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A man with glasses and a beard is sitting in a chair, slightly tilting his head, with a patterned wall in the background.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aaron Echoes August is an independent writer focused on absurdist fiction, edgy philosophy, and cultural commentary. With a background in creative writing, art, and photography, he explores the stranger aspects of human behavior and its influence on the world. His narratives invite readers to question societal norms and delve into the bizarre intersections of reality and imagination, urging us to confront the absurdities of existence while searching for meaning amidst chaos. In his stories, the ordinary becomes extraordinary, revealing layers of complexity in mundane experiences.

The Apocalypse Pipe, Collected Works of Aaron Echoes August, is available now. More info HERE.

I’m excited to announce my book, The Apocalypse Pipe, will be promoted on Smashwords for half price as part of their End of Year Sale 2025 starting on December 8! Find it here: http://smashwords.com/sale

Category: Commentary

  • Reckless, Breathless, Deathless

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    I see colors Rainbows of bread Rye red Oat alabaster Wheat tangerine Pumpernickel papaya Now I’m walking along the lakeshore My presence sometimes aches My world is blue, but a good blue some days And my world is white, a soft white, like cloth I’m walking outside The Cold Harbor Resort My room is blue Read more

  • Uber Amorika

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    I took an Uber to downtown Reykjavik on a Friday night The guy’s car was like a spaceship inside I just had to leave Amorika The sick nation The ignorant nation The blind nation The nation of ludicrously inept leadership A leader… Can’t say leader A president… Can’t say president A human being… Definitely can’t Read more

  • Blue Sky Gravity Heart

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    Outside it looks like spring in winter My woman is in my bed sleeping Blonde hair peeking out from beneath the covers The blue of the sky tastes like Wisconsin That place I lived and laughed and got damaged in so long ago Fifty years later… Lottery tickets askew on my desk An empty coffee Read more

  • I Will Be With You Again

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    U2 is trudging through a snowy landscape in Sweden in December 1982 They’re pissed off about WAR As we all should be… except for the profiteers They love it Spilled blood and ruined lives make for a fine portfolio Gold polished and kissed raw beneath a thunderstorm of guts Enough of that sickening stuff The Read more

  • Ding Dong Dumb

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    I sit down at the table and sip my morning coffee. The house is still as space, except for that ever-present hum of the refrigerator and the wandering movements of the dust through sunlight. I’m thinking about rapid-cycling madness this morning and how it has transformed my life. It’s nothing serious, mind you, it comes Read more

  • Light To The Gray

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    Beehive morning Cold, gray, wet Remembering stars still spinning Dreams in deadlock I just can’t recall the colors or the shapes Somehow something about my mother again And her crucifixion for an innocent life Cold coffee on the desk Cold air through the window Cold skin Cold bones Wife sleeping in the background We churn Read more

  • Pharmacy Phrustration

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    Author’s Note: I have an ongoing personal battle with my local Walgreens store, and it’s recently boiled over into a volcano of emotions and so I have penned a letter to spill the lava within me and help release some of my feelings and this is what I present here: From: Valued Customer #399745RG43 Dear Read more

  • The Trumpets of Sandpipers

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    War on war is nothing more than war and now we got bullet-proof baby blankets our digital souls manic and depressed killing each other over our opinions of God and love history now bleeding from Polaroids Christmas trees now strung with bandoliers enslaved by the dollar enslaved by work enslaved by worry enslaved by this Read more

  • Cracker Barrel on Crack

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    The ebb and flow of the Jesus crowd washed nostalgic candies into the streets of LipLock, Tejas on a sweltering Sunday school day gone mad. The bacon was loaded. Mosaic scrawlings of jelly looked like sparkling guts on the sourdough. Coffee was but swirling blood fueled by cream and sugar. The roar of the hungry Read more