Crows are leaping from the cliff’s edge, bounding forward and falling fast. They barrel down like black vessels until, mid-air, the wind cracks open their cocoons. As unravelling wings span across the sky, I wonder what would happen if, rather, they kept themselves screwed up, just to plummet like rocks. But, of course they don’t. […]
Midnight, and you begin your walk home. In the abandoned suburban streets, you imagine you are the sole survivor of an apocalypse. Though once afraid of the dark, necessity has forced you to grow up quickly and now the night is your friend. Traffic lights flicker, continuing their rounds. Their metallic hearts beat alongside yours. […]
People associate cities with alienation. Consumerism. The soul-sucking nine-to-five grind. Cold capitalist sterility and chaotic excess, side by side. Tall towers devoid of character, obscuring the sky with glass and steel. Crowds so suffocatingly thick you lose your sense of self. Glaring lights, loud noises you can’t drown out. Light pollution, sound pollution, air pollution. […]
Her fingers curve around the handle of the cup as she places English breakfast tea on discoloured doilies. Her gold tea set, something I wish to inherit, mocks me on the table. Her right hand rests near the doily, taking a much needed break from the lifting of the tea cup–the strenuousness of it. The […]
18/08/2020 Dear Hope, “If you can hear me don’t go/I don’t really feel you now/but I know you’re there…” My therapist told me I should write a letter to you. It’s been three years without you and I still don’t know how to move on. This year has been the second-worst year ever. You’re so […]
Dusk nights upon dreary bushfires. I wait holding a crystal glass, filled two thirds the colour of the sky. Your charcoal fingers knock on the door, leaving ash on oak. Avant-garde Miscreant is how you signed your works. My house is now a gilded frame. The floor of sketches, the walls of colour theory, the […]
I’ve always lived in the eastern suburbs. Where I live, there’s these hills with TV towers on them that loom over suburbia. No matter where you are, you can see them from almost every point. And they have this permanent electric thrumming sound—an unrelenting suburban melody. The persistence of the hills, with their watchful eyes […]
Murder and general mayhem sound just like your good old-fashioned fairy tales, something left behind in the myths and legends that belong in forgotten derelict book-shelves. Beware sensationalism but the reality is that it’s all just life, kids.
There’s an attic which is filled with what could be imagined for Emily Dickinson, her backstory and personality upon finding herself in an Alice-in-Wonderland style scenario. I imagine those things with a thin film of dust, and the windows open to the huge clouds.