Category: Past issues

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 Togo Chasm I   I have come through hardwoods, from the road that circles the island.   Alone with a thousand jagged spires sharply grey against the sky and sea.   The vast empty sea, east to…

1 | 2 In Her Pants   an inkling a tickle a trickle   a smell in the jam black rosary                                                             keep going they tell him even when life has no blows no jobs and no   enlightenment even   when the best you’ll get is a lump of…

1 | 2 An Island   If a man was an island I’d walk his spine and pick his heart – a black black blackberry in a field. The trees would stitch his trousers. The rain would nibble at his skin all night and water would catch in his beard.…

Not seeing the lady from Spain   Lost is my quiet and the way through High Street to the Buffalo Hall where a travelling magician performs tricks, sixpence for children, one shilling for adults, at four this Thursday and will saw, as he does every time, his lady assistant from…

Writing of the lady from Spain   I keep at least one notebook by the bed. I try to write in one of these for a few minutes when I wake in the morning. So my first drafts are usually handwritten. When I look back through a notebook after a…

The Community Chef The last time I saw Thilake, a fire blazed between three hardy rocks that were shouldering the large cauldron of rice, kindled by Thilake’s funny Eslon tube. There were three other rocks soaking up heat from the glowing red-hot wood and dry coconut husks, ready for another…

Instead   Rebekah Rasmussen’s exhibition A Material Thing is set up in the room which faces the street in the 30upstairs Gallery. It’s a cold night. Howling. I fight with Brent on the way in about something I can’t remember now and Tallulah tells us to stop. It is freezing,…

How Penny M. Geddis Writes   How does a writer think, read, write and revise their work? An interesting question with varied answers depending on who you are, what you write, and what you do in life. I believe that writing is essentially collaboration between me and the spirits that…

The Violinist’s Dog   The little dog woke up early on the first day and followed the new woman into the hall. Everything was different from what he was used to. The front door was wide open, and he went to the threshold, stood there and concentrated. He allowed the…

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 Body of Work   Your body brought elation till it was ready for cremation. All that remains returned to me, rattling rectangular   plastic box of you, your skin and muscle ashes, but bony bits intact. I play bones with your…