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New Fictions
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
MicroFlashFiction and Experimental Narratives, An 11.59 Publication
Short Fiction: Experiments + Proposals - Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
All That Remained Were Words...
...alongside (the many) mercenary stones that still indicate mossy unmarked graves...
You seem listless in redundant twisted grey/green peaky cap as you leave the windowless corner caff. Your beard is wild and your eyes still sing of lost love and addiction.
Days among these gravelly pits and cobbled streets are drunken... with local traders dealing in loose change and cans of strong cider your 24 hour park life is spent drinking, lying and dying.
Eventually you too will be burned in the tight verge leaving only your words:
1..2..3 You Can't Kill Me!
Digbeth, Birmingham
2025
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Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication ...creating fictions...
Steve Coel
Smells of Time
Steve Coel
In you come...in your sad seven year old ironic tracksuit and pair of box fresh. In you come...looking for deals on the board behind the counter, which we all know show the same best advert as the last time, last week, last month, last year.
In you come...doing quick sums and ordering a dozen shots with your release money, which you quickly share out to punters who are no longer interested. In you come...barely missed and completely blitzed...just another forgotten madman.
In you come...a madman bent by the routine; a madman twisted by addiction; a madman caught in the to and fro of the outside which has turned its back and good riddance.
In you come...smelling of time.
From City Trilogy (Part 1), An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication - Market Dish
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Market Dish
Here -
Where...beggared coffee is alley fresh..
Where...small change cups are collected for market stall dish..
Where...sweeping eye line catches weak fumbled glass..
Where...failure becomes habit..
Where...folded arm argument frames evening entertainment..
is the place language comes to die.
...creating fictions...
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication - Bandstand
Bandstand
Here -
Where...top floor swearing is frequent..
Where...poor disguises are deliberate..
Where...slippery couples meet between sheets of harsh fabric..
Where...derelict woods shelter shrivelled worlds..
Where...door step begging is hasty and mindless..
is the place language comes to die.
...creating fictions...
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication - Daytime Sleeping
Daytime Sleeping
Here -
Where...shielded discount aisles are glued together with spiced smile and free news..
Where...stickered metal bollards herd cheap early morning trainee's shoe..
Where...daytime sleeping is bagged with tourist litter..
Where...each stuttering step is guided by habit..
Where...whiskered waterway trees hang on singing electric wire..
is the place language comes to die.
...creating fictions...
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication - Deaf Ear: Parts 1 to 4 and Leafed Reminders
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Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel
Deaf Ear: Parts 1 to 4
Here -
Where...loyalty is sought and funded through dark glass..
Where...anger is buttery..
Where...doorstep begging is hasty and youthful..
Where...brave words are thrown away with cheap lager and soapy gritted water..
Where...curled up broken yard hideaways become legend..
is the place language comes to die.
Here -
Where...layered sounds of gated dog and broken motor serenade gloomy high street..
Where...cheap toys are solitary on pavement and stolen trolley..
Where...flagless memory walks sullen and dead down late night dual carriageway tunnel..
Where...simple slogans are stamped hard on tourist lamp post..
Where...lost faces merge with elderly condemned brick..
is the place language comes to die.
Here -
Where...early sandal foot death lays down grass foundation..
Where...shallow drunk opinion dominates afternoon decision making..
Where...teenage defence is held tightly to deaf ear..
Where...clumsy stapled barriers warn away passing neighbourhood shadows..
Where...off grid roads disappear through unpleasant fields of illegal chambered stubble..
is the place language comes to die.
Here -
Where...sad walled archive crowds day time sky..
Where... nylon jumpered youth blankly congregate..
Where...anonymous kiosk cards are pierced carefully on stolen rusty spike rods..
Where...blistered nickel punches into broken fence..
is the place language comes to die.
From Half Stolen Buildings (2024)
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
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Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel
Leafed Reminders
Here -
Where...dusty wind up street watches clutter closed library doorstep..
Where...smoked paper bag breakfasts are pocketed behind laddered vans..
Where...pointed leather shoes kick out leafed reminders of late morning wrestled submissions..
Where...painted wall challenges are numbered and stripped of crafted meaning..
Where...mobile ticket hall becomes corrupted illegal water bridge..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication - Dead Air into Warm Harp
Documentary Fiction Photography
Dead Air into Warm Harp
Steve Coel
Since I bust my legs down The Works I've had to spend all my mornings blowing dead air into warm harp by the Central Library. Bust my heart too truth be known. Lost everything now. Still...once I get enough coin I has a mild and Clark's pie down The Vulcan, and often or not, I end up talking to the old girls warming themselves up before they go and shelters under the bridge by The Glastonbury.
Clink Hotel across the road gets noisy in the afternoon so I usually wonder into town for a bit of a stretch and go and cadge a cup of tea from Asteys before heading back down Bute for warm meal and early bunk.
Doesn't have time to feel sad really. Not me. Trick I finds is to forget past and just stick to what I knows. Need change of shoes mind. Guess I'll find some in the box by side door Sunday morning.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication .....creating fictions....
Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography
No Paths
Steve Coel
Here -
Where...young people never return and there are no paths..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography
.....creating fictions.....
Steve Coel
No Paths: Experimental Narratives, 2026
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
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