31 May 2013

Nice monsters and scary sprites

My 'review' of Harmony Korine's Spring Breakers is out now on Mute. Read it!


18 May 2013

Nyx, A Noctournal

My new short story, 'K Draws A Plum', is in the latest issue of Nyx, A Noctournal. I'm really excited about this publication and encourage you all to pick up a copy. At the moment though the colour version is only available on pdf but will be available in print soon. If you want it in print I'd really recommend you wait for the colour version as the art work in it necessitates being seen in full colour glory. This issue also features work by Tom Moore whose work you should absolutely check out here.


An extract from my story:

The small purple-red plum degrading before her, transitioning and subtly shifting, demands her attention. Not only because it holds her interest and allows her to locate herself in the world, but because it tells her that change is commonplace, ordinary, necessary and constant. To know that though it is dying (encroaching mould threatening the purple) it is also still alive, edible even. Its juice would still bead down her forearm and drip off her elbow if she bit into it. Its small spherical form sits perfectly in her palm, fitting without complaint, its weight is just enough, its texture pleasantly abject. So she draws it.

There is no future plan for this or any of her other drawings. They feel no need to live long and prosper or become prosperous for themselves or anyone. They have no value and yearn for less. They do not need or want to be seen.

To draw a line. To draw a line from me to it, K thinks, from it to me, between us. Life line. Constant edges tremoring under passing lights and shadows. Head line. Pupils shrinking and expanding with each unknowable atmospheric change. Heart line. The bliss of all that. 

10 May 2013

April

Raindrops trill and shivering on the window
being blown simultaneously away and towards by the impact of the wind firing towards us as we fire towards or through it
bullet feathering through space
shrill as the same point over and over with still no response and so still shriller and shriller

This could be the saddest dusk
I've ever seen
Turn to a miracle
High alive
My mind is racing
As it always will
My hand is tired, my heart aches
I'm half a world away here

white cliffs
dissections
sudden at the window
jutting like a hipbone pressing in
sinking in digging
a whole four and a half days since those hipbones sweet and matching (I pray for their symmetry)

sitting tight on the blue sofa waiting
a grumble here at something else
unloading the dishwasher to kill the time

I look into the sky wanting his comfort and symmetry
for the knots to ease in his lower back for a good night’s sleep for a bowl of oats for forgiveness again and again
the sin repeats itself like the sun