I want to adorn a page with beauty
Write with Byronic poise
Across lines of truth
But my mind is stained with age
And my fingers are
Tangerine dreams of literary nicotine
The cigarette smoking pertained residue
Of my propensity for purple prose
Deformed by keyboard whiplash and an addiction to self abuse

Like a star that descended before it shone
My birth Mother is the cosmos
And the earth that I inhabit
A mere shadow
Of the dark side of heaven’s sacrificial son

WEEKLY SERIAL: Luna (the bipolar superhero) by Louise M. Hart ~ 22/09/14



Faster than the speed of light and many times brighter, Luna ran to Arkingham Asylum. Though she travelled too fast to be detected by the human eye, dozens of people walking along roads from London to Brummygum reported being swept to the ground by a force, which apparently emerged from nowhere leaving their hearts in their throats, like undigested lardy bread. Ambulances screamed to the aid of cardiac challenged foot soldiers, most of whom, were to live to tell the tale of the day they survived one of Britain’s rare cyclones.

Luna was magnificent; adorned in her favourite, menstrual red leather catsuit, sweat did not stain her silky skin or gasps emanate from her lungs. Even with the fate of the universe balanced on her shoulders, she remained light on her feet. On the motorway, ninety miles behind her, straddled on a cerise pink motorbike with a gold re-enforced…

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WEEKLY SERIAL: Luna (the bipolar superhero) by Louise M. Hart ~ 15/09/14



The underground was dark, smelled of hash and unwashed denim, but welcomed Luna like a long lost prophet. Wrapped within the walls of its labyrinthine structure, Luna and The Seer were protected from harm, like embryos in an adoptive womb. Luna called out to Thomas; her voice carried across the ether, like radio waves, begging Thomas to reciprocate in the form of thought.

“I’ve got really bad vibes,” said The Seer.


“Prepare the patient.” Dr Heart vacated the room and two burly nurses with tattooed eyes and balls that bounced between their legs, like champion sprinters, grabbed Thomas’ arms and dragged him down the corridor into the treatment room. As he was chained to an operating table, Thomas’ thoughts sped and collided beyond their temporary home, in search of Luna’s superhuman ears.

“Let therapy commence.” Dr Heart entered the treatment room and waved off his…

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WEEKLY SERIAL: Luna (the bipolar superhero) by Louise M. Hart ~ 08/09/14

An antidote to my usual seriousness.



Luna and The Seer fled their blood soaked shag pad, like fugitives from folk law. They mounted their matching her and her motorbikes and escaped into the underground. Luna’s absence left a void in the heart of subversion. For the moment, she would have to lie low with the other outlaws and murderers. But, like Lazarus, she would rise, again.

“New therapy cures mental illness,” announced the headline of popular newspaper, The Daily Oppress.

Perched on his hospital bed, Thomas Manfred plotted his next move. It was ward round day and now, bored with staring into space and counting his thoughts, he decided that it was time to return to reality. Fortunately, nobody had linked him to loony Luna and her brain washed followers. Thus, he believed himself safe to open his mind to the sound of…

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On an absence of love…

I am too old for love
Worn out, like last year’s aged slippers
I lament the drunken nights I spent
Within the naked reach of pleasure

Beyond the call of the mistress of misery
Whose fragile waist I clasp
Fearful of descent beneath the bellow of her underskirts
I am secure in the certainty of my own solitude

Contemptuous of the art of living
Death wishes are, but my faux pleasure
I am too old for love
But young enough to die choking on my words

Like an emasculated poet

WEEKLY SERIAL: Luna (the bipolar superhero) by Louise M. Hart ~ 01/09/14



Ian Bunkem-Smith had an evil plan. As the self-appointed leader of all earth residing aliens, his mission was not to eradicate mental illness, but to exterminate the mentally ill and all other benefit scroungers, who relied on State handouts. The only deterrent, standing along his path to universal dominance, was Luna…and her band of 11 sisters and brothers. Currently, however, he was more concerned about the way the office cleaner had looked at him when he told her that she should have finished cleaning half an hour ago.

“I know a kettle when I see one,” he thought aloud. He would retrieve her personal details from his secretary. The Seer shuffled home as quickly as her swollen legs would carry her.

“Luna, Luna,” shrieked The Seer, when she arrived home. Panting, she collapsed onto the sofa.

“Deep breaths,” said Luna.

“I made eye contact with him…I.B.S, he knows…

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