Mortality is inscribed in your cellular structure, and you say you’re not ill? Look at the painting. Look at it. She nods towards The Adoration of the Magi. I obey. I always will. Thirteen subjects, i...
The art teacher's scarlet book was called Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille. 'As the title suggests,' Mr Dunwoody saw the book'd caught my attention, 'it's about the history of opticians. What are...
Mum said I’d learn betrayals came in various shapes and sizes, but to betray someone’s dream is the unforgivable one.
My friend is composing an epic in Byronic stanzas entitled True History of Autua, Last Moriori & interrupts my journal writing to ask what rhymes with what: - Streams of blood? Themes of mud? Robin Ho...
My landlord is eating a blueberry-blooded Popsicle.
My soul may be stoned an' my luck may be rotted but I can still cuss a cuss
The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.
Neither of us had anything to say, or rather we had everything to say, but after all those nights of not saying a word, we suddenly found we had not one dollar of time left between us.
Never done anything yourself, have yer? Never performed live to a real audience, have yer?' 'Nor have I fucked a donkey, destabilized a Central American state, or played Dungeons & Dragons,' retorts C...
No one’s ever very sure if doves and pigeons are the same bird or not.
Nothing attunes you to the beauty of the quotidian like a man who decides not to kill you after all
The newborn; the growing; the strong-willed and pliant; the ailing; the dying; the weak and defiant; over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterp...
Then the true true is diff’rent to the seemin’ true? said I. Yay, an’ it usually is, I mem’ry Meronym sayin’, an’ that’s why true true is presher’n’rarer’n diamonds.
Assent was indignant & universal
On an impulse he cannot explain, he buys himself a one-way ticket - and the evening of that very same day finds him wandering the streets of the old colonial quarter of the Colombian town. Girls in lo...
The wheel of seasons is broken, says the spring pattern this autumn day, and so am I.
Time is the speed at which the past decays.
In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction. Is this the doom written within our nature? If we believe that humanity may transcend tooth & claw, i...
It is a cycle as old as tribalism. In the beginning there is ignorance. Ignorance engenders fear. Fear engenders hatred, and hatred engenders violence. Violence breeds further violence until the only...
Leave Ueno Station through the park entrance, go past the concert hall and museums, skirt around the fountain, and you come to a sort of tree garden. Homeless people live here, in tents made of sky-bl...
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