Recall of Cthulhu

I have been performing this story for about two years, and now seems like as good a time as any to finally post it up on my site – 

The Recall of Cthulhu

The trinket in the charity shop window snagged at my eye. It’s shocking familiarity transfixed my gaze and threw my thoughts off into stark memories that had only just been forgotten.
The tiny statuette was Art Deco in flavour and gleamed with a dull gunmetal sheen.
I knew the piece well, it was part of a popular collectible series. A few years ago they’d been everywhere, ubiquitous in new age shops, tawdry fairy-tat fit only for St. Audrey’s fair.
They came with different gemstones inlaid, different cute poses, different blessings – fertility/protection/love/peace – or with different curses – disappointment/hubris/self-pity/solitude.

The little pewter love fairy, pretty but anodyne, with a ruby red inlaid heart,
had been given to me and my husband, I mean  ex-husband, as a wedding gift from a relative stranger. Although it sat on our “wedding blessings, shelf”, enshrined for many years,
truth to  say I never really liked the thing. It wasn’t my cup of tea, no.,
No, it offended me actually, it was a Lady Cottington fairy, a Flower fairy, a fluffy-bunny new-age denatured, deracinated post-ironic anthropomorphised cherub-fairy.
A Walt Disney  fairy.

Not the fearful fulsome fae in the ancient tales that I have heard whispered in the places hereabouts.
Traditionally, we humans fear the fairies, we lay devotional altars to beloved land wights deep in out-of-the-way places,
we beg the unliving for permission to live,
if they call at our door we dare not invite them in,
yet must not turn them away,
we avoid treading on their fairy paths
or jumping in their fairy rings,
and we never ever eat a single morsel of food at faerie feasts in the Hollow Hills. For fear of enchantment, lest we never return home for hundreds of years.

The Fae are dark, and among us still.

More than that, and I’m going to speak my mind now, the gemstone at the figurine’s heart laid waste to the spell of unconditional peace promised by the fairy talisman. The cut ruby was a product of murderously cut-throat gemstone mining, human rights abuses and land-rape par for the course and if you think about it, if you think about such things, that’s a very heavy karmic charge to be carrying. The piece was, in its totality, an enduring damnation of the vanity and disingenuousness of New Age commercial pretensions.

No wonder it all ended in divorce.

Strawberry Fair 2017. Photo by JS Watts

Strawberry Fair Wild Strawberries Stage 2017. Photo by JS Watts

I scrutinised the trinket through the plate glass window, I could swear, I really thought, it was the same, it seemed to me, the very same.
But it wasn’t. I knew it couldn’t be, because after the Decree Absolute, just before I moved out, I buried that love fairy, upside down, anointed in cat shit and toxic toad spit,  leaving Tinkerbell forever in sprite-ish torment, under the offering table to the unspeakable, beneath the onerous shrine of Cthulhu – blasphemous, swooning,
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,
at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.




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New chapbook in the pipeline

Beginning to think about a new chapbook of flash fiction to self-publish.
I am aiming for a february release,
and here is a preview…

Probably Inappropriately

By Dave Challis March 2017

When you done your tantric kundalini kali-spell on me I was lost enveloped in psychic love-haze, I was drawn, rising, filling, swelling emotions that confused me and had in the past lead to casually fucking someone.
Probably Inappropriately.

Warning bells went off somewhere in the distance and I felt us reflex, in unison, pull back, but stayed long hours, hung in giddy uneasy equilibrium, in circular psychedelic emanations, trident penetrates the sky.

Still. Still. Still.
Waiting, while unseen proto-cosmic arousals reverberate the air,
threatening to immanently unfold sudden into cataclysmic karmic collisions climaxing.
Still. Still. Still.

So we lay down on the bed, fully-clothed in the dull downpour afternoon. Clasped in yogic breathing intensely staring deep into soul-eyes we sank down dipped below the surface entwined long time waiting will you call.
Probably Inappropriately.

Bella Basura 2017




Jean Dark

The Short Answer Chapbook for sale here 

New flash fiction from Bella Basura

¡Que Bellisima!

From behind the huge ice-cream-laden pink-plastic sundae glass a child’s voice wailed out
“Strawberries! Strawberries! I don’t like strawberries”. Pandemonium rising up from an irritating bratty pre-schooler in the budget cafeteria on the ferry back to England.

I hadn’t heard an English voice for months, and now,  due to uncertain weather conditions passengers having been banned from the decks,  I was hearing my native tongue ring out around me, obscenely.

