Nice to see you.

''They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes,
Within a dream.''

2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)

Many stories and poems published worldwide.
My work is raw and from experience and observations.
I never studied writing and never will.


Innocence - Cut down


Fist to our chests
At the pointlessness
Little parts
Run through

Little voices
Too swift to cry
Premature for goodbyes

Clutch our babies tonight.


for the victims of the manchester massacre.

photo may 17- ajl

The Worst Director of All Time

Famous After Death

Edward D. Wood Jnr

The Worst Director of All Time

Poor old Ed Wood. Died of alcoholism at 54. Broke. With a look of pure terror on his face, according to his wife Cathy, who found him in bed. It was 1978.

Ed Wood with real life girlfriend Dolores Fuller in Glen or Glenda
(she later became a famous songwriter).

20 years prior he made Plan 9 from Outer Space. It was barely seen. For good reason. Lower than low budget. Terrible acting. Shaky sets. Unintentionally hilarious dialogue. Silly story. Something about aliens bringing back the dead. Or something. I have the poster in my bedroom. Above my head. Quite creepy now that I think about it. 

Scene from Plan 9

Thanks to the advent of late night movies, Plan 9 and it's director found themselves lauded in the late seventies. Not long before he died, Ed knew of his new found infamy, but it was all too late. He died in poverty, having not long being evicted from his apartment.

He made a string of bad films, mostly sci-fi except for the truly bizarre (and kind of wonderful) Glen or Glenda, about a cross-dresser, based on Ed Wood himself. (Apparently wore a bra when he parachuted during WWII). It was very bold material for 1953. Made in only a few days on next to nothing, Ed had managed to become friends with an old, frail and drug addicted Bela Lugosi, a horror has been. He appears in the film. His last screen performances were with Ed. Their friendship appears quite touching.

Bela Lugosi in Glen or Glenda

The mythology of Ed Wood grew after his death, culminating in several books and a feature film.
If you don't know his story, I suggest you watch Ed Wood, the 1994 Tim Burton biopic. It's fantastic. One of my favourite films. As a fledgling film maker at the time, I could truly relate to Ed's struggle. Not to the cross dressing, but each to their own. 

Young & dashing
Johnny Depp as Ed

He made eight feature films, a bunch of shorts and wrote a lot of cheap, trashy novels, some pumped out (so to speak) in days. People love Ed Wood now, but not so at the time. One suspects there's been a lot of Ed Woods over the years. He just happens to be the most famous one.

Later years

Edward D. Wood Jnr 1924-1978

More on Ed's films

Purged - Tenth Anniversary of First Published Story

My stories couldn't be more different nowadays. 
But back in 2007...

My (very short) story The Purger was published online in May '07. It feels a lot longer than that.

My first actual publication was in the Murchison Primary School newspaper (pretty certain it's long been defunct), when I was eight. (The year? Please don't spoil it). It was for a limerick. I won a chocolate bar. I still remember that chocolate. It was a block with different flavour liquid inside varying squares. Crowning achievement? It made me proud.

Surprisingly, that very short 2007 story is still online, in an archive form.

The Purger

The site is still running too. Pop in. Read. Write. Submit. Support. Have fun.


If you can't be bothered to click away, here it is:

The Purger

Yakob³ was a traditional flesh chemist. He was proficient, but not because he enjoyed helping others. He didn't care about flesh people. They could not afford biomechanical enhancements and were therefore, sub-standard. Flesh disgusted him.

What he treasured was the purification of the individual. It was his prescriptions which purged patients of their impurities. Converts came to him every day to cleanse the tiny evils that dot the interior, like specks of old cancer. It was Yakob³'s dream to purge the entire Starbase. He was no fool. Nearly half of the population were without biomech aides. It would take him a lifetime, but with every case, he garnered new pleasures.

He had discovered that with so many flesh verminpassing through his confined business, impurities would find their way into the circulation. Minimising his oxygen intake had proven to be unsuccessful. By the end of each day, his thought processes had begun to decay. He would rush home and seal himself into his pristine cublica, circulating a purifying concoction of his own design. From there he began the ritual of cleansing. He would follow it with a dose of proto-pellets and in most cases, this would see him true until rejuvenation.

Nevertheless, he would dream of extraordinary filth. Transported to a dark world, stumbling naked and dirty through mountains of rubbish; toothless flesh people slithered on piles of effluent and decaying tissue. Toxic rain sizzled on his skin. Jets of vomit fell from his stinking orifice. He sank into the slush until he was submerged where multitudes of hungry parasites sucked the meat from his bones...


When Yakob³ woke before First Call, he was trembling, withdrawing. He sprang into action. He barely arrived at the sanitiser before the structo-organisms could drain his glands. Afterwards came extraordinary relief — a euphoria, almost sexual — a throwback to sapien days. He cleansed his smooth and hairless body for an hour. He dressed, ate, and with the greatest relief, once again felt purged.

