December 2011
2 posts
The Stanza
It sat between two heavy blocks of type, above and below and was exactly five and a half lines.
There it had been for several years, inside a book, on a dusty shelf, behind the door of her creaky closet.
Bold black lines, set against a backdrop of ordinary.
Words that understood her. As if they had been written for her.
In preparation for this exact moment of discovery.
...
October 2011
1 post
July 2011
1 post
June 2011
2 posts
“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”
– Edgar Allan Poe (via lipsticksmiles)
May 2011
2 posts
April 2011
1 post
SUNDAYS WITH MICHAEL
I hold my breath and count to ten I stand and sit, then stand again I cross and then uncross my legs The planes are flying overhead The dial turns with every twist Around the watch, around his wrist Resting there with pen in hand Who could ever understand? The way he writes of all I dream Things kind yet cruel and in between Where underneath those twisted trees A pretty...
February 2011
3 posts
The curtain, a smoky grey colour drops from the creamy white ceiling. Crawling with strange bugs and eight legged creatures, from where an ominous fan whirs.
His hand reaches for the cord. A string of shiny, black beads that glisten against the bright, early evening sun.
Flashback to the time he found her in the garden. White cotton dress pulled up around her thighs, feet blackened by the rich,...
October 2010
6 posts
My new interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood offers a sinister twist to one of the most adored Fairytale stories of all time. In my artwork, Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf are sitting at a romantic dinner, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. It appears to be a charming, picturesque scene until you spot among the banquet of delicious things, a set of false teeth....
Musical Chairs
When the music stood still, I was half sitting, half standing at my chair. I could feel you smiling behind me. (We sense these things while dreaming). Your hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down gently, your kisses against my neck. Then from somewhere, the music from a piano as she sings to Mozart, no one will ever know me the way you do.
Nostalgia
Do you remember our first day? The fog lifted and all around us were trees linking hands, like children playing.
Our first night, when you stood by the door, conflicted as I sat there with my knees tucked under my chin and smiling.
Then rainbows arching over and the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.
How the wind howls and the sea whispers, I miss you.
Come back to me.
August 2010
1 post
Will you stay with me when all our dreams have...
July 2010
4 posts
A streak of light flashes across the loud, angry sky. Thick heavy raindrops pound the uneven dirt floor, littered with dried leaves and twigs. She follows closely behind him, clutching an odd contraption- a rectangular device attached with a long, squiggly, antenna. “You were right about the storm Professor!” She yells over the howling wind and drumming rain. “Yes, my...
A Phone Call
We said hello at half past one All our chores for the morning done And as we spoke about our day The world began to fall away To our highest hopes and deepest fears ‘If I had one wish, I’d wish you here’ The tantrums and the horror shows The stories only you would know All the while, with the ticking clock Laughing as if we’d never stop We said good night at half past...
June 2010
8 posts
The origin may be the - symbolically dehumanizing - treatment in Antiquity of a slave (by the harshest definition legally not even a person) as mere livestock: just a biological entity owned and sold for arbitrary use and abuse (as agricultural work unit, house slave or toy).
~
The rope pulls against her wrist and ankles, rendering her helpless. Garbled sounds of her cries sit trapped and muted in...
There was a time when you were only a dream, an intuition. An idea I couldn’t rationalise, built on the blind faith that you must exist (otherwise what is the point of it all)? Meanwhile the years crept on and on.
Until the day I met you. Like an image imprinting on a Polaroid, there it was, a clear concise answer to the question of, ‘what the hell am I looking for?’
They say when you become...
Soon
He props himself up on his elbows, smiling down at her.
But most of all,
he places one hand gently on her forehead,
I love this.
What a terribly vivid imagination you have!
His tone grows mischievous.
My little village girl…
——-
The Village Girl
Excerpt
The paraffin lamp created long, elongated shadows that ran up and down the cheap dirt walls.
On the ground, straw was scattered...
May 2010
13 posts
Breakfast
Message received 01:02:05/ 28-03-2010
Inside forest still. On a little track that runs through it. One slip and you are falling into the gully. Still punctuated by bird song. Green everywhere. We should come and explore in the morning. We will have to be careful. Cover your mouth as you orgasm. Sound travels here.
jackvelvet:
La petite mort, French for “the little death”, is a metaphor for orgasm.
Solo Show
He pulls the thick woollen sweater up, over my head. Little sparks of static dance across my skin.
Does it hurt? He says, running his hands gently over my warm body.
It is your own little fireworks show, I whisper.
The Fisherman
I spend a lot of time thinking, maybe a little too much, about things that have been. Like when we first met and I told you someday, I would marry a fisherman and live by the sea. Then as we began to fall in love, that throwaway comment grew in significance.
Whereas you on the other hand, are always thinking, what if? Spinning these wild hypotheticals that are sometimes sad, other times...
Vania
Vania Zouravliov, that’s his name! My favourite artist. I wanted his book that time… very badly in fact. I tipped my little coin purse upside down and counted all my money. I was short twenty dollars!
She lies on her stomach by the fire with her sketchpad open, lazy pencil strokes lining the paper with each flick of her wrist.
Oh, poor you, he says sympathetically. Do you know what...
Darkness Restaurant
Excerpt:
A sharp clinking noise echoes from behind.
His chair slides discreetly across the floor.
Well, clever girl, he says lowering his voice. If I were to be utterly run of the mill, I’d tell you I have a little something for you. I know how you love it and what a perfect compliment to your Peppermint ice cream!
Then my dear, I’d lean in very, very close, so my lips are almost touching...
April 2010
14 posts
Fredrik: I’m an artist. Karin: Artist? Fredrik: Yes, Princess, a thoroughbred artist: a poet with no poems, a painter with no pictures, a musician with no music. I despise ready… made art, the banal result of vulgar effort. My life is my work and dedicated to my love for you.
Through a Glass Darkly (1961)
“Had they not been taken, she asked, to circuses when they were children? Never,...”
– To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (via pinpricks)
Dumplings
Her impatient hands work slowly.
Like this, she says.
Then you dip your finger in the egg yolk.
Put it between the sheet and press it down firmly.
She watches as he fumbles.
The little pocket of pastry is foreign in his hands.
She reaches out, placing hers on either side of his face. Pulling him towards her, she kisses him warmly.
This is why I love you.
The sides of his face are white from her...