The sullen wet-dog stinking day-trip masses circumnavigated the duty-free and bars,  aimlessly damp and the boy banged his heels endlessly, in infuriating non-syncopation. “I hate strawberries. I don’t want it. It’s smelly!”. The infantile squall was still passing over.

I ambled my memory back to Spain, still not believing I was actually leaving. I stared back deep into shimmering days of purposeful inactivity, punctuated through with isolated monochrome stop-frame images of intense moonlit things.

“I hate it. I hate it. I hate you!” strawberry-boy shouts, and I think it into Spanish, out of habit “Le odio Le odio Te odio Le odio Le odio Te odio” ringing in my mind, like a joyful Hispanic pat a cake game.

The Short Answer Chapbook



Jean Dark

The Short Answer Chapbook for sale here 

Dream Theme

A new ocassional Flash Fiction Series from Bella Basura

Dream Theme One

Weird Winter Wishes
Photo: Phil MFU
Cambridge 2012

In my dream about Thurston Moore it was night, I was up by the Co-op  convenience store roundabout and all around there was this strange snow piled everywhere, like great banks of crunchy white snow – it was like some scene from a movie.
So I took my coat off, laid it down and began sledding through tunnels in the snow on my coat. Suddenly Thurston Moore was beside me and we were streaming through these glistening snow tunnels on my coat, laughing, O we were laughing, really laughing.
Eventually as we’re approaching the telephone box at the end of my street we began to slow. And there are smears of brown on the pristine snow. I look down and it is dog shit and my coat sleeve is dragging in dog shit and Thurston Moore disappears.
And I have to walk home alone in a blizzard in my torn and dog shitted coat.

Bella Basura
April 2017

The Short Answer Chapbook



Jean Dark

The Short Answer Chapbook for sale here 

Dream Lover by Bella Basura

Dream Lover
by Bella Basura

In my dream we sit down on the bed in the hot thunderstorm afternoon, and we talk. We tumble headlong into conversations around tantric psycho-sexual experimentation, and intimacy, trust, adventure, and systematic exploration of kundalini energy and control of its transits through the etheric body. I liked that bit best. All that stuff about psychic electrification of each of my chakras in slow-motion pulsations of pure energy.

I wake into empty house twilight, sick taste in my mouth, my socks twisted and damp, hair sprawling unkempt.
In the kitchen I make a pot of tea and wait. Slipping in and out of the memory of the dream, story-telling it into existence, into a finely polished  narrative, into a gleaming moral with a twist in the tail and happy ever-ending.

I try to hug you when you appear home, in the kitchen doorway. But you step back saying “Put me down, I’ve just come in from work”.
I step back, snubbed.
You storm upstairs.
I think fleetingly that your hair, tonight in particular,
smelled of stale sperm and too many rushed rancid coffees,
the taste of reality I dare not admit.

Bella Basura
Feb 2017

The Short Answer Chapbook



Jean Dark

The Short Answer Chapbook for sale here 

New Flash Fiction from Bella Basura

Addicted to Tantra

Kundalini Me By Bella Basura 2013

Kundalini Me
By Bella Basura

For weeks I have experienced this kind of activation, awakening of my Kundalini Serpent. It’s like I’m fully alive, in every cell fully aware all the time and I’m constantly aroused and endlessly scattered amongst  the whole of humanity, every sentient being, and all vibrating with an efflorescence of love and ecstasy.

But I’m totally useless, can’t get anything practical done, I eat by happenstance, sleep not at all, all I can do is waft trailing my aura around my flat, sprinkling  the glitter of my ecstasy across the known and unknown planes of the multi-verse.

I am kundalini-drunk, Doctor.

Bella Basura 2017

The Short Answer Chapbook



Jean Dark

The Short Answer Chapbook – OUT NOW!

Buy in person at  live performances or via mail order from Esoterranean Books shop

The Short Answer

an anthology of flash fiction by Bella Basura

Kali by Tim Neate

by Tim Neate

from the Introduction
“In the 1990s I spent a year grubbing around Holland and Spain on a DSS Enterprise Allowance Scheme as a self-employed author and poet. I spent the decade devouring magazines, journals and chapbooks by the small presses that were so active and plentiful back then. I particularly loved anything by Tom Vague, HeadPress,  HEAD magazine, Rapid Eye and Unlimited Dream Company. In those days there were bookshops too, Compendium in Camden and The Inner Bookshop in Oxford and London’s Atlantis. I even devoted a lot of time and energy to producing pamphlets of my own, which were an irregular source of beer money. I tried to persuade others to print my writings. Eventually I studied bookbinding to enable myself to print, bind and distribute my pamphlets and chapbooks…And then everything went online…

So, now after a gap of almost ten years here is a new chapbook of my writings – this new pamphlet has come about as a result of performing my writing at spoken word events and I need some merchandise to flog to cover travelling expenses. All of the pieces in this collection are 100 word flash fictions – a genre I specialise in. So, I hope you will put your hands deep into your pockets and buy my new chapbook, and also come to see me perform. You won’t regret it!”