Everyone should feel this way. He'd purge them all. He had only just begun.

He opened the business, fantasising about new conquests for the day.

Minutes later, a clownish figure strolled in, targeting him. It beamed a toothy, decaying scrawl: 'Death to biomechs!'

Yakob³ was more confused than alarmed.

The clown raised a handmade tool, jagged, and slammed it into the sinews between Yakob³'s shoulder and neck. As it withdrew, blood and bio fluid gushed.

Yakob³ staggered. The tool came down into his body again, and again.

'Release the flesh!' The clown scrambled for freedom.
Yakob³ stumbled to Central Terminal. He sat. He vomited.

Onlookers converged.
His body liquids ran — murky and multitudinous. He defecated. He urinated. He had become the flesh mountain of his nightmares. His head swam. Colours seeped into luminous white. It was oddly soothing. He felt almost…tranquil. Almost.

An inner voice, a throwback sapien voice, spoke truths. He had been wrong. Bioenhancements were the stuff of pollution. The flesh was meant to be free.
At last, he was truly purged.

Not the sort of thing I write much anymore, but there it is.

Three of my seven Novels would be considered sci-fi and one fantasy. 
I guess never say never. 

More Stories

C o m i n g S o o n

Pseudo Stars

A Collection of Short Stories

Anthony J. Langford

Insecure / Helpless

John Cavacas Photography

Much of my poetry comes from a place deep within, (you rarely see me writing about birds and landscapes for example) and I'm not ashamed to lay open my raw emotions, revealing a somewhat fragile state.
(Genetics? Upbringing? Nothing so simple?)

Many of us are, but some are better at masking it than others.

Unknown source

So here it is.
A poem from 2012 that has never been published. 
(like the bulk of my poetry. Not rejected per se, merely not submitted)

Add to Check Out

My Holier than thou has dropped
Scattered from my persona
I’ve given up on the Defence
(A dilapidated fence)
And pretence.

I’m an empty casket
Waiting for a body
I’m nothing new
But a rusted freight train
Barelling towards the shed
Without any goods.

If only the cargo could be loaded
In a way to allow
An event unfamiliar
A complete special offer
A surprise package
Without fabricated trimmings.

I’m weary of my shell
Is there not an Option Two?
Purchase and Check out
Without Checking out.

An enduring sigh
Even knowing why.

Notre Dame 1934

Poetry has sometimes helped me in bouts of depression. Well, I like to think so.
I can look at it, analyse it, and hopefully then put it behind me. Not always successful of course. That's life.

How do you vent?

More Poetry.

Next post, a trip down Memory Lane.

Coming Soon,

Some good news.
A new video.
An anniversary.

Always open for suggestions. Please help me out by sharing the work. It's the only way to reach others. And I'm a terrible salesman.

Have a great week.


Helpless Lost

I put this meme together so if you like it, please share it around.

I love this quote. It has probably never been more topical, (the phone obsessed drones) though they may have said the same thing when cars took over horses, or the television over radio. As we become more reliant on computers and soon driver-less cars, are we in danger of becoming redundant? Helpless? Lost?

The quote is from Dr. Keller's first professionally published science fiction story, "The Revolt of the Pedestrians". It was published in Amazing Stories in 1928.

It seems Keller (48 at time of this story) was a controversial figure. He was far right ideologically. He was also a trained psychologist. Despite his late start and some unflattering opinions regarding his writing style, he was quite inventive and had many publications before dying forty years later in 1966.

Was Keller wrong?

What is the state of technology today? 
Our we way off track?
Where is it heading? 
Does anyone care?
Would it matter if we did?

Freaky World War 1 motifs

I told you guys that those are MY sticks!

Those who can't do, Review

Those who can’t Poo, Review.

Blocked up and Bitter.
Too many rejections and not enough of the other.

A cacophony of coilers in the caustic conjectures
A gust of hot air, made solid
A tangible fillet of flatulence.

It’s like the stamp without the adhesive
The spit without the polish
The torch without the blow
It’s the hard, cold truth
Of One.

It’s an intellectual Island
Devoid of inhabitants.
It’s a pure same-seeks-same hanker
For another Wanker.

Tsk Tsk
It has to be said
It must be honest
Yet a dash of acerbic spice
And venomous cattiness
Is the required juice
The necessary ingredients
For this snooty serving
Though turgid on the tummy
And it barricades the bowels
The Holier than thou must Exult!
Let’s face it...
Those who can’t do,

Summed up
With the infamous last line
The crème de la crap…

It’s a one equals one
All for the frustration of…

I can’t Poo.

Future reviewer

I thought of posting an actual coiler as these toffs really give me the shits. 
Alas, too much toilet humour can give one stomach cramps.

More Satire Bytes.


Someone moved the goal posts

It’s a long, long way

Up a gravely gradient

To the smooth summit

Of consideration.

Blame the sky

For consistently narrowing

Around one insignificant

Destiny forged object.

