“If you hear a voice within you saying, “You are not a painter,” then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working.” – Vincent Van Gogh, in a letter to his Brother, Theo. Van Gogh knew a thing or two about painting. Turns out, his advice is pretty…
When I first read an article about the death of Kim Wall and the Danish inventor, aptly called Peter Madsen, I thought it was a satirical piece. I thought that it was fiction. Doh! Recent world events and changes in world media should’ve told me, by now, that we live in a time of surreal…
I was relieved to see her on my walk along the river front with the black heron and squatting geese Although relief is not what I thought I’d feel A sweet smell rose from the river it was not unpleasant, at least though some people might say so Flowers drooped from…
Mrs. Banks looked down over the sodden lawn and tried to ignore the wailing coming from the upstairs bedroom. Thick clouds rolled in over the lake with the grim promise of more rain. The flames of Edward’s fire glowed orange in the wet haze, flickering out of his hut window, down by the lake. Mrs.…
DON’T WORRY ABOUT YOUR MINI SUSHI SNACK THE FISH CALLED THEY DON’T WANT THEIR GUTS BACK DON’T FUSS OVER YOUR TERIYAKI CHICKEN BITES ALL THE CHICKEN ARE DEAD
Dream, asks the billboard. Asks? This the 21st century. Dream! The billboard demands I dream. Without the billboard I have no dreams, without my dreams the billboard has no purpose. Bold and agitating, the billboard greets me at 3:30 pm each day when I leave Victoria station on the southbound train for Margate. Dream! What…
There’ll always be cakes in Miss Hawthorn’s shop window. Creamy round cakes topped with cherries and pink glazing that turns sweaty in the sun. Although the grime and the dust of the busy street, pounded by the crowd’s busy feet, dirties and stains the glass of Miss Hawthorn’s shop window, the cakes always look so…
Torture, simplicity and constipation This is the first time delving into any Japanese literature beyond Murakami, and Endo has impressed me. Mainly an autobiographical sort of writing – not unlike the Russian literature I was reading a few weeks back – Endo tackles the issue of growing up as Christian Japanese and explores how this…
misery confirmed Fren Burt is sitting across from me drinking a milk and vodka on the rocks. Too poor to afford coffee liqueur, too politically correct to order a ‘white’ Russian. There’s a wasp in my beer. Sunlight refracts through the glass onto its squirming body. Nobody saves a drowning wasp, do they? They will…
Theresa May said this morning, in an uncharacteristically strong and stable manner, that she was going to crack down on terrorism. That ‘Enough is enough.’ In a blanket statement, she told the world that she is going to ‘regulate cyberspace.’ She is going to monitor ‘the Internet’, a land of safe spaces for extremism. I do not deny…
Alexei Stepanovich signed his name with a flourished S on the gilded, yellow note-pad. He was disgusted by his name and much preferred everyone to call him “Sue.” As such, every time he was forced to sign a notepad, an image of his own mild face or the bare breasts of a middle-aged woman, he always signed…
Seal Matches 