Harry Blackwood loaded the album onto Soundcloud. He was shaking, but he felt relieved to have finally done it. Here it was in all its 456MB WAV glory: a whole year of writing and recording condensed into 45 minutes and 9 seconds…
flash: The Best Album in the Universe Read More »
The Rabbit and The Fountain a man with little to do slept most days beneath the trees a blanket over his eyes a crust of bread in one hand a turnip or two forgotten in the bag beside him that evening he stirred at the sound of something soft a rustle, a shift and opened
poetry: The Rabbit and The Fountain Read More »
While he was putting the greasy knife into the cutlery drawer, in the fork section, upside down, it had all already happened.
fiction: Wait A Moment Read More »
I keep the cork from our French Bordeaux / movie night on the kitchen counter by my sweet / cigarettes and your lost lighter, our shrine / to Marlboro…
poetry: Bar Napkin Poem for a Cuban Pool Shark Read More »
The music leaked through the open door and sank into the carpet. With a slight gesture of the hand, Paula invited her client into the therapy room while she lagged behind just enough to breathe in and exhale deeply.
fiction: The Vault Read More »
Sometimes we think we hear / their laughter clambering over / the back yard’s seven foot fence, / while we chuck boredom at the opposite kerb / and catch it bouncing back again.
poetry: Kids at the house with the fancy curtains Read More »
Beyond your window, the drooling stars twizzle on their strings. They proclaim: all hail the monkey god. All hail the bollock-headed god of the ripe and arbitrary. The god of late-night radio phone-ins, microplastics and no-cheese pizza.
flash: All Hail The Monkey God Read More »
Babylonia I am as close to the start as I am to the end. So these are my instructions. And I can’t hear you, anywhere. And weather takes place in the home. Smudge glass to gaze through glass. Clean every view. Grow root crops, quiet, in the garden. Keep an empty-ish glade, snot-toned pollen, a
The job is not fully remote, but because no one cares, you are. Most of what you see of yourself is in the box in the corner of your screen. Your eyes are always off kilter, because you’re not looking into the camera; you’re looking at yourself.
Survival Game I hadn’t slept in a month, but I kept with the routine anyway. Get up. Work. Wine. Bed. It was the best I could do to take care of my wife and six-year-old son, a survival game that kept a roof over our heads and plenty of takeout bags on the table. Though
fiction: Survival Game Read More »