Horror on Netflix

Evolution (2015) now on Netflix Canada and available for purchase and rental at Bay Street Video in Toronto

Over the past few months I have enjoyed a lot of horror titles on Netflix (Canada). Here is a partial list of films I liked:

Evolution (trailer) Bay Street Video

You’re Next (trailer) Bay Street Video

The Girl with All the Gifts (trailer) Bay Street Video

I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (trailer) Netflix Exclusive

Havenhurst (trailer)

The Windmill (aka The Windmill Massacre) (trailer)

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Tiny Grievances gets its first (official) review!

Book review: Tiny Grievances: Stories and a Novella, by Robert Thomson

Posted in Author, Author, Blog, Book Distribution, Books, Fiction, Gay, Gay Fiction, Gay Short Fiction, Gay Short Stories, Indie Author, My Books, Reviews, Robert Thomson, Short Stories, Tiny Grievances, Tiny Grievances, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Tiny Grievances gets its first (official) review!

Winter In America

Winter In America
(Gil Scott-Heron, Brian Jackson)

From the Indians who welcomed the pilgrims
And to the buffalo who once ruled the plains
Like the vultures circling beneath the dark clouds
Looking for the rain
Looking for the rain

Just like the cities staggered on the coastline
Living in a nation that just can’t stand much more
Like the forest buried beneath the highway
Never had a chance to grow
Never had a chance to grow

And now it’s winter
Winter in America
Yes and all of the healers have been killed
Or sent away, yeah
But the people know, the people know
It’s winter
Winter in America
And ain’t nobody fighting
‘Cause nobody knows what to save
Save your soul, Lord knows
From Winter in America

The Constitution
A noble piece of paper
With free society
Struggled but it died in vain
And now Democracy is ragtime on the corner
Hoping for some rain
Looks like it’s hoping
Hoping for some rain

And I see the robins
Perched in barren treetops
Watching last-ditch racists marching across the floor
But just like the peace sign that vanished in our dreams
Never had a chance to grow
Never had a chance to grow

And now it’s winter
It’s winter in America
And all of the healers have been killed
Or been betrayed
Yeah, but the people know, people know
It’s winter, Lord knows
It’s winter in America
And ain’t nobody fighting
‘Cause nobody knows what to save
Save your souls
From Winter in America

And now it’s winter
Winter in America
And all of the healers done been killed or sent away
Yeah, and the people know, people know
It’s winter
Winter in America
And ain’t nobody fighting
‘Cause nobody knows what to save
And ain’t nobody fighting
Cause nobody knows, nobody knows
And ain’t nobody fighting
‘Cause nobody knows what to save

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Reincarnation Instant Breakfast

Snow has a plan, based on memory. It is in a hurry and will not be waylaid.

The temperature drops, it arrives. Before it can harden or turn to brown, it decides it wants to come again. Or perhaps, knowing the cyclical pattern it is a part of and cannot escape, it is simply trying to regulate itself, prolong its life or pattern or, at the very least, attach itself to the thoughts and memories of those observing it so that it can be relived that way. A vicarious existence. Or maybe the snow is just neurotic, fixated on itself; since it cannot reproduce, it struggles to draw attention to itself. But it knows, deep inside its frozen core, that it will dissolve. I know snow. Very, very well. I watch it as I eat my breakfast; a mashed up avocado with sea salt and ground pepper on whole wheat bread I made myself. I made myself.

I wonder if it will come again tomorrow. And if it does, will it retain the memory of falling yesterday?

I watch snow turn to sludge. Oscar sleeps. Frank Ocean “Swim Good” on my speakers. A plate with remnants of mashed green paste flecked with crumbs in the sink. Nothing new. Everything new. And Charles Mingus.

 

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