Life in space: Chapter One
In poems, space is just as, and sometimes more, important than words. In real time, Ground Control attempts to reach my brain, finds only static. ‘The circuit’s dead, something’s wrong.’ Continue Reading →
Category Archives: Writing and books
I have never written anything in my life
Every creative person I talk to struggles to create. Writers, artists, musicians. We all identify strongly as these things. I am a writer. … But am I still a writer Continue Reading →
Could we see the colour of pain?
“Pain is a room for one. Only we can enter, and sometimes, we can’t leave.” … But what if someone else could actually picture the pain?
Come watch me die of embarrassment
I’m a terrible public speaker. I faked numerous stomach bugs, colds, pains and periods to get out of doing speeches at school – and now here I’ve gone and said Continue Reading →
Pain is the doorway
‘Pain is a form of alertness and particularity; pain is a way in.’
2018 retro(/intro)(/per)spective
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 →
Zopiclone letters
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
‘Manic Depression on a mixtape’
‘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.’
Give me back my anxiety chair!
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 →
‘I dropped coffee in my handbag’ and other excuses
Found poems, sex dolls, drugged cats and robots – just another day, really.