"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
The Stonewall Inn
Noah Kahan
izzy's playlists!
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Andulka
Xuebing Du
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Love Begins
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@sfaulknerwrites
Don't take it home
Don’t take it home
In the grip of my fifth year of my new job, I wondered why I raced with such anguish to a building whose alarms would not sound if I died on my way. Whose innards would pulse and regulate, mitigate and throb, just the same as yesterday. Why I kept a hot stone of anxiety in my stomach, heavy and burgeoning and ostentatiously present, as much a part of me as a kidney or lung. Why I could never…
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I had a teacher
I had a teacher
I had a teacher who would come in every few weeks with her face puffed up, purple and angry, after “trying it on” with cheese, to which she had a not-insignificant allergy. She was a bullish woman, short and round, rarely smiling. Always dressed in black, with a man’s hairstyle. She took umbridge with me leaving her class to go to my trumpet lessons. Each time she begrudgingly dismissed me – Go…
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Small Sounds
Back in 2018, Mad Apple Circus spent some time in a recording studio with a producer called James. He produced our second album, Designer Music. Our reigning magnum opus was hammered out over a three-week marathon stint down in Devon, in a residential studio which was pretty well cut off from the outside world. We worked long days tracking and editing songs, cooking and eating together, sleeping…
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Dambusting
One of the first pieces of advice I received when I left my job to pursue a writing career was: don’t call yourself an aspiring writer – have the confidence to call yourself a writer. It made perfect sense to me at the time, and I quickly scrubbed all trace of trembling aspiration from my vocabulary. And thus, I became a writer. Easy as that. My confidence grew as I introduced myself at dinner…
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Fjell Song
Ethereal mystic, jury, parliament,
Ephemeral magic, banner, regiment,
As I crawled out of the sea,
You were there to oversee.
Soaring spires of rock and stone,
Wet cascades carve out new bones,
Patient flora, gritting, bearing,
Stubborn scrub, a worthy pairing.
Wuthering, battering, withering squall,
Under your face I sit in thrall,
Humbling, billowing, harrowing…
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Poem #6
I want to be a yin
Sometimes
As is my wont.
Win arguments
With wanton spin
Alas, I can’t.
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Funny looks and errant hooks.
Funny looks and errant hooks.
I’ve never successfully kept a diary. Time constantly seems to have one over on me, and whenever the stars have aligned sufficiently for me to actually sit down and write something, too much life has happened for me to be able to summarise it in a couple of hundred words. I’ve been surprised by how time has been moving here; the minutes trickle, the hours gush and the days stampede. It doesn’t…
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Poem #5
I am on a precipice
My final move a volley
Into the abyss, regardless
If I am or am not sorry.
For the ghosts I leave behind:
Mourning safe in bed is folly
Morning rises with the tide
Horizons cast, I’m grasping tight
Upon realities unhemmed.
What I leave in night will tease
Hiding slightly out of sight
Barely chewing at the sides
Just around the river bend…
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Just slightly later than planned… As I write this I'm sat in a spartanly decorated flat, looking out of the window onto the mountainous surroundings of my new home, Sørvågen, in the Lofoten Islands of Arctic Norway.
Poem #4
A subtle change… just as soon unnoticed.
Who are these would be strangers that are fading into focus?
We trade in pavement pleasantries, and yearn to bridge the void
The chasm we created in our duty to avoid.
A welcome change… priorities have shifted.
Who are these long lost neighbours that I never knew existed?
We trade in songs of comfort, singing It Will Be OK
Praise The…
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Poem #4
A subtle change… just as soon unnoticed.
Who are these would be strangers that are fading into focus?
We trade in pavement pleasantries, and yearn to bridge the void
The chasm we created in our duty to avoid.
A welcome change… priorities have shifted.
Who are these long lost neighbours that I never knew existed?
We trade in songs of comfort, singing It Will Be OK
Praise…
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Poem #3
Dawn breaks fast against the rocks.
Water boiling fresh and cold,
Clocks seem so passé and old,
When nature keeps to her own pace.
Breeze blusters over stony face.
Craggy hands all point to noon,
And soon, you know, the in between
Will go, with morning left in place.
It all keeps to its own pace.
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How did we get here?
I’ll start by addressing the sizeable gap between my last post and this. It’s due to a mixture of obvious and not so obvious reasons. Over the last two weeks both myself and Rich have moved out of our respective flats. Moving house once induces sighing, stomping, sweating and swearing. Moving house twice in quick succession very nearly resulted in me finding religion. Your mind becomes a…
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Bog butter.
There are a lot of quite stressful things happening at home at the moment. I haven’t contemplated starting to pack yet. Rich is leaving in just over a week. I’ve got a handful of dentist and doctor’s appointments over the next month, crammed in before Norway in a bid to get my body a fresh MOT. I’ve just got glasses and I haven’t got the hang of keeping the lenses smudge-free yet. Coronavirus.…
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Poem #2
It is oddly wonderful
To reach inside your mind and pull
A thread tied to a string of words
Like laundry on a line that curves
Around your brain and out your ear
And takes the form of an idea
One you can commit to page
In manners that are fun to say
Aloud or even in your head
You could choose not to rhyme instead
Or even bother with a meter
But I find this way…
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A hill to diet on.
A hill to diet on.
I cancelled my gym membership today. It was always going to be necessary what with moving and all, but I’m not leaving for another six weeks, so it was perhaps a little premature. This is the sixth gym membership that I’ve canned over the years – they just never seem to stick. It normally follows this trajectory:
Week 1 – 2: Wow this feels great, I’m smashing it every day! No pain no gain,…
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