Literature
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“Just one insecure species trying to get an A+ at intergalactic show and tell. For as long as we can remember we’ve been left home alone and God we just wish our neighbours would drop by with some food and a hug.”
“Spots signify a pure kind of repulsive nothing [ ]. Possessing a type of purity that cannot be subsumed by any desire.”
“Last night I occupied the bathroom and its blue fluorescence, soaking it up like a greedy phantom. My reflection taunted me in this harsh light.”
Cate Chapman reflects
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“Sometimes I wish I had a million followers. I want people to listen to the songs I post. To think about the lyrics and how they might relate to me. Relate to me!!! So I can figure out who I am.”
Arwen Beaumont-Lee surfs the web.
“Even this eternity will meet its end, and the world shall wait For another, and another, and another. The end is forever.”
“Etched in the fading hues and worn paths of ancient roads,
Marking the passage to memory's embrace.”
Obviously
And also you can’t read minds
As in I caught you!
And your psychic violence
Although I gave you these powers too
Your actual ones are far richer
“The answer is you and I, it always is. In that sea of dust, there was nothing. Quiet, not a wave, not a sound. In that flat endless world, a soft and gentle breeze started to blow.”
We share the same affliction, him and I.
Tell me your pretty name so I might write you a portrait.
With all the furniture removed, the house looked tired.
No hour shall be forgotten
And no sinner shall weep.
“You cannot dispel the song from your mind, it plays and plays on repeat.”
I don’t want one thousand words | Screaming at a black hole.
Somehow, by some act of God or the Devil or someone between, his dog has been transfigured into a block of cheese.
A love letter in soil-loving solidarity.
To be human, is to be a supermarket stroller.
A split requires the relinquishing of self to another and for another.
How happy I would be
To be a prisoner
Of another skin.
half of me belongs squatting on plastic stools
I ate oranges and didn’t know they tasted like sunset from Castle Hill.
It exists within another.
Every life spread out, mine parallel to yours parallel to everyone else’s.
You move through the grain of closed eyes, calling through the undergrowth of my body.
We seem to think that our place on the spectrum between divinity and mayhem comes down to how loved we are.
One by one, friends gloved their hands and got to work; my ridged, lumpy canvas morphing and shifting, follicles taking on new forms every fortnight.
people watching. i peer ruthlessly from behind my darkened eyes. observing and absorbing like film.