a jaundiced light flicks outside, pious, sinful off, on the bed upstairs is full of secrets and subtle demons, lusty, sweet and brutal a greedy and glut blood pumps walking this left hand path staring into abyss what a mess we've made scratching, at the frayed fabric now it's torn, spilling, revealing sometimes a heart is a fist it's not love, this is a disease but I want to play my part I'm a pretty good actor -- Mike Fiction
Polaroid, album created on May 15, 2010
Shot on Polaroid film
Color, album created on October 13, 2007
Monochrome, album created on October 8, 2007
Black and White Photography
October 22, 2008the fiery sky and a drowning rose. a howling wind that ink exposed. an invisible heat cures the sick heart all of this, an unbroken fever. we kill so calmly, so fluently and love so laborious. - Mike Fiction --- I am no writer and I know nothing of poetry, but I feel compelled to write lately. If my writing sucks, is mediocre or is good; I'm ignorant of this. I write to touch and be touched.
September 24, 2008Tonight I sit in the warm glow of candle light and listen to the traffic outside, seeping through the small crack in the outer storm window. I've found a new appreciation for static and noise. Listening to the world, I feel naked, exposed to the elements. The sounds of a hushed voice speaking into the phone in the next room keep me from being physically alone, though I am alone. I feel a sucking pressure in my chest, like my heart has imploded and the muscle and tissue is trying to fill in th…