You scribble on a piece of paper, pausing every two minutes to remember. Your memory isn’t what it used to be. But you try anyway.
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Bettina von Arnim Accuses Me of Unfaithfulness – Charles Haddox
I dreamt one night about a bright-eyed young woman with dark hair who accused me of being unfaithful to her. Her accusations were apparently true, which troubled me deeply after I awoke. I had never been unfaithful to anyone but had myself suffered the pain of betrayal once or twice when I was young. I…
PHOTOGRAPHY: Tales of a City VII – Seigar
Nobody knows, but I sometimes fantasise about what my partner’s childhood and teen years were like… I feel a great tenderness when I explore this town
Interview: Matilda Battersby, Editor of Popshot
I find the process of actually writing fiction to be like some sort of mysterious alchemy. You have a plan and then what actually comes out is completely different.
ONE POEM – Salam Wosu
I ask my body ‘what is life?’ it says ‘dance’
because dance is a way the body finds liberation
through lyrics, solace in songs, an overeager mosaic
of marinated moments & coralled colours colliding.
INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY – 8 posts by inspiring women
To celebrate International Women’s Day, we have collated eight of our most accessed posts by women.
My Response – Lucy Zhang
In response to your suicide letter, I write that I now order a bowl of vegetable ramen from the local Izakaya whose waitlist fills up twenty minutes before its five pm opening.
ONE POEM – Niamh Gallagher
This rockmelon is bloated with guilt
Sweet, near-rancid, on the knife’s edge of festering
Press down and it will oblige
TWO POEMS – Alexandre Ferrere
I had
one chance out of zero,
but spent a youth chasing
what I am still not.
REVIEW – The Liars’ Asylum (Stories) by Jacob M. Appel – Vanessa Braganza
Appel turns his professional interest in the workings of the human mind to a narrative exploration of the reasons we tell lies.
TWO POEMS – Natalie Crick
I want to feel
the warm milk of your smile.
I want to see your reflection
in the moon’s mirror, polished like spring bones.
POETRY – Chavonne Brown
She was not like unwitting prey,
That had never sighted the lion;
She fled from him, knowing
As she did what it meant…
Porridge 