The Trial

“Br-brain of hers. She lu-lusts after me, lu-lusts after the unknown, the unreal, the deviant older woman. She’s stuck here in her job, in this town, but now she’s stuck here with—”

16 August 2018
Wall-labels for the Dark Imaginings exhibit, Melbourne University

Press Release: “In 18th century Europe a revolutionary shift in literary and artistic expression took place that became known as ‘the Gothic’. Nightmarish images of barbarity, oppression and the supernatural were abstracted from an earlier medieval (or ‘Gothic’) age and fused with a Romantic focus on imagination and emotion, resulting in works of frightening and […]

16 August 2018
by accident, unasked for and foreign policy

the sky is your enemy’s
napkin, stitched together
by your forgiveness

15 August 2018
Part Six: “The crown will find an heir”

As Shakespeare scurried out from the Baillieu, a deluge of unpleasantness swarmed against him in the form of many knaves carrying flyers, all in colourful dress. He was in a melancholic mood and found their pressing behaviour worsened his state. He learnt a new expression from Chloe that day that he found quite effective. He told them to fuck the fuck off.

15 August 2018
Flash Fiction Six: Puzzles, Riddles and Limericks


15 August 2018
Snake Shouts

Her eldest daughter picks up the cake tin and takes it inside. She puts her son down and he toddles after them. She passes her mother in the doorway. “Typical of him to leave it on the verandah like that.”

9 August 2018
Shakespeare Writes Comedy

Shakespeare remained and watched the show with bemusement. At one point, a strange-looking lad with a square jaw spoke of a foreign man called “Voldemort” doing a foreign thing called “wanking”, to which the audience around descended into deep cachinnations. Our bard sat, frowning and confused, not understanding the source of the humour.

26 July 2018
Flash Fiction Five: Ecological Apocalypse

He felt them inside his hands and legs, inside his chest, even inside his face. He saw them too, sometimes. Nobody else did. Only him. The miniscule worm-like parasites which had taken his body as their new home. He would never have noticed them had it not been for the unbearable itching. They slipped out of his skin to peak into the atmosphere, he felt them crawling on his skin. It would start itching. Nobody would believe him, even when he grabbed one of them and pulled it out (and caused a wound which had still not healed). Every test he underwent, told him he was normal, with nothing wrong with him. It would still itch.

17 July 2018

It was almost summer and it was lighter for longer these days. The dying heat of the day wafted off the asphalt, bringing the evening down to a temperature where one could comfortably go without shoes. Nicholas didn’t have the luxury of a balcony, so instead he sat on his windowsill with his suit pants loosely rolled above his hairy ankles, dangling his sockless feet over the last of the evening traffic below.

17 July 2018

A whisper of a life on a different sea.
Sunken are the relics of who I’m supposed to be.
Displaced wounds and fragmented scrawl.
I grew up too fast and not at all.

17 July 2018
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