Her Anarchy Baffles (cassettes)

It hasn't all been about counting magpies or indeed any corvid (sic) tally these last few months here at Reeves Mansions. Like everyone else I've had to learn to live with myself; look beneath the bed and find all the things I hid under there; one of which was my Tascam 4 track cassette recorder. … Continue reading Her Anarchy Baffles (cassettes)

Threadbare Last Century.

Sam crossed the ankledeep, blackrain street, and setting his back to it, stepped up to the redbricked Rotten Fox. The panes glowed yellowblack and orange. He capped his brow, saluted the glass and glimpsed her therein, almost at once, a rose among ruins. The carpet was threadbare last century. It wonders what these new feet … Continue reading Threadbare Last Century.

A Perfectly Good Table.

Skirt gathered at her knees, chin on a table, she’s asking now something of the ear of a wild-bearded man. She sweeps her hair from her cheek. He appears not to listen. His black leather cowboy hat and bike jacket speak sinister wisdoms. There is a tiny gunmetal death’s head pinned, longtime, to the lapel. … Continue reading A Perfectly Good Table.

Tomorrow in Chideock.

I cut the hair at the nape of her neck. “There’ll probably be a bouncy castle, too,” she says. “At the church?” “No,” she says, suddenly serious. “Afterward, at the wake. But, yes, the way things are going, it won’t be long before the vicar is on the castle herself. Up and down, up and … Continue reading Tomorrow in Chideock.