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 […]4 November 2020
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 […]29 October 2020
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.3 December 2019
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.
The University of Melbourne’s Creative Literature and Writing Society present The Remarkable Quests of Raddish and Quill, a collaborative column for Farrago.8 October 2019
My mother is in the kitchen, a tiny moving blur amongst maroon teak cabinets. Sunlight is pouring in and I am bent over my homework, scribbling away to glory, when I cough.