ached from the weight of them

I was called a tomboy

Flooded with hormones, aggression, and hairy pits,

And became the Beast from the Middle East

So I believed to be ugly

Until the two towers  fell

While walking down glass corridor halls

And the Christian Youth had found their new crusade

And I believed to be hated.

But all these things I had believed to be

Had become disillusionments 

in my 20’s

My mind ravaged by a man

As my faith was raped by the system

Body buried beneath forms x, 1040, and C

While tinnitus buzzed in the left

A feeling about being reminded of something

Someone I had once believed to be

But I could not think of self

While trying to survive

Learning self-inoculation against

The gravity of global virolity

The fury of each new pain 

Remembers caliced conquests

lessening the intensity

Now

I am believed

to be learned, experienced, pseudo-spiritual

Searching to satiate the thirst of

A fluid life

And yet,

I do not know 

What I believe.

The Wicked Podcast: Episode 4: Money

At base level, money is a mere concept. Most people grasp its abstract nature, but this is trivial amid its ubiquitous dominance. And although it seems that hard cash is as infallible as the law of gravity, modern society is proving that it’s as bendable as a penny. During the COVID-19 crisis we’ve witnessed the limitations of our financial system, rekindling discussions about economic overhaul. Digital currency, universal basic income, and preparations for a post-scarcity society have entered global dialogues. Perhaps it’s time to reconsider our relationship with money. How much do we really trust it? How might we function without it? (gasp)

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/wickedpodcast/money?fbclid=IwAR0uzTeYyBIdGcEP_kG24LlL15lEBMcaOZsL7jsMPTVCnxBdWzUA4Cz1L5o

“The Girl who Melted”

My tits are melting. My armpits are melting. My eyes are melting. I’m producing more fluids than an orgy and feeling far less sexy.


Do people ever truly feel sexy in an orgy? Do people ever truly feel sexy when they’re melting?

sexy metal melting

hashtags of heat

extra savory salaciousness

twisted twilights

never ending numerical

determinations of comfort

25, 31, 38

75, 82, 96

numbers, grades, degrees, and fahrenheit

Does knowing the melting point help ease the inevitable discomfort? Why are melting and freezing given points? Does the spectrum help humanize and personify our bodies subjugation?

Perhaps. Perhaps they remind us that we are subjects lined up on points and spectrums of creations we do not make but give name to. Are we no better than cretins or parasites? Viruses easily disturbed by numerical extremes. Or, maybe we are more like bacteria rather than a virus. Depending on the spectrum and refusing to fall off the edge.

Sometimes, I wish I could melt when the rain falls and that each drop would pull me down into the earth, down into its core, where the temperatures are unfathomable and it’s vulcan movement blends all the elements together to create new ones.

Sometimes, I wish all my elements had melted and been absorbed in the core, so I could no longer feel what it is to melt as my skin pools pockets of sweat in all my glorious folds and crevices sitting on the underground thinking about if they had dug just a little deeper, we would be in the belly of the Earth pulsing with her rhythms and reminded that it any minute she could swallow us whole, break us down, and make us into something new.

I once met a girl who had melted. She explained it quite matter-of-factly. She had gotten up that morning at her usual time, took the same tramline, and drank the same two latte macchiatos she always did. She was giving a presentation to a major tech company about the importance of employee engagement and receiving feedback when she pointed to the board realizing that there was a dripping stump where her index finger used to be. As the presentation continued, she was forced to slam her elbows on the keyboard to switch slides as her hands had completely dissipated. Yet, she persisted until her tongue had melted in her mouth, and she had accidentally swallowed it like you do with snot when you have a runny nose. She continued until all that was left were her shins and feet rigidly planted between the projector screen and the computer.

Three days later, the attendees submitted their presentation feedback report unanimously agreeing that it was the most informative presentation they had ever had, but the presenter herself was a bit “lackluster.” 

She re-emerged two weeks later, still no head, swimming in the canal, splashing and bubbling about. She paddled through me as I melted into the Spree.

The Wicked Podcast: Episode 3: Colours (podcast)

Hey Everybody! If you got some time and an open mind, check it out! This is my third ever podcast session, so I truly hope you enjoy the listen.


Colour is a powerful yet often overlooked force. In our hyperactive age, it’s easy to forget that colours have long solidified allegiance, status, brands, and tradition. Is it time to reconsider this everyday phenomenon? How, for example, might colour affect someone who is colorblind? What might skin tone indicate in a future society where whites are no longer the majority? And are we exploiting colour to toxic levels? Welcome to the Wicked Podcast, where imagination unfurls! PLUS: Following the outro music, hear a poem from our special guest, Nia Calloway — winner of April’s Wicked Poetry Slam also themed Colours.

SOUNDCLOUD: https://soundcloud.com/wickedpodcast/colours

“5:33AM 1987”

It was never going to happen. It was never supposed to happen, but his eyes opened. The heart monitor flatlined as he unplugged himself. Legs weak from dystrophy, they bowed beneath the weight of him. He toppled into a wheelchair reacclimating himself to being alive again.

Where was it coming from? The window was left open and the song was falling from the sky.

The hospital was hollow and the note drops echoed loudly on the roof. He climbed steps his muscles having forgotten how to do so. Forwards and upwards. Pushing the emergency bar to the roof, he was greeted by the the coarse morning air, and there she was, almost translucent. Hospital gown blowing in the moonlight, pale and thin, the waning moon radiated through her.

Stumbling forward behind his words, “I’ve been asleep.”

She turned around, eyes pressed deep into her skull, hollow cheeks, and skin wrapped tight over degenerating muscles. She looked into his eyes, “I refuse to die from this disease.”

She turned around, looked over her shoulder, “Welcome to this world,” and jumped.

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