she dyed her hair pink. No one would know that yesterday it was brown. Unless they saw her yesterday, of course, or saw her facebook or instagram or snapchat live stream of the dying process which was also shared to youtube. she dyed her hair pink. Brown haired Amanda is gone!!! #newhair #whodis all traces of … Continue reading She Dyed
Alice stumbled across the rocks, stepping on the dry stone and slipping on the wet green seaweed freshly soaked with sea water. The sharp edges dug into the balls of her feet, her flip flops a distant memory away on the sand with her friends. Ten minutes ago, she was lying next to them (the flip flops and the friends), hat placed over her closed … Continue reading The View From The Rocks
By Camille Fattal Continue reading Ghost Train
Our fathers glitch by fifty, hearts freeze framed mid- pump. Our mothers metastasize, pass errors womb to womb to breast. I enter GodMode: swallow the tail end of life and cheat death / cheat code / cheat this failing body, this inheritance I never asked for. GodMode is a common cheat code in video games, giving unlimited ‘lives’. By Jack … Continue reading GodMode
Matryoshka tiger-skin lancer: dot of yellow, I clasp your maimed torso; it is like a tiny, weightless bolt, and then that spill of oil: dew on a stark summer morning. By Joseph Bullock Continue reading The Wasp
You’ve changed, where’s the pink ha-ha? Those words linger like a bad smell as we stew like sardines, too few people for a party. I’m wearing something black and too tight and it’s a stinger, your words slice me like the butter knife we use to chop up cake on the coffee-stained counter. Crumbs coat everything, stick to the bottom of plastic cups we’d both … Continue reading Pinky
The sun had been exposed all day, uninterrupted by clouds, and now rested in the looming veil of evening like a lightbulb behind a curtain. The hall was the largest room in David and Lily’s house. It overlooked an abstract cauldron of water and mountain too vast to comprehend, and the guests nested by the huge windows, admiring this sight. Continue reading “The Party”
When I think about George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four, the prime image of the novel for me is that of Winston hunched over in a small enclave of his room, frantically scratching out diary entries. He gains two things from writing: Firstly, an escape from his material reality; secondly an ability to record and transcribe truth, rationalise and make evidence of the reality he knows. Is it so different for us in 2019? Continue reading “Writing as Escape”
Your new
Intelligent, Independent, Innovative,
Vocabulary feature
Will make your life easier. Less
Malfunctions.
Faster day-to-day interactions
– Update now? –
I remember how it had once tasted;
The sweet air
The stale fumes
The incomprehensible fly to the flame,
Wondering how he, too, fell for the light. Continue reading “Where These Words Came From”
