Things I do not want to talk about at parties

This is the worst thing. This dry mouth belly tumbling soul sucking can?t tell if I?m breathing. People say the art of conversation is dead. That we don?t know how to connect any more. That our relationships have devolved into farce and fancy, as though the rules of engagement are tempered by deliberate pantomime and… Continue reading Things I do not want to talk about at parties

Pulse

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

Light pollution

I spent the majority of my childhood with the sound of traffic in the background, in places where you can?t see the stars for the streetlights. The bush was a place to go temporarily, because we?d always come back over that hill on the Hume eventually, and I?d strain to see the glitter of the… Continue reading Light pollution

100 days and the Queen of Whatever

Leaving Melbourne felt like wading through molasses, sticky and slow-going, a series of blunders and clumsy patch-up jobs. Like a half-drunken stumble down the hallway in the middle of the night: hit your shoulder on the doorframe, slide into the dresser, trip over your own feet, claw at the wall to stay upright. Much of… Continue reading 100 days and the Queen of Whatever

Limb

Moonlight creeps under the curtain and casts shadows on the wall of this room. Not light, but its echo. The air is thin and cold but I keep the window open anyway. I press my fingers up against the glass and watch the condensation push out from them. Tiny haloes of heat, and then they… Continue reading Limb

Rainsong

These feelings come, like inspiration, through the cracks in the quiet of night-time, like spiders that bite when you?re asleep. When I see them trying to stick their spindly legs under the skirting board I stamp my feet and slap my knees and play music to help distract me, as if distraction is all it… Continue reading Rainsong