Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (116)
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Introducing the Whiskey. Content Warning.
Introduction to the Whiskey Calamity Tape 1; Side A Lines of tobacco smoke froze before them as ghostly barriers to their enigmatic silhouettes occupying four folding chairs in uniquely solemn fashions. The single forty-watt bulb above, obviously a victim of misplaced emotional turmoil, eerily shifted their shadows between blinks with its malaise-like, swinging remaining constant, moving a light they sat just outside of their darkened, deepened all facial expressions. It became as imperturbable as it was flimsy in the smoked-out backstage locker room. Howard dared to describe entering the throat chastising bubble like stepping into a localized hotbox preventing itself from spreading as far as the locker’s edge was expansive for comparison. Those accounts don’t hold, considering others who entered smelled it all over, into the hall even, despite none of the visible intertwined blunt vapors going outside the little cove of rarely used, recently beaten lockers. Amongst their hands, the only competing light source going from figure to figure, followed by puffs to replace the still lines that faded at the edge of their sanctuary but providing no more information than the red glow of puckered lips on the other end did on the inhale. Howard, their enraged manager, sick of this behavior, found their silent protest to be another demonstration of their disrespect for his fragile sanity.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
What a Chapter
What a chapter, right?! Jeez, the fireball chasing the newly liberated immigrants. How the coldest of cold, bitter of long-legged licorice took Luke’s death. Her unique use of a solid body guitar as both weapon and imprisoning door stopper was ingenious. Credit where it’s due. The symbolic Mustang roar into the sunset to the tune of aspirated breaths of God would be goddamn cruel to kill us now. I mean, that show-stopper speech, when I told the sadistic addict to keep the money and the car, threw her promises and seemingly genuine mournful tears thinking of the fates she forced us all in. A senseless revolt against the cancerous wig splitting she spread and led me on for the greedy loophole in the capitalist morals that pays so handsomely it’s a wonder bounty hunting isn’t a Fortune 500 conglomerate. My triumphant walk from the delusion keeping me warm for over a year, Over A YEAR. I didn’t have to mention the doves that flocked off as I tossed the keys over my shoulder, blowing her fucking mind that I always knew her real name. There’s nothing slicker than an exit strategy with a built-in free plane ticket and tattered flag of an alibi holding just, but that sentence will never be necessary. Wanted to see how it looked.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Chapters
Would That be Terrible?
Time Quake. They get real, regurgitated kill retold all over again, with a leading character name to die for. Kilgore Trout; serious, Indiana Jones? Can you get any blander? And what a premise dropped on your head like a good tragedy should, with a plethora of implications that stretch beyond the book’s intense surface. Dull at times, if only you forget the future to come or the past that led the character there. Now I have no right to slob over this like it’s some new discovery I plan to set on its fiery way from this already-forgotten profile. But, man, what an entry into Kurt Vonnegut. That is to say, I’m not much of a reader. Even interesting books with living spiders promised beyond the cover leave me drooling by page two. That aside, I made it through it in record time, refusing the gloss over a single page in a haze of a failing attention span.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in BookClub
Kind of the First
Truthfully, it has no title. Its current rendition has nothing in common with its origin, and as daring as I thought it was, it was half unofficial military journal, half retooled events with an unfathomable connection to the former. It was disjointed from chapter to chapter with characters, much like now, that are poorly named and swore a lot. Most of it followed me from dropping out of college, traveling abroad (sort of), and surviving the first year of training laced with sanity-slipping. Seven hundred and 53 pages of Microsoft Word textual brain cell dumping putting depraved bandmates through a hell that would be the most insufferable sadistic tortures if they happened to one person. Alas, or thank whatever god suits your fancy, it’s gone.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Confessions
Hap and Let Down
A gift to the world if television plays the standard quarantining roles of whisking away boredom or glazing the room with adventurous background noise. Except for Hap and Leonard’s diluted water ending. Closure wasted; plot teased then tasteless; a sad farewell instead of a monumental example of southern fried greatness. 9/10
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Critique
Wine and Crows
Contrary to the thought of time travel and my current racial standings doesn’t worry me as much as it sparks a particular set of questions with answers that could give life worth reconsidering. However, this is not so much regarding the ripping of the temporal plain as a long-running curiosity about the universe-destroying effects of one dead grandfather. Reading the Iliad felt like a stroll through Athens, leaving on a dirt path under Artemis’ silver-laced sky, beating feet onto the next stop. Sands of timelessness wrapped up the shine and, at the downs of my journey, went untainted by the current hardships of an area that probably isn’t accurate to any genealogy of mine for new ones to navigate. Imaging carrying the message, one theorized to express some tremendous change in the Greek Empire with never a step taken without a purpose for miles of foothills from sea to sea. Possibly during the Ionian Revolt, where tension remained lullingly fever-pitched as battles in Asia moved northward or maybe as the duty became more centered around the emperor’s paranoia. Fun times. Not to add to the mistrust by introducing the sandal-cladded youths to the rage of an Ares war.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
The End is Not for You
While this work and there's doesn't share the same reason for existing, the fear depicted is that of an unknown more horrifying than meeting your final bullet or the imaginary creature you can but refuse to imagine. As our universe coldly gently grants us a peek into its depths, there's nothing to say we've even peered in the correct direction for answers that shake you awake.
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
