Posts Tagged ‘Pierre Smit’
Pierre Smit
one of my personal favourites, i always felt, were my drawings for "The Block," back in um..SW#03..or the one for "Deadfellas" in SW#09.. but now it probably has to be 'ANNA NIEMAND" (to cite someone else's title for it), i did for the cover of SW#12..
i think she came out damn sexy.. (it's all her though, not me..:)
Pierre Smit
one of my personal favourites, i always felt, were my drawings for "The Block," back in um..SW#03..or the one for "Deadfellas" in SW#09.. but now it probably has to be 'ANNA NIEMAND" (to cite someone else's title for it), i did for the cover of SW#12..
i think she came out damn sexy.. (it's all her though, not me..:)
by Glen Damien Campbell
Thomas Delaney was a hack writer. He knew it and was admirably unashamed of it. The movies he penned and directed were B-grade schlock horror, the type of movies that had desensitised him as a child, the type of movies he loved; cliché ridden, lascivious and cheap. Tom’s own credits in the field included the titles Die Die Dracula, I Was a Teenage Mummy and The Blood of the Virgin, creature features abounding with lusty vampiric femme fatales, their heaving bosoms bound up in gauze nightgowns, with London’s Beckenham Place Park moonlighting as the Carpathian forests. |
 From Issue 12 (August 2011) |
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Posted in Fiction | 
Tags: Fiction, Glen Damien Campbell, Horror, Issue 12, Pierre Smit | 
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Pierre Smit
just imagine a guy drawing it, loving it, doubting it, frustrated, finishing it, liking it, but eyeing it suspiciously for unseen errors and hindsights and for trees instead of forests..
Read more »By Peter Simon
The boys looked up. To eight-year-old Jamie, the two black bins looked like an exciting spaceship. Papered with blue crescent moons and glittery stars, the bin-rocket stood garishly in the corner of a field. Fiery-red tinsel underneath represented the rocket exhaust. Dan, at eleven, saw it as a pathetically childish contraption. But he just sighed and went along with the whole charade. “I’m getting in the top bin!” demanded Jamie. With a roll of the eyes, Dan acquiesced and clambered in the lower bin, using the makeshift “door” to shut himself in.. |
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by Paula R Stiles
Jarred tapped the steering wheel in time to the drumbeat, as his black Ford Mustang cruised down the desert road, blaring heavy metal. Dust trailed him, clouding the view in his mirror. The song’s rhythm wasn’t doing much to cut his boredom. It wasn’t a particularly good one. It was however, the only track on the CD, given to him by a friend who’d told him he needed some decent road music. Sometimes he really hated Tristan’s sense of humour. His eyes scanned the horizon, running over the border between desert and sky blankly until they alit on something curious. It grew as he drove nearer, slowly morphing from a curious, small, black speck into an even more curious, tall, black girl. |
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Posted in Fiction | Tags: Fiction, Horror, Paula R Stiles, Pierre Smit, SF, SW Issue 10 | Comments Closed
By Brett Venter
She lay dreaming, drifting on an ever-shifting ocean of information. Everything that ever was and ever would be was hers to examine and elevate or deride as she saw fit. Nothing could escape her grasp, even in slumber. Microseconds were as eternity in the formless world wherein she ruled without permission. Existing as she did in a mental realm, she watched, always watched. She learned. &arial was the Virgin Mary, Jezebel, the whore riding to Armageddon on the back of the nine-headed beast. She was limited only by the minds of those who worshipped, believed. She was the Alpha and Omega of the wire, the goddess whose favour was all. |
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Posted in Fiction | Tags: Brett Venter, Fiction, Horror, Pierre Smit, SF, SW Issue 10 | Comments Closed
