Dom Watson
Bio
Dom is the author of the fantasy novel The Boy Who Walked Too Far and the upcoming Smoker on the Porch. Writes in his underpants. Cries in the nude.
Stories (14/0)
LIQUID NIGHT
You humans are vile. You would call us animals or beasts, and yet you should take a long hard look at yourselves. Take a step back into shadow and analyse your actions. I may eat mouse's and vermin to survive, and be labelled, an animal, but I watch this man now, hunting this woman in loose darkness and I despair.
By Dom Watson 2 years ago in Fiction
THE BREAD TRAP
Sleep shouldn't be hard! I personally have no trouble slinking off into the beautiful dark silk of night. I know others do. The trouble I have now, in my mid forties is staying awake. But how has it come to this? Admittedly I am a little overweight. But I exercise when I can. I snore - like Godzilla with a cold - my wife constantly says. But I have had tests for sleep apnoea which have proved fruitless. I have depression. Inflammatory arthritis. I need to cut myself some slack right?
By Dom Watson 2 years ago in Psyche
THE EVOLUTION OF SEX
The need for tactile closeness always deluded me. I observe these two now, on the tube home. No doubt an afternoon of drinking and longing and gentle brush strokes to the back of their respective hands, creating a chemical furore within the coiled depths of equal sexes.
By Dom Watson 2 years ago in Futurism
CHASING THE NIGHT
Go silent into that long night. Never has a quote been more profound. A pit, as black as pitch had opened up within me, a maelstrom of salted night. Pulling me in - little old me - into the abyss once again. My hands, slippery spades of tar, my resolve an ancient premise, smothered by years of blemishes, eager to open once more. Spill, spill vitriolic remnants of recent woe and klaxon calls to old demons.
By Dom Watson 2 years ago in Psyche
CHASING THE SUN
I think the term was "Grumpy Fuckwit", when I realised my medication wasn't working. Sertraline had been great for 18 months. Some days were better than others. This isn't a magical panacea to wipe the depression away. Sometimes you have to work at it, too. I prolonged my discomfort within the latter days of it. Why? Because I didn't want to come across as needy, a nuisance. Not manly. Perhaps a glimmer of hunter-gatherer man still embedded in the codex. But we are fools not to listen to our bodies. If we ignore their alarms the repair is consuming.
By Dom Watson 2 years ago in Psyche
LATITUDE
I'm not going to lie. A week prior I was practically shitting myself with anxiety. What if I get Covid, again. It wasn't pretty. I have just had the one jab, thus far. Will it be enough? Can I rough it at my age? I do have a bad back! And a great many other ailments a good massage won't relieve. Not to mention the mood of a honey-badger with an itchy arse.
By Dom Watson 3 years ago in Beat
THE COVID PARADIGM
I was caught with my pants down. Not literally, you understand. Though it has been known. But that's another tale. Battling mental health is a chore within itself, but keeping the demons at bay while in self isolation is another battle altogether. Just when you thought you were doing okay, some pandemic decides to interfere with your life. Now, this is the crux, a paradigm in itself. As much as the thing has been ghastly and cost a great many lives, torn heartstrings and shaken families to the core, some of us, a select minority have enjoyed the time to ourselves.
By Dom Watson 4 years ago in Psyche
LUST IN THE TIME OF COVID
I think we have subconsciously been waiting on this for years. Think on it. With the introduction of social media and smart phones we have become our own creatures of habit. We are transcending homo sapien. The introduction of the novel coronavirus, Covid -19 has just given us the push we needed to finally exile ourselves to the delicacies of the limitless dimensions of the internet and the technologies that surround it.
By Dom Watson 4 years ago in Humans
VANTABLACK VOMIT
It felt like I needed to spew a void of darkness. It was clung, deep to my ribs, a sentient mucus that would not expel. Poisoning my heart as the panacea started to settle within my fractured brain, a tourniquet to stop the thoughts of harm spilling into the street.
By Dom Watson 4 years ago in Psyche
