archive - issue 14

  • Default
  • Title
  • Date
  • Random
  • /

    By Ruth Barker
    On the QWERTY layout of my computer keyboard, the symbol / appears beside the questioning symbol ?. They are represented together on the same key, and
    Read More
  • Apartment / Containers

    By Vincent Bezuidenhout
    These diptychs are the start of a series of images I have been working on regarding the visual landscape we choose to surround ourselves
    Read More
  • I returned home after my first year in college to discover my younger sister had turned gorgeous. This was a disappointment, but not an
    Read More
  • Butterfly

    By Adriana de Barros
    The pupa, a silk wrap of emotionsIsolated, within breathing, wanting to bethe intense pronoun of selfIt is silly to be one's own pronounShe giggles
    Read More
  • Collage

    By Claudio Parentela
    Read More
  • Drag and Snap

    By Leigh-Anne Niehaus
    This series is inspired by the childhood game of "snapdragon", which allows for simplistic and delightful decision-making through random selections of colour and number.
    Read More
  • Evidence of Life

    By Tamlyn Martin
    Below is an extract from a series of 11 poems created in parallel with visual artworks. 5. Memories laced with visceral realityFlooding herThe gentle
    Read More
  • Forward! Slash!

    By Travis Lyle
    You think you're a forward-thinking kinda person, do you? Lemme be the one to break it to you, sunshine – you're as lame as the
    Read More
  • Human/Nature

    By Lydia Anne McCarthy
    This series explores moments between nature and human beings that are at once idealistic and unsettling. Each picture is an independent narrative, but placed
    Read More
  • Immigrants

    By Stanley Onjezani Kenani
    you want to livenothing else.you leaveto liveyou swimor like fresh sardinesyou are packedin boatsyou leaveto live.  you leavegold in the belly of Africaoil in
    Read More
  • In Between

    By Tania van Schalkwyk
    Raised in an Arabian land of heat, fire and temper,sometimes the calm of England clamps downlike damp in a bathroom with no windowand a
    Read More
  • Letter to the Editor

    By Elan Gamaker
    Dear Sir/Madam I should like strenuously to object to the subject matter ("/") of your current issue. It must first be mentioned, however, that it
    Read More
  • Or: a line drawing

    By Gabeba Baderoon
    Pencil and nothing. Her face turned almost entirely away. Forehead, cheekbone,jaw,the bun low in her neck,shoulderand down,the long linejust enoughthen left alone.
    Read More
  • p u n c t u a t i o n

    By Ula Einstein
    Einstein works with a diverse range of media, including drawings and installation with fire, thread, and blades. The series of drawings and installations with
    Read More
  • PATCH

    By Sean Hampton-Cole
    Keys. John speaking. 'Lo?Good morning. May I speak to Bob Mitchell please?Bob in Bonds?I'm not really sure. I'm trying to...You want extension 125. This
    Read More
  • Pretty Babies

    By Peregrine Honig
    With the premise that "/ " presents what is IN and what is OUT, the "Pretty Babies" series explores the fashion industry's well-published and syndicated DOs
    Read More
  • River Bank

    By Mario Sughi
    The symbol / is intended initially as a symbol of division. A real or unreal line divides the girl from the water, the girl from
    Read More
  • Scissor

    By Charlotte Gait
    There was a time when you and I were connected by iron, acid, vitamin and blood. Where every mouthful I took was with the
    Read More
  • Seasaw

    By Sol Kjøk
    Here, the motif is conceived of as a seesaw (the typo in the title is intended, as this drawing is part of a series
    Read More
  • Series Seven Up

    By Noel Fignier
    Text by João Branco Kyron, HipnóticaThe collision is imminent and in the fraction of time left, the eyes shut and the vision is superbly
    Read More
  • A battle over samoosas between the snobbish Cinderella and a homeless electrician is mediated by Cinderella's boyfriend JJ. The samoosa battle is conflated with
    Read More
  • Wayne Porter, freelance journalist, donned his anthropologist's birthday suit and hit the bowling alley. Bar the bowlers hat tipped gently off centre, the man
    Read More
  • The Incised Wound

    By Joanne Hichens
    "Please, for me, Dave," I placed my hand on his, and really, no begging, just asked him nicely, "Lay off the booze tonight." Whether
    Read More
  • He had been driving for hours through that unstable, somnambulist night when he fell asleep at the wheel. He awoke with a start and
    Read More
  • The space between.