Art by Christian Breitkreutz

I based this poem on the notion that we create our own destinies, often putting them out of reach, dreams to pursue, goals to aspire to and judge our success and failure upon it. When we don't reach it, we blame the universe, anything or anyone but ourselves, who placed us in this unrealistic predicament in the first place. 

Famous After Death - Anne Frank

Needless to say you know the story, so I'll aim to present a few perhaps uncommon facts about this amazing young girl.

Had she not been left to die in Bergen-Belsen she could still be alive. 
As of March 2017, she would be 87 years old.

Anne was born in Frankfurt, making her a German. She moved to the Netherlands at the age of four due to the anti Jewish sentiments of the times, especially given that the Nazi's had come to power.

Anne went to a Montessori school in Amsterdam (unlike her sister) and showed an aptitude for reading and writing. 

Her diary was actually an autograph book, bought by her father just a few days before they went into hiding, after Anne had pointed it out to him in a shop window. It was a present for her thirteenth birthday.

She believed her writing was a gift from God and wanted to become a journalist. Failing that she wished to 'write for herself.'  

She was somewhat of a feminist.  "I need to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to! ..."


"I want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I've never met. I want to go on living even after my death!"

In hiding Anne mentioned her contempt for her mother, often clashing. She was much closer to her father.

Her last diary entry was on the 1st of August, 1944. The family was uncovered three days later.

Half of the people who arrived in the camp that day were gassed immediately, including all children under 15. Anne had just turned 15 and was one of the youngest to be spared. 

Anne's mother Edith died in a concentration camp in 1945 from starvation, approximately a month before Anne and her nineteen year old sister Margot. 

The original Dutch publication in 1947 translates to The Secret Annex. When it was published in English five years later, it was called The Diary of a Young Girl. 

The unabridged version of her diary was finally published in 1995. It described Anne's confusion over sex and childbirth and even described her own genitalia, an aspect which upset some schools in the US who demanded to use the censored version instead.

Her father Otto remarried in 1953 to a neighbour from Amsterdam and a fellow Auschwitz survivor. The woman's daughter had known Anne. Otto died in 1980, aged 81. 

An asteroid that was discovered in 1942 was named 5535 Annefrank in 1995 in her honour.

"I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."

More Famous after Death

Searching for Love

Search Part – Love Lost

Take your chances
Out there alone
A world of indifference
Chill you to the bone.

Grass appears greener
Where the sun always shines
Wait ‘til the night falls
Where the outlook is not sublime.

I’m a trick of the light
A mirage deceiving sight
You could bring me home to roost
If you only you could
Discover the truth
No language, no words
A sign language mismatch
Merely a clash of swords
Leaving you spinning
Out there alone
Loud echoes to your cries
Chill you to the bone.

You came to find me
I’d given up and gone
‘You don’t know what you’ve got’
You had baptized a con.

Now it’s you who suffers most
A penniless wanderer
Forever counting the cost

I seek a mere smile
Out there alone
But the years have passed
And worn me to the bone
Worn me out

Post Valentines Day - 2016

I wanted to experiment with a traditional rhyming poem
And the concept of a lyric based song
Mixed with my own style of poem.
An experiment, if you will.
Did it work?

More Poetry

Rolf Harris - The 'Greatest' Albums

As Rolfy hits the News yet again, it's time to revisit some of his Greatest

Hmmm   Should've realised earlier.

Classic Tracks!!

Tie me teenager down sport

It’ll only take a minute

Two little girls

Jake the Middle Leg

Feel me Hidden Peg

Give a little tickle

Autograph with extras

Everyone does it

When you wish upon a squeeze

Our little secret

It wasn’t me

Daddy’s bedtime story

Checking your heartbeat

Lean on me

I did you a favour, remember?

Rock a bye baby

My little Wobbleboard

Storytime, on my knee

Plus the Positively Classic Rolfy

HIV Negative

My photo - Saw this in a bargain bin. Had to laugh. Needless to say, I did not buy it. Inspired this post though. (Look at that mouth! Oooppss!)

The Court of King Octopus

The Wild Fondling Boy

I'll be Hung

Hurry Home - I'm Waiting in the dark

London Town - is my Home forever

Along the Road to my Gundy Eye

If I were an invisible man

Don't let the sun go down on me,
but your daughter is good to go


Coming Soon

Some Very Exciting News!

IRONS - A historical convict drama - My short film.

Two brothers divided by circumstance in

bloody, colonial Australia.

Watch it here. 
(Maybe be blocked in some countries-If so let me know please.)

The original film was made in 2004.
This updated version, 2011.

Irons - The Official Site
(Not alot of info on the site)

More of My Short Films

Feedback welcomed. Happy to answer any questions.
anthonyjlangford2 at yahoo com au

Please share.

A re-post from 2011, as I am planning to slowly release my short films online.
Irons is the most recent.
I've made six prior.
Four in the 1990's. Two in the 80's.

Another in the works?