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steve coel
An 11.59 Publication
MicroFlashFiction - Short Stories and Experimental Narratives. '...my experimental approach to writing is suited to this medium...it's an odd kind of laughter sometimes...and it's always in the hidden places...(an ongoing series of) imaginative journeys into experimental fiction...' Writing Review, Q+A - 2024. Steve Coel
100 months...
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Steve Coel / Two Voices
heb deitl
Steve Coel / Two Voices
heb deitl
Steve Coel / Two Voices
heb deitl
Steve Coel / Two Voices
An 11.59 Publication
Weekend Pass
Here it is.
Weekend Pass [ Extracts].
Slipping along the road overlooking the small town, you see greeting you in the distance, hills and mountains and a grey dismal sky disgusted with seeping sighs.
Slipping into stockings through glass windows, in dim lit bars drinking whiskey and beer at a dockyard jetty, we watch a boat heading south for the pole and adventure.
Dragging battered shoes across a beach of sand and rock we walk around the the camp surrounded by rusting wire and guarded by uniforms.
Inside cellars of music and cheap meat, middle aged women and American sailors careen and preen and scream like angels of delight.
Jingling against glory bars the sea beats against broken yards, bodies grasp and slide quietly, quickly, desperately into nightclub memories and daytime stories.
Fairground rides in broken jeans and girls crying out in astonishment while eating dripping candy laced with smirks.
Back Yard
c. Steve Coel / Two Voices
Against hard bodies young children glare at old timers who click tongues and smoke tipless cigarettes.
From aging busses old ladies crow and clutter promenades.
We share a coffee shop delight and sample evil greasy dishes of potato and meat with the rain smashing on glass and old men.
From dark valleys and misty hills visitors flock to the sea spending a weeks money on hats, drinks and girls.
With final cries you leave behind debris that play in the wind and settle in dusty doorways.
In alleys lovers bid farewell and young children hide.
An 11.59 Publication
Damn right I got the blues...
Damn right I got the blues
We Never Close
Steve Coel
True story.
An uncle of mine was resident in London.
Went out with his girlfriend
to listen to music
and have fun.
to listen to music
and have fun.
First venue too loud, crowds, no good.
Stayed 20 minutes.
Second venue, 200 yards away.
Too loud, crowds.
Too loud, crowds.
Stayed 20 minutes.
Third venue, 200 yards away.
Crowds, mellow atmosphere.
Went in.
Stayed all night, changed life.
Went in.
Stayed all night, changed life.
1st venue - Rolling Stones
2nd venue - Yardbirds
3rd Venue - Sonny Terry and Brownie Maghee.
You know each venue probably
changed his life in some way.
It certainly left him with a great story.
changed his life in some way.
It certainly left him with a great story.
I'd love to do a similar 1/2 mile walk today.
But what would be the chances
of having a similar life experience like that?
steve coel
of having a similar life experience like that?
steve coel
Documentary Fiction Photgraphy
An 11.59 Publication
Broken zips.
Stretton
steve coel
2+2 and 2+2
Q: Where does happiness happen?
A: [ Laughing ] In my stories? Somewhere else most of the time!
You're right though, ( much of the ) happiness can really disappear in some of my stories.
That doesn't mean it never happened, or won't happen ever again.
Perhaps there is a different happiness to be had though ( for some )?
Like, why so many drugs?
Certain things, no certain places, I find can generate a greater tolerance for the shit that seems to be happening in a story.
So, maybe my characters can find a different level of happiness, or state of mind I can't.
Now that that would be weird, wouldn't it?
I create them ( the characters ), but then fail to understand them! [ Laughs ].
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Things I learnt in the graveyard.
Things I learnt in the graveyard
When I was a younger man I used to wander up the hill to sit in the
graveyard.
The views were terrific.
You could see along the coast, up into the mountains and down into
the city.
Bit like the Rockies outside Denver, but on the coast.
Anyway.
The horizon each way along the coast represented the limit to the
life I could expect if I never moved on.
just because
steve coel
In Oregon I met a drifter who lamented the end of boundaries.
To him there was nowhere else to move on to.
No spaces left to get lost in.
He was right.
I know that now.
I read about the town I grew up in.
I log on to the internet copy of my once local paper. Little has
changed it would seem.
The lack of change suits it.
I wonder sometimes how many people reflect on the place they grew
up in.
Is it still home?
Not really.
I wanted to live my life beyond the horizon I could see from the
graveyard on the hill.
I still do.
steve coel
An 11.59 Publication
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