My immediate response when I try to search the Mines of Moria of my memory is usually a 404 error, and trying to think about the whole past year crashed Continue Reading →
I write a lot to stupid things when I’ve taken zopiclone, which is a sleeping pill that makes me think I’m a creative genius when actually I’m an idiot
‘Take your pills. Don’t take your pills. Read this self-help book. Call her emotional. Put Manic Depression on a mixtape and give it to her for Christmas.’
Working my way through the impressive and throat-gripping essays in new anxiety anthology Headlands, I’m struck by two things. How unique each story is – and how each one is Continue Reading →
A few days ago I attended a funeral. I’ve been trying for weeks to write something about kindness and why it matters. Everything seems trite, not enough, or like it Continue Reading →
Found poems, sex dolls, drugged cats and robots – just another day, really.
“I don’t see the point in writing about something that doesn’t really excite you; that doesn’t get right down into the base of your spine.” – Helen Heath
At first glance, this might sound like a horrible threat. But since the moment I heard it, it’s become a comforting mantra.
This week I went to a public forum hosted by the Welfare Expert Advisory Group, the panel appointed to advise the government on creating a fair welfare system.
Some posts take a few hours to write and then I hit publish with ease. Others take weeks and every time I go to push the button I just freeze. This is one of those Continue Reading →