A journal of critical and creative writing
“I have eight weeks before the changes are noticed. In eight weeks I can do a lot of damage. For a little while, the materials will not be missed and my nano sabotage will go undetected.”
Published in partnership with Everything Forever, organised by Contemporary Art Practice at the Royal College of Art.
“Inside this house there is no letting go.”
Published in partnership with Everything Forever, organised by Contemporary Art Practice at the Royal College of Art.
“From that moment onwards, I see lights appearing inside The Roundhouse’s rooms: it is almost like, after discovering its rotating secret, I have broken the enchantment that kept its guests invisible, safe from my gaze.”
Published in partnership with Everything Forever, organised by Contemporary Art Practice at the Royal College of Art.
“You are blissfully shrouded in only the present – one day you may not remember where you came from at all.”
Published in partnership with Everything Forever, organised by Contemporary Art Practice at the Royal College of Art.
“I suffer from acute anxiety and OCD, but I prefer the old Victorian term for my condition: the doubting disease.”
“At these minor garden parties,/Wind lushes and lashes/Through tended-to bush/Gusts across tennis courts (the nets slap/And billow); Ford Fiestas at the perimeter/Unmoved by all of this.”
“The brightness melts my insides/into something that more resembles/a Salvador Dalí painting than/anything earthly”
“Past the hospital, through once grand streets. A short walk across almost waste ground to get to that place where the machines slept their clockwork dreams.”
“Someone/who loses himself for the damp word of promise/where smoke rolls upward from a Pall Mall.”
“I stalk a weakening current, a mirror/to wandering, tracing faint verse/into sediment just/below whitewater.”
“In need of some levity, I ran my finger along the spines on the shelf and, naturally, plucked out Heart of Darkness.”
“At the time of the heist, the lemur was thirty-two years old.”
“You can’t tell / if the snow is fresh, a god-sent snow, falling / or if it’s just wind-lifted, old snow come again”
“Carter gazes at a thousand shadow treasures / he’ll loot to catalog in haughty solitude / until the war, until his cancer comes.”
“It began with him following me. Then, I decided to follow him instead. Street after street. Bridge after bridge.”
“Eight hours in, the fights begin to break out.”
“I watched moving clouds/soften the sky with holiness/then pass their pure hands over me,/blessing me and healing /the sadness of my young life”
“It hangs on me, in me, ornament. Reflecting thing, all things in the room absorbed.”
New Critique 