Gavin Hignight Updates

Gavin’s short science fiction story, Paris 90 is featured in this months version of Synthetic Sensations Computer Music Magazine!

In Paris 90, Detective Charles Dubois’ life is in the hands of his partner. Not an unusual position for a member of the police. What is unusual… his partner is one of the Paris Police Department’s first sentient robots.

Synthetic Sensations is a fantastic magazine coming to you straight from the future. For a mere pound a month… or two dollars American, you can download the PDF either to print or view, as it’s a very computer friendly magazine. This is where the future of publishing is headed… be the first on the wave so you can surf the sweet spot.

www.syntheticsensations.com

I recently finished my first novel The Freak Table and I’m about to start sharing it with potential publishers. Please join our fan-page/online petition and show publishers there is an audience hungry for this book!

Facebook Page for THE FREAK TABLE

Introduction

Remember when skateboarding was a crime?

We weren’t the first to do any of it, but we were the last to do it for the right reasons.
We were the skaters, wavers, freaks, faggots, punks, goths, deathrockers, outsiders, and losers. We were punched, shoved, pushed, kicked, judged, beat up, beat down, alienated, and humiliated. In other words we were teenagers.

But more than that, we were the teenagers who didn’t fit in. We chose to walk the halls of our schools and the streets of our towns as outcasts. We didn’t know it at the time, but our little rebellions were part of something bigger. . . .

The Freak Table takes us back to a time when skateboarding was a crime, when wearing a Mohawk didn’t get you the girl, and when standing out from the norm meant constantly standing up for what you believed in.

We stood up for the very minority we created . . . Us.

There’s a staircase I haven’t seen before
She’s upstairs somewhere in that secret room
Watching
Looking down
Noises
Music
Life
Paths cross
Voices won’t cease
And I still can’t find her
Somewhere off in that secret room
Behind the controls
Somewhere in the distance
The mood will change
The tempo
But not the memories
The lust
The loss
She’s up there somewhere
In that secret room

Taking medicine from a machine
Plastic people plastic times
We’ll go west, we’ll find them in their homes
Sucking on life, sucking on souls
Behind greenery of luxury
Behind the masks of stature
Drawing blood from their world
Taking medicine from a machine

A Letter From Clyde Wilcox, a short story from Gavin Hignight is included in the new Anthology SLEEPING WITH SNAKES: Notes from the Los Angeles Underbelly. The book has just been released by record label and publisher Orange Recordings.

Get your copy at Amazon.com now!!

For Poem of the Week, I’d like to share something from friend and writer Scott Gustin. I’m very fond of it.

9/25/2009

Hammer of youth falls

Upon sun drenched skin

As the fancies of idols

Erode and blister

The small hand reaching out

Clenches fist and inhales

Fermented fruits long littered to Earth

Faint memory of blossomed limb

Upon desolate road

Among etched granite stone

Below cracked timber of long silent mine

On Milky Way spattered nights

The creep of time

And the pondering mind

Last year’s draught of dust

To sooth not but thistle

Beneath pale slivered moon

Night quenches glow

To pound this season’s crop to pulp

So one may not thirst long

To thirst for not

Now these bones shall lie

Where gavels are crushed

Beneath hoof or foot

Where the right hand

May caress the horn

And bedtime myths

Are swept upon restless sea

Upon these pages pool ink night

And not is but a tale

Woven from will

That one might set foot

Upon not trail

But beat a path as thou shall

Hello! Sorry for a lack of updates. We have been busy with the launch of my new webcomic THE CONCRETE WORLD.

This is a free cyberpunk science fiction comic that will monthly with new pages.

Hope you enjoy!

Taking off into the sunset
I can’t think of a more fitting flight
To say goodbye
To lay a friend to ground
To walk over a once sacred place
And through memories of younger days
Gold, orange, and blue below
The air will chill soon
The life will grow a little more weary
And hopefully a little more wise
On route to the homeland
To say goodbye to a friend
To say goodbye to an era
We place him in the ground tomorrow
We’ll take part of him with us
wherever we go next
Taking off into sunsets or sunrise

He was the Neal Cassady to my Kerouac.
Thanks for the adventures, for pushing me into territories I would have never gone on my own.
RIP Tony B