A pink box bouncing from edge to edge inside a television. A live-streamed funeral on an iPhone, soft-singing voices on low volume. Onion sizzling in a brand-new pan, the flourishing of steak in a bloom of hot oil. Cooked flesh. Kitchen noises, kitchen smells. A beeping microwave fighting the funeral rhythms leaking through iPhone speakers. Onion tears. A sleeping dog curled up in a too-small … Continue reading a kitchen-esque evening.
a haloed body through frosted glass. like a painting, far away through boiled cabbage leaves. tape-bound bodies haloed in sugar-sweet windows. brokenness bound mended melted. the seams of our souls in technicolour, through yellowing film like teeth. like piss. hidden clocks. everywhere everywhere, as gold-tipped tassels fight the tick tocking time with raindrop love. ribbons, ribbons, ribbons. a cabbaged halo. a frosted body. a piss-toothed … Continue reading time/ribbons
A dream is a beautiful thing. But as with all beauty, it is fragile, ruinable. Sad. A dream, by which I mean an aspiration, a goal. But more than a goal. A dream is romantic, improbable, dazzling, impractical. It sets alight the heart and is guarded by it, not for the scrutiny of peering third parties. Not for their ponderings or suggestions. No, a dream … Continue reading A dream
It’s one of those old hurts. A moon-shaped crevice dug into the skin, a bit lumpy and scarred over in dark pigment. It is mostly dormant. But on the occasion that it is awakened, the hurt is just that: occasional. It is the hurt of a light scratch over a an old scar. A surprise graze, brushing past the corner of a table, making an … Continue reading an old hurt
on the curling wind it floats by upwards and upwards beyond, to great things – only to burst as it reaches the sky but at least it saw the treetops and at least it met the clouds… Continue reading balloon
we build our dreams childlike fantasies. versions of life that propel and inspire. what hurts the most isn’t the unattainable fantasy but the almost real. within reach. close enough to touch. mirages. that slip through our fingers like rock turned to sand and so, we pick ourselves up and start again. Continue reading dreams
you look different did you cut your hair? it seems like forever since i saw you last. there’s makeup on your face and you’re in a pink leather skirt but you never used to dress up. i guess you grew up, or something like that. your laugh. it sounds different louder higher not like you i guess i smile and make jokes … Continue reading someone i don’t know
My mother was a pianist, once. She lived alone, on the second floor of a grey apartment building perched on the edge of Seoul. It was just out of the city, because it was all she could afford, and a 40 minute car ride to her job selling sushi and tea to tourists and suit-clad workers at an art gallery that overlooked the skyline. She … Continue reading the pianist
Living in an affluent part of Sydney that can be aptly described as a “bubble” – an insular community of the wealthy, the ambitious, the connected, the upper class, I can only explain myself as feeling stuck in a grey space. I feel trapped. There is a never-ending internal conflict between the values that surround me – the ones I’ve internalised from 17 years of … Continue reading an honest reflection.
The pages floated peacefully in the breeze. An opaque white wind gliding against a backdrop of lush trees. A harmonious antithesis – different, but at the end of it all, fundamentally the same. For they both held secrets kept by the heart, silently pulsing with unshared life and knowledge, glowing with the promise of the truth. They held the beauty of the journey – the … Continue reading words and trees
the undergrowth. 