I inherited a bag of little people the height of postage stamps. I kept them in a drawer for a half life. I figured one day I might need an army. January 2020 I started saving empty glass jars. I wasn't sure what for. But one day I decided to populate these jars. Isolating little … Continue reading Jam jar diorama.
"Bow low to the cello, French horn & bellows." Her songs barrel in the barroom beams. Her Samba unravels. She learned in the mirror the poems of Brazilian queens. The elegant prose, she hones all through winter, is wreathed in magic & music & dreams. collage & acrylic … Continue reading Barroom beams.
out there in the bay tonight, captured in a globe of light, hand over hand over hand, overheard lonely lovers coaxing words from the shortwave static.
Bringing both burial and breath, beginning and end, the bells, born of nothing but silence and time stretched thin, begin their jubilee. Protractors and papers and pens are lidded in desks. The board chalk is vanished as chairs scratch varnished parquet. The children fall upon doors, open them. The windows crowd with their faces. At … Continue reading Conjuring Sam.
Voided, the ruptured milk lorry stopped feeding Steep Street and soon enough the white river knuckles became trickles puddling in gutters. The milk dribbled into drains, dribbled, dripped and disappeared. And, before their very eyes, the tarmac blackened again in the afternoon sun. Mrs. Ffooks sits on the pavement in skeins of creamed polyester, white … Continue reading Voided.
17/03/20 "She will piss fart a squirrel, defying all logic." Caroline P has started speaking in this ridiculous, nonsensical 3rd person fashion. This, I assume at first, is because she is drunk on gin. However, after some time I begin to question this theory and wonder instead that this is merely the way she speaks … Continue reading dream diaries…83.