    By Mehita Iqani
    It's a handy little line, the one that we use to make our options known. Either/Or. Paper and ink or binary code? Its clichéd,
    Read More
  • Un Hombre Fuerte

    By Tamo Vonarim
    Sun.star.kid: Written these words are, at times of a subconscious flow – whether they are mine, I don't know. All I know is that I
    Read More
  • Unbroken Awareness

    By TENDAI MWANAKA
    My life is now a floating shellI am a vessel on that river.The storm, the ship, the sea,Whose shores we lost in crossing.  I
    Read More
  • Untitled

    By Wilhelm Saayman
    This series of images, made using pen and ink, photographs and Photoshop, explore alternate/dream realities.
    Read More
  • Untitled

    By Aryan Kaganof
    /At R550 rand I thought I'd rather die/ My mother: can I trust this woman?/ I thought the Romans were coming, dinkum/ …and always
    Read More

POETRY

Monday, 03 December 2012 11:53

Apologia

By
And nowAs the radio reminds us every day:Rifles are writing bloody lyricsAcross our country.For this reasonYou would rather I stop singingOf love and kindness,You would rather I instead playThe kind of music that makes us danceSo that with each step we extolThe name of our tribe.It is possible that if I stopped singingThe hope that keeps couples awakeAnd toiling,Drenching cold nights in steaming sweatAnd groaning,Knocking on heaven's doorWith insistent prayer;If I started playing this music of our time– The praises of our kinspeopleWill gather on my head, a crown.To every bird her call, I say.To every bird her call.No. I…
Sunday, 18 November 2012 09:16

A Manifesto for Feeling Too Much

By
Feel too much. Feel it all like a supernova of nerves and heart and mind and chest and skin. Explode and implode self into a fragmentary whole. Believe in love. Believe in justice. Believe in truth. Stand by it all even when the world smothers you with its callous mechanics. Feel it all until you stop to find yourself with head in oven, rocks in pockets staring down the tunnel of your life.Stand by it all, no matter what. Your feeling is your only truth. Feel your own pain. Feel a Kahlo agony. A tearing open and scarring over of…
People of this region,where all lifestyles are free,and cynicism is lost.We are close to the machine,Who gives a second life to man.The roads were said to be green, andthe spiritual world already configured.Instead, we are full of high-school stiffness and mystery.They say the government is currently busy, butprotection is still promised.The greedy and bitter are afraidof human progress. Blinded bytheir fear of the unique.Hate is process, yetso similar to despise.They say there is a place for everyonewho is rich and can providewho is young and attractive(For the sake of common job security).Uncomfortable - such is the life.Violence - not lost…
Wednesday, 14 November 2012 16:05

Even Dirt With a Little Glitter

By
If a rock is hard and blackIf a tree is large and softMust it be granite at heart?Baobab inside?Must you scorn it from far,"Miserable Baobab, thou art ungainly fat"And condescend upon immovable rock,"Poor thee, I understand thy stubborn stock"?None is what it seemsThorns sprout by tenderest applesAnd there are the juiciest melons on desert soil.Who would have thought!You'll find your tongue as strayedAs a waif any dayTo look at me and judgeOr shower me in praise,And the leaning Tower of PisaWould laugh still at your skewed opinion;And for judgment, why, you will be bankrupt!But I wish you the sightTo see…
Tuesday, 06 November 2012 05:40

Survival

By
We who accept survival as our passwordaccept incompleteness as our blessing. We who dress in blindness and in faithdo not know the colour of our palmsnor the weight of our feet upon the water.We who have dust in our mouths all dayhave stones on our tongues instead of songs.We who quench fire with fire all nightknow that wings are not the only laddersto the dark, that heavy wood swims tooin the tide of the wind.We who accept survival accept survival as our curse.from Light and After (deep south, 2010)
Friday, 02 November 2012 18:37

