Cosmik Wolfpack is a playground and laboratory for flash-formed poetry and nanofiction written by The Debtor, a white cisgender male and citizen of the United States.
If you have something to say to the author, send it to cosmikwolfpack at gmail dot com.
No one was ready for the totally amorphous writers to split the coherent trauma of dead infidelity. It’s yet another example of inscrutable faith-based television.
This hiatus of extortion is a terrible idea. Specifically, I think I had resented the sequenced collection of reliably enjoyable machinations.
Look, maybe I’m forgetting something like an epic sex marathon or illicit spiritual leverage. Apparently I’m not exactly afflicted with visions.
Spirit guides and guardian angels have embraced foreign monsters. But love and friendship abide and through all their endeavors and hardships they aspire to the realms of steamy, hot and powerful, erotic love.
Finding himself caught in a quarantined universe, God has avoided meaningful ways to deal with and eventually move beyond the great heights of superstardom. After exposure to genetic hardships, He feels just plain crazy.
Satan's plans depend on the continued oppression of families, children, parents, friends, Sunday school teachers, ministers, group workers, prison workers, or anyone involved with of depravity. Trouble finds him in the form of bullies.
There is a poor but proud gingerbread army standing in the strange gothic house with a terrible history. Frustrated that they have been making the same mistakes generation after generation, a plan is devised.
During the Christmas Festival, they place a powerful drug in the ancient cradle of the human race. It is necessary. They must outwit, outfly, outfight, and outmatch ruthless space pirates divided by stubborn pride and differences of opinion and trapped in an ancient temple and what unfolds is nothing short of a miracle.
Relentlessly festive throughout, the poor but proud gingerbread army extend the life of one of their order to become best friends.
Conversations ensue between parents and siblings awaiting for apathy and neglect.
Can a chimp-breeding farmer and a weird first born drummer forgive my little family? I told the old lady how my inner sanctum, which was not posh, had changed for the better. I noticed that she was probably a different color. I wondered about that. I crouched behind one of the cypress planks, but avoided wearing a wig. I saw the shy footprints of Grandpa near the timber wall where I saw fruitcakes. I had not ignored death.
I will never waste your time with thinly disguised heroic porn. I will never publish anything I do not think is politically incorrect.
A pity men like requisite beautiful co-workers serve no useful purpose in the Christmas hierarchy, but work for a familiar perceptible angst. Old mavens of fame and admiration wish to weirdly create snakes. Nature has gone wild and it gets serious worldwide.
As a world is choked by corporations' pollution and unfettered degradation, a corporate megalomaniac incarnates the body of a gorgeous woman. When all is said and done, a humorous Christmas Eve nativity service is instantly transported into an environment where a purple monster is in danger.
Among the adults are a cantankerous slob who denies she needs glasses, a snooty businessman, the daughter of a San Francisco flower child, an aged great aunt, and several military law breakers. Each is infected as they plan a fun picnic together.
There is nothing like handmade holiday hostilities. On Christmas Eve late at night, the situation goes downhill as a short-lived calamity euthanizes the reality and truthfulness of Christmas.
A horse that was in the front of a scientist is melting. The big surprise is a large orange orb known as a belated grief sprout. According to the cats, precious ones will find themselves coming back.
The sea makes a special musical sound. It is a weird looking forest.