Murdered by Crows
@murderedbycrows
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"I pocketed the parchment scrap – indeed there was nobody to stop me as the library staff had to a man and woman been slaughtered by the tiny terrorists of the Children’s Theater Troupe out on the square."
Teach a man to proverb...
A.P. Murphy"I had to take great care at this time as the city was convulsed with mass killings carried out by the Chalazia Children’s Theater Troupe, a savage faction of youthful mayhem-dealers and run-amokkers."
Teach a man to proverb...
A.P. Murphy"You’re on your back now. Your body feels bad. Bad everywhere. Unspecifically. You try the door back to unconsciousness. Oh my god."
The Queue
Murdered by CrowsWhat is your contract with the reader? Have you thought about that? I have been for the past year or so after I felt like storytelling and “writerly intention” became two different things. Considering we are stealing bits of time from strangers, it seems prudent to have some agreement with them about the exchange. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far: • I won’t waste your time with things that don’t move story. • I won’t force you to read a shittier version of something you could find somewhere else. • I won’t lie to you, but I might deceive you. • I may turn your stomach, but it will be for a purpose. • I will reward you for spending time with my art. Nothing like adding another rubric or failure to the pile, but if you alienate your reader then you’re just writing for yourself.
7
2My new post is a piece I wrote for the Wrizzit Seven Deadly Sins anthology with the help of A.P. Murphy. It doesn’t look like that publication is going to… publish, so I’ve just taken it upon myself to share. Here’s a shout out to A.P Murphy for letting me gawk at their work without reading into it too much. Without you, this piece would be strange.
6
1Mandated cannibals is the name of my punk rock band. "mandated cannibals feast so merrily and so mournfully."
Strange Eucharist
A.P. Murphy2
1"livin asshol thinkin he reddy to shotgunn mai hedd off but ayam furst an ai gottim bai tha throte an tha blud the warm livin bludd the sweet livvery bludd oll flowin its a shower, an a sweet shower tu - ov BLUDDD! jussss bluddd"
daun ov the dedd
A.P. Murphy
Hopefully I’m accepted to join the Wrizzit Poetry Anthology before the deadline. I’ve written a poem in collaboration with @a-p-murphy for the occasion.
8
1"Of all the advice I received in my life in the wild, the most bullshit piece was about the red boxcar UUH17."
Don’t Ride Railcar UUH17
Murdered by Crows"I once saw a man thrown from a moving train. He was my friend, and he was the first person to try and help me survive the life of hopping freight trains."
Don’t Ride Railcar UUH17
Murdered by Crows"And that’s when she drifted into my personal hobo jungle."
Sassafras and Flatrabbit
A.P. Murphy"‘The only real Truth, it seems, is that Truth which exists within the shadows of the soul, that innate right and wrong written into our bones, that impulse from somewhere beyond ourselves. To find its true origins, however, would pull at the red string of Fates.’"
I have come to believe
Meg TaylorI’m starting a writing corner and everyone’s invited. If you are interested in intensive feedback, pushing your writing outside your comfort zone, or just curious what other people see in your work… If you are interested in harnessing the potential of this platform of writers that think and produce differently than you… If you are interested in a collective writing body… I invite you to join my Writing Club Forum. Everyone is welcome to post a piece under 1000 words, and I will provide intensive feedback. My request is a return read. I’ll provide the feedback in whatever form you’d like, direct message, email, comment, telegram. We have so much talent here, but I see reposts of work getting more love than the work itself. Let’s take advantage of our collective years of toil and create something special.
"If I told you these things, these daily interruptions… would they hurt you too? I refuse to state them plainly just the same; if only to avoid some kind of magic incantation that makes a nightmare reality."
I was not your first
Murdered by Crows"It was only about fifty miles to civilization. HWY 299 west over Buckhorn summit. Elevation thirty-two hundred something. A destroyed road That switches back on itself Because it doesn’t want you to leave. Now it was a killing field. Full of dead cars And people I know Fleeing their homes."
299
Murdered by CrowsWell, if there was no more land on Earth for Pappy to farm, he would take to the stars. His soybeans were already out of this world; this was the logical next step. Pappy and Mammy boarded the Icarus II and blasted off to the moon sixty years ago—but never had a chance to return. ~~Pappy
“So that’s it…” the little girl finished her request on the front porch of the farm-style home. She was addressing the whole family gathered at their usual evening spot. “I gotta do a report for school about how we used to grow food there—” With a tiny finger, the little girl pointed out into the black sky, at the brown Earth—a constant fixture for most of the day, and a reminder of a time not so long gone. ~~Pappy
Thank you To this community For making me feel so invited. An upgrade from Substack, Which is just Instagram For people with an above average vocabulary And access to an internet capable device. You people actually write. About things, People, Feelings that crack you open To spill out your juices So you can show them to others. Wonderful. I’ve written a eulogy for Substack, Called “The Droning Legion”. It’s patched together With found snippets From their scribbles and screeds And my other things. I hope you read, Closely With heart on your sleeve… Because I’m here to connect, Push style and content, Become better By talking to strangers. And I beg you for help. Because there’s a difference between a chorus, and a drone.
20
1A naked reminder of traffic between her home and the pond, pounded smooth by clapping feet and the plastic wheels of his red wagon. The path was where she looked first. He wasn’t there. That evening’s dinner left on the stove, After hearing his halted scream. Who cares if the home burns down? Logic meaningless now as she crashed after her son. There, On the ground By the water… “Boy, what are you doing?!” “I found it momma!” Sitting, legs out, flat on his ass— Gripping it behind the head, tail rattling. “Uh.. yes, you did big boy. Keep holding onto it, and no kisses!” “Ok Momma, no kisses. You want to see him?” Six feet away. Six inches too close. Fangs, power and venom sat in the open mouth of her son’s new friend. Waiting for a wrong decision.