This Land, This Country

By
I place my soul in the soles of my feetcareful not to place all my weightreluctant to bury my toesInto this land. Into this country.I contort my thick tongue hopeful to produce clicks to enter the cliquesto speak with the taste, with understandingOf this Land. Of this country.I try to fathom how to profit from prophets of stones and boneseager to form part of the mountainspart of the skeletonOf this Land. Of this country.I yearn to find a sense of value beyond rands and centsdesperate to bask in the richness,in the naturalnessOf this land. Of this country.How do I begin…
Friday, 02 November 2012 09:43

The Rustle-Einstein Manifesto

By
The Hapy Sunnflowers Sossity AGMThank you orl sew, sew much for mayking yurselves avalable on this wanderfully brite andshinning day in the park my name is Martynn Fotherington and this is Balinda Haught who has very kyndly offered to step into the breech as our secretery Mervyn's cat died last nite (he is bering up under the lode) and wee wont to mayk Evryone, yes Evryone welkum and rite at home wee are going to desine our very own sossity and wee wont to mayk it open and democratic and sew eech person will have a littl peace of white…
A little hatred is good for the soulno wonder the good Lordchosenot to cure me of sneezing(to save me from a dusty death?)And since the stinky boars that constrict us have not gone out of styleI, with a smile, shall like the Christ made 'the vine'epiphytically hung on a tree,curse,Cross out the good that is evil;crown god the angel that is the devil;buy his cracked, smudged halo as antiquewith the trust, thrust of my righteous semenSee, men, you should understand that this is no satireI am not jesus nor Jesus and so with no scissorsshall make a mess of the…
Monday, 15 October 2012 20:42

Only Voluntary

By
I like the moon and I like you, my sweet and smiley friend. I do not need you as I need the sun. Don't get it twisted. Let's have fun.
Monday, 15 October 2012 20:37

Jade Ring

By
Does a fishneed a bicycle, ever?I don’t need a prenup, postnup, smelly divorce, teensy diamond set in platinum, a wedding-fullof people, a towering cake; I can barelystandVera Wang.I don’t need to change my name. I don’t needpermission tocohabitate or conceive; I love who I want.I don’t need a marriagelicense. 
Monday, 01 October 2012 02:42

Waking the Future

By
History is made when the waking world collides with fictionOn each repetition we repress the past Re-press the snooze button Drift back into the seamless dreamless senseless Mirage.The ignorance and indecision that scribes the license under which rules are born & broken Proverbial worms are caught early for easy reasonFor history is easier to make when others are sleepingFor laws are easier to break when no-one’s watchingFor burdens are easier to bare when no-one’s judging or fudging Together Scaled OpinionsOpinions based on the opinions of others.Opinions based on the opinions of others who’ve past before them.Opinions based on the opinions…
Sunday, 30 September 2012 15:55

Axiom

By
The rhythm of clapping hands, the repetition of images in equally timed segments: We are lulled and seduced. Like any other high-functioning receptor, the human brain is indiscriminate about what it picks up. How then do we resist the seemingly benign when we're mesmerized by it in spite of our better judgment?Credits: Conceived, produced, and edited by the artist.The images in the piece are from Leni Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will”. The text is paraphrased from the writings of Amédée Ozenfant (1886-1966), which reads as follows: "Manufactured forms are geometric and we respond to geometry because geometry communicates to us a…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Narcotic

By
Is religiousity narcotic?Is spirituality the outcome, the fruits of seeds plantedin a loamy soil of dumb hypocrisy? Eyes do not see what they seeWrong to crown the eyes organ of sight.What keeps mother sane, opium.Marx anagramming spelt it, religion. What do we do when this salvationbecomes the abortion of us?When our intercourse in trusty thruststhought to be love now breeds disgust? When the nobility of our best intentionsdo not equal simple, naked perception?When the honesty in our personhoodmight just be dead sons shot up in the neighbourhood? When me true to myself is just an excuseand I am just a…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Two Poems

By
Rising of Me  flashesof a dark childhoodfilthy ