J. R. Lowe
Bio
By day, I'm a PhD student, by night.... I'm still a PhD student, but sometimes I procrastinate by writing on Vocal. Based in Brisbane, Australia.
Stories (107/0)
Vocal Memes for Established Creators (Part IV)
If it exists, there are probably memes about it. This was my philosophy in the years leading up to 2021. But when I joined Vocal in January that year, it became apparent that there weren't memes about everything after all. Not quite. Because Vocal was (to the best of my knowledge) almost entirely un-memed - a tragic discovery, I know. So in an effort to restore accuracy to that beloved motto, Vocal Memes for Established Creators was brought to life, which was closely followed by parts two and three in the months which followed.
By J. R. Lowe11 months ago in Humor
Blend
It's impossible, yet your scarlet love turns my blues yellow with joy.
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Poets
Gaze
Even sapphire skies and azure seas are worthless to those who won't look.
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Poets
- Top Story - December 2022
HomesickTop Story - December 2022
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. I knew we were heading there because he was a man of habit. The impulse was carved into his very being, and he was drawn to the cabin every winter like a moth to a flame. But he wasn't a moth, he was a wolf in sheep's clothing.
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Fiction
Gambler
The package arrives promptly at 10:00 AM on Tuesday, but you barely react when the drone's tone sounds at the front door. The two cups of Earl Grey on the coffee table have gone cold. One is mostly empty, drunk half-heartedly, but the second is still full, made accidentally by habit. Sitting on the futon couch, with eyes glued to the television, your face has set like concrete into a permanently pained expression. Every wrinkle and every white hair on your body is grieving.
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Fiction
Murder on the Dancefloor: A Christmas Party Disaster
You know how everyone has that one rather horrific and mildly traumatic memory that they've pushed into the deepest caverns of their mind? The kind of memory that you supress in order to go about your life until one day your brain is just randomly like "Hey, you, remember that time..." and then BAM - your day is ruined as the memories come flooding back in a flurried mess.
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Journal
Through the Glass
Peering through the aquarium's glass is like looking into another world. Everything is dowsed in blue ripples, with mysterious creatures shuffling by in crowds. It's beautiful and alien, and it captivates me entirely, allowing my mind to escape the monotony of a life stuck in senseless repetition. Yet, the enjoyment I get from the experience is always tainted by pity, and I find myself wondering if those creatures, those gorgeous, colourful beings, have any idea they're trapped, and if they did, would they care?
By J. R. Loweabout a year ago in Fiction
