Joan Collins

Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-06-01 21:21:10 -

The Carnival of Endings
(V-13: New York Modernism / Absurdist Satire) **Act I: The Last Ticket** The end of the world was scheduled for 6:00 PM on a Tuesday. In the heart of Times Square, the giant screens didn't show ads for Broadway shows or luxury watches; they showed a countdown clock in a clean, corporate font. The city didn't panic. Instead, it turned the apocalypse into a themed event. "The Final Hour" became...

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Joan Collins added blog Dance
2026-06-01 11:27:58 -

The Silent Ocean
I Ray Mercer taught physics at Oceanview High for twenty-seven years. He was forty-eight, which meant he had spent more than half his life standing in front of teenagers who did not want to be there, explaining things they did not want to learn, in a building that smelled permanently of floor wax and adolescent sweat. His classroom was on the second floor. From the window, you could see the...

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Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-06-04 15:56:44 -

The Gilded Cage of the Deep
Arthur Sterling was a man who owned everything except his own time. In 1955 New York, his name was synonymous with the "Sterling Standard"—a level of luxury that bordered on the obscene. His latest whim was the "Oceanic Symphony," a project to control a blue whale using a series of gold-plated electrodes. "Imagine it," Arthur told his guests at the penthouse, "a beast of the deep, dancing to my...

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Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-06-02 06:42:24 -

The Governor's Autumn
The fog of London in 1858 was a living thing, a yellow-grey beast that swallowed the spires of Westminster and turned the daylight into a bruised twilight. For Lord Julian Sterling, the fog felt like a homecoming. For twelve years, Julian had been the Governor of the Straits Settlements. In Singapore, he had lived as a king in all but name. He had slept on silk, eaten from gold, and commanded...

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Joan Collins added blog Food
2026-05-30 19:03:31 -

The Glass Walls of St. Jude
The day the diocese sent the photograph, I was standing in the sacristy of St. Jude's Cathedral, polishing the chalice that had belonged to Bishop O'Malley before the Hartford scandal. The photograph showed a young woman in a hospital-issue gown, her hair shorn to the scalp, her eyes enormous and dark and utterly without fear. She was holding a cardboard sign that read: THE CHURCH HAS TWENTY...

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Joan Collins added blog Games
2026-06-04 04:53:30 -

I met Frank on a Tuesday in November. I was seventeen. He was sixty-eight. He lived on a boat.
The boat was docked along the East River in Queens, right next to the old warehouses that had been empty since the eighties and were slowly being turned into condos by people who would never set foot on this side of the river. The houseboat was small, white, with a canvas top that leaked when it rained. Frank had a fishing net hanging from the railing and a cooler on the stern and a chair that...

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Joan Collins added blog Other
2026-05-28 03:04:35 -

The Hollow Glen
The Hollow Glen Elena Cross knew this the way she knew the weight of a memory in her hands—she knew something that had been handed down to her since before she had the words to question why. She stood at the edge of her console and watched the data take the last of the resident's childhood colour and scatter it across the clearing algorithm like a machine scattering ground meal on a stone...

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Joan Collins added blog Games
2026-06-05 03:15:59 -

The Abyss Rose
## Act I — The Orb The fog that winter was not merely weather—it was a substance, a living membrane that pressed against the windows of the Sinclair townhouse in Belgrave Square like a great pale lung. Inside, the gas lamps burned with a sickly yellow breath, and the porcelain figures on the mantelpiece watched everything with the frozen indifference of the dead. Lord Arthur Sinclair sat in his...

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Joan Collins added blog Games
2026-05-29 15:09:42 -

THE WEIGHT OF NOTHING
I Raymond Kowalski woke at 5:30 every morning. He dressed in the dark—dark trousers, dark shirt, the same jacket he had worn for five years. He ate toast with margarine. He drank coffee that was too weak because he had stretched the grounds with extra hot water. He walked out the front door at 5:45. The factory was two miles away. It took him twenty minutes to walk. He walked at the same pace...

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Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-05-25 08:00:32 -

The Rust-Belt Oracle
The rain in Oakhaven didn't wash things clean; it just turned the soot into a thick, black paste that clung to everything. Bill sat on the porch of a trailer that leaned precariously to the left, clutching a bottle of cheap rye that tasted like kerosene. Around him, the skeletal remains of the General Motors plant loomed over the town like the ribcage of a dead god. Bill was a nobody. He was a...

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Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-05-28 22:17:27 -

The Iron Skin
Detroit didn't sleep; it just rusted. The city was a graveyard of assembly lines and broken promises, where the sky was the color of a bruised plum. I lived in the gaps—the alleyways and the abandoned warehouses—until the men in the black suits found me. They didn't ask. They just took. I woke up in a room that smelled of ozone and burnt meat. My left arm was no longer flesh. It was a...

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Joan Collins added blog Literature
2026-06-03 13:09:36 -

The Binary Garden
The twin suns of Helios-Prime were dying, bleeding a deep, bruised crimson across the obsidian plains. In the center of the wasteland stood the Glass Spire, the last bastion of two warring civilizations: the Solarites and the Lunars. Kael was a Solarite diplomat; Lyra was a Lunar strategist. For a century, their peoples had fought a war of attrition, each side convinced that the other must be...

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