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 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 »
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
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Brown Flour I was talking to Mehmet. The chat was dragging out, for two reasons. One, he was lying. Two, the impatient queue behind me was too terrified to interrupt us. In keeping with the times, each person was keeping a self-preserving distance from the next. “Seán, I am not lying to you,” said the
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all the tiny mouths There must have been hundreds of them, maybe thousands, but only on the one wall. They fit their small, black bodies closely together by pointing their wings upward, displaying the light tangerine colour beneath. In this way, they painted the wall a warm triptych that made her think of fall and
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Inspirations #2 ‘Inspirations’ is our sometime feature where our writers delve into the genesis of their work and/or their creative process. Follow the links to fall in love with them all over again, or visit our ever-growing Archive to discover new favourites. Be sure to check out Inspirations #1, too. Contents: 1. Lara Hurley 2.
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Better Things A postcard of a bear. I flip it over and read Dave’s writing (It’s me! Missing you.), then drop it behind the coffee machine, a space normally reserved for brown envelopes and CVs. Sandra sprays and wipes the empty tables for the second time this hour, while I gaze through the front window
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Letters to Constance Mayfair: April 27, 1814 Dearest Constance, The excitement of our arrival in London cannot overshadow my continued despair that you shall miss this season. I petitioned Mama without end during our long days in the carriage, yet she persists in her view that I must present first. Most unfair! Though you shyly
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Himalayan Blues Week 17, Wednesday March 12th 1913 How I wish I had never heard of this infernal flower. I have gazed upon it many times in my feverish dreams, so desperate am I to see it for myself. As it now stands, my quest is temporarily thwarted. I lie here, wounded, a piece of
fiction: Himalayan Blues Read More »