“Exile is ultimately what a gaoler calls freedom, and we are far too often our own prisoners.”
Nicholas Osiowy contemplates
In the mystical worlds of science fiction, the past may be our only tool for understanding the future.
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In her novels and private correspondence, the gap was narrowed. What was human became animal and what was animal became human.
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Suspended between death and life, the vampire occupies a liminal space wherein typical boundaries can be blurred.
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Today Milan Kundera died; and forty years ago, a different student entered his world of middle-aged fever-dreams.
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We are player, viewer, voyeur, flaneur, spectator, and character all at once.
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I am terror, peril, and spectre, all at once.
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Eventually, he was lost to the mists of time, and a Charles Dickens Statue diaspora sprawled across Sydney.
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