Emmanuele Massimi
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
Emmanuele Massimi
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
This is where my bio should be, but alas, is not.
An eye for an eye was never so literal. You should have seen the two of them, newly-made cyclops, eye-gulping, face-eating creatures made of the stuff of nightmares, licking at their blood-stained teeth, in a dance of agony and bliss.
A hand for a hand, yes, a wry symmetry the driving force of their mutual demise. You should have heard the cheers of the crowd of spectators: horrified, galvanised, ...
I make a point of staring straight into my own eyes, behind which I believe to be their eyes. It seems like a weird time for such a big reveal, but I’ve always counted on the element of surprise. Before they can recover from the shock, I pick up the little rubbish bin next to the toilet and I smash it against the mirror. Tiny versions of me fly all the way across the floor. The bin has broken thro...
The sun grew weary of seeing men squander its light. It grew weary of seeing women squandering its light. And everyone in-between. The sun didn’t particularly see gender anyway. To be quite fair, the sun didn’t have eyes, of course, however, figuratively speaking, it felt quite upset at the way he perceived the lack of productive time on planet Earth during its all-day shift. The sun, you see, tho...
Leaving is always hard. But leaving after returning is even harder. And doing this on repeat must be a special type of purgatory. The most painful thing, I guess, initially, is having to face the ghost of who you might have been had you not left at all. But then, every time you come back and then leave again, the spectrum of all those possible pasts and futures grows, and it grows heavy, and it gr...
If you were to ask me about my greatest comfort, I would answer that watching the world go by from my bedroom window just before I go to bed is pretty high on my list. It’s something akin to watching a flame’s slow dance. These souls, like specks of fire, coming into and disappearing out of your peripheral vision. And these vehicles, these lights, when watched from a distance, seem to be animated ...
Ha! He hates when that happens, but then again, it was just a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. He exchanges a pleased look with his coffee mug after the first sip — it tends to lose its bitter edge post-mortem — as he starts to consider: concealing the wings will be a challenge, as usual; and he’s allergic to his own feathers, if you can believe that. It’s outrageous, an absolute...
I hear the muffled sound of someone sitting down. I hope they’re in a bad mood. That’s because there’s a better chance that they’ll release me for a little while and let me look over all the beautiful shapes and colours that must exist outside of this box even when I’m locked inside it. Faith is my sole companion in these long, dark days. I have been touched by a beauty well beyond my understandi...
There are three types of flying objects that I normally mistake for UAP: Venus — yes, I’m that dumb; balloons, which is apparently a common one; and of course, satellites. Far too many times have I raised my hopes up only for my good friend and alienologist Phil to consistently bring me back to my senses. Let me sum up the current situation with a simple statement: not today. As a matter of fact, ...