Contains a dozen 100 word flash fictions


Esoterranean Books

24 pages, hand-bound with hand-tinted cover.
Image by Tim Neate.
Buy in person – £5 – at one of my upcoming live performances
or via mail order – £5 + £2 p+p – from my Etsy shop

New Flash Fiction Story

Here is a new Flash Fiction, that I performed for the first time at the recent Scarecrow Corner Benefit at The Devonshire Arms a week or so ago.

Although it’s longer than my usual offerings, you must agree it is still pretty short!

Fairies Down The Plughole

I’ve only had head lice once. I think I caught them on a group walking holiday in Wales.
One afternoon towards the end  of the week, I chaperoned a lovely little 8 year old called Annie. Her mum, too tired,  or busy, or divorce-damaged, or desperate to wash her hair, pressganged me into taking Annie with me on a four hour guided ramble in the rugged North Wales mountains, around the stunning Cadar Idris, throne of Uther. A folkloric landscape of the poet, the madman, the dead man who are said to gather on the Idris summit in the dawn’s pale gloom. A mythic and magical and harsh place of legend.

It could have been an arduous trek, but I had the delightful company of Annie to smooth the day along. Annie loved fairies, Annie saw fairies everywhere, “look, fairy doors” she would say stopping at almost every tree stump, every cleft in the tangled woodland tree roots. Annie paused at every Oak, Ash and Thorn, paid homage to every bee, butterfly and dragonfly we saw “Look! Fairies” she would say.

And at the end of the long day she granted me fairies of my own. In a gesture of blessing She drew her fingers across her cherubic dark curls, she placed her hands onto the crown of my head and dipped our heads together until our foreheads touched, we paused and stared into each others eyes. “now you have fairies too” She said.

Later, around the campfire, Annie tucked up safe in her sleeping bag, I chatted with Annie’s Mum. I said “She’s a one for the fairies” Mum laughed, “yes, it’s fairies this and fairies that, she sees them everywhere, ‘look fairies’ she says, all the time. Even when I’m using the headlice shampoo, she’s like ‘Mummy, Look! Fairies’ and I say yes honey, wash them down the plughole”

Bella Basura
December 2016

More Flash Fictions



Jean Dark

Strawberry Fair Scarecrow Corner

The Bardic Picnic

Contemplating reading at the Bardic Picnic next month has resulted in this weeks dinky little flash fiction.

Carved bone. Indonesia 2013. Donated by S. Beings

Carved bone. Indonesia 2013. Donated by S. Beings

Stone High

“Actually I don’t think that’s Lapiz” Said Flower-Moon to Ann, as she fished the blue bracelet out of the display case.
A proper Petromancer, Ann thought. One of those new-age Fairy-Witches that divine the future through the flinging of gemstones.
“No, it’s Sodalite. Put it back, it doesn’t resonate in the same way”. Ann put the bracelet back, and followed Flower-Moon.
Petropath! Thought Ann as Flower-Moon dowsed the incense franchise.
A low-down god-forsaken hustler – a-healin’ the sick by the layin’ on o’stones.
Watching Flower-Moon trance out in the Nepalese imports, Ann visualised a tea-break.

Bella Basura
July 2016

Back to Flash Fiction

To the Skull Collection

The Short Answer, Again

Turn The Page
By Bella Basura

Golden Vagueness - Bella Basura 2016

Golden Vagueness
Bella Basura 2016

Unspeakable beauty, like the floating harmonic deep in keening tinnitus. Words break free, and my sentence struggles away from me, my grasp slipping a grip, like a  hand slipping  a glove. She tears from my skin and flies. Ricocheting my awareness of “I” into a bounding and rebounding silence. A silent creeping vibration, like the tap-tap tapping of a solitary black widow on her dew-luminous web, alone at night. A fly has slipped it’s shackles and fled. A silent creeping vibration of voidness, null, empty and zero.
The one that got away.

More Flash Fiction – The Short Answer a collection of short stories in 100 words.

Soon to be available in chapbook print version. for more details.

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