“I’m not afraid of ugly. Many of the poets I follow paint a picture of the world that is black and red. Not beautiful, but a slap in the face. Screaming wake up. In their posts there is no hate, just truth.”

The Other Stuff

When I hit follow, I mean it.

Many WordPress users follow blogs simply to get a follow back. To boost their numbers. I understand this. Because it happens to me so infrequently, getting a follower is like a small hit of crack. A rush.

Topping a milestone, 100, 200, etc, is something more. But I don’t really know what because it’s only happened to me once. A few months ago, I bypassed one hundred followers. And I’m now one away from two hundred.

I won’t trade for follows. I don’t want my reader filled with unreadable content. For the most part, I don’t want to read about travel or makeup or restaurants in a city I’m not planning to visit. I don’t want to read about books I’ll never read. Or movies I’m not going to watch.

I want to read about people. I want to read about goals…

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That Was Quick!

Another great piece of imaginative fiction from author Scott Michael Stenwick.


My new science fiction novella The Pathless Void is now available to buy from Amazon and Smashwords. If you’re a fan of old-school science fiction, check it out. I think you will like it.

As an aside, I think this is the first story I’ve ever published anywhere that doesn’t have anything paranormal in it whatsoever, unless you count speculative future technology and a salvaged alien spacecraft. But there are no spells or psychic powers or anything like that, just aliens and tech. Enjoy!

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Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

Echo:  A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

We all could do *much worse than hang out with a Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha. Seem too good to be true, friends? Well, just check it out and you’ll become a believer.

Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

I’m wheeling through the blackness of space, humming to myself in Transcendental Enochian, picking and eating a few stars here, a few asteroids there…I pass by Andromeda and sidle up to her.  “Wassap ‘Droms?  You wanna merge black holes?  Mine is WAY bigger than the other—” she cuts me off with:  “Ew—no.  Leave me alone Kent.  Your galactic spheroids gross me out.  I’m gonna go see what Milky Way’s up to.”  Andromeda whisks away and I yell out, “Milky Way isn’t even his real name—it’s a porn name!  Anyone can see that!  He’s gonna leave a mess all over your face, neck, and chest!  Geez, how obtuse ARE you??”  She raises one of her spiral arms at me and gives me an obscene gesture.  Gamora’s boobies, what do I do now?  The supermassive black hole at the center of my body is throbbing and it needs to MERGE dammit!  The…

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The world begins with the silky, susurrating, soothing sound of “ssssss” water falling, mothered and held, a breeze moving reeds gently, their leaves and plumes gently grazing and sounding soft and rhythmic. The word is whispered and I turn in silken shroud of sheltering arms, her arms, holding and keeping, and holding and keeping, and holding and keeping me safe and cool.

I list and rest swaddled in her scent, she my ground and I her center. The dappled light, bright and resting dark by turns. Rich and wide, this sea of her love moving, and I within it, moving and drifting safe and whole. Her skin, I drink it in, warm and freckled and fruity.

Rooted, wild, languid and free, the belly uncoils in gladness. I move and breathe and have my being in this new and always known. My momma. My Donna, the Madonna, and I, the child. I arise from her in wholeness, it is enough.

I pluck my arm out, the fingers pudgy tendrils like a vine inside her elbow. Reaching up to touch that space on her lovely cheek, and I’m babbling as a bellows of love and fire. Broken upon her loving gaze, open and infinite and rolling as wind danced grass underneath the creamy sunshine of early summer.

Like butter spread on my tongue, I speak words of flavor that slip and nourish and I am heard for the first time. Colors and sounds fly out of my mouth, monstrous speech, gargantuan and pure:




Avant Garde Magazine letter

Avant Garde Magazine letter

From the Avant Garde Magazine, Letters to the Editor, November 1969.


I’ve recently returned after two years in Vietnam, where I was a G.I. helping to tear the country down. I am determined to return, as a civilian, to help build the country up. I know a fair amount about building construction (and, alas, destruction), and I would welcome assistance, if only in the form of encouragement, from any of your readers. – Wayne L. Seth, 15609 S. Chadron, Gardena, Calif.”


slim bomb