It happened months ago and I had not heard?the funeral had been and gone?and I was struck by a terrifying kind of vertigo. I could have told you what an old backpacker-dorm acquaintance in England had for breakfast that morning but not that a person with whom I had shared uncountable drinks, smokes, cars, music, ideas, weekends, good times, had found life so unbearable that he struck it violently from himself.
A golden autumn morning breaks through leafless branches. The chainlink fences that flank the railway tracks gleam as the sun rises behind them. The footpaths wear mantles of brown and red leaves. My fingers are cold and only seem to get colder as I type. I piece together a couple of paragraphs from the scraps… Continue reading 7:15
The summer I finished my Honours degree, I worked five days a week and drank six. I remember very little of my day job from back then; in my memory I slept until midday and washed my hangovers off in the shower with the previous night?s conquest. I spent the afternoon jacking myself up on… Continue reading Heat
I?ve become seasonal. Season-affected. Unfolding in the sun, hanging heavy in the rain, a spark-of-sunshine smile cracked through blanket cloud. I watch the cars pause and the people chattering inside, fishbowl tongues flapping. White water, white water, white water. I sit at the back of the tram next to a man in a long coat.… Continue reading Pulse
One very windy day when I was eleven, my mother came to pick my brothers and me up from primary school with a small plastic bag in her hand. When I asked her what she was holding, she said ?Nothing,? rather shortly, and put her hand behind her back. We got home that afternoon to… Continue reading Obituary for the New Year
I have perfected the art of the 24-hour lament. If you can call it a lament. An expulsion. Catharsis. A moment of reflection before the purge. I let you into my body momentarily, now I am pushing you out again. Before that: I found precisely eleven post-it notes in my copy of Virginia Woolf?s To… Continue reading An eddy and the undertow
I am no longer afraid of crocodiles. Almost every day for a week and a half, I navigated their river. I fished in it. I got mud in my shoes. I saw stars flare and flicker and shoot across the sky. I got scratches on my legs from reeds and rope and the frantic flapping… Continue reading What she said
All my love affairs end in November. I don?t know whether it?s due to the alignment of the stars or the end of the school year or the fact that I?m a masochist who wants to give myself the most excruciating birthday possible, but memo: future lovers. November is high-risk territory. One particular November, I… Continue reading 6mm lines