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.
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.
and the arrow arched the blue and fell, their voices dimmed and faded. The wave rose silent in the bay. The needle and the vinyl braided. And supine upon the shore, the boy became very calm - a signature, a sign forever. Uneasy invitees, fingering his brow, his seams misread the message in the braille. But … Continue reading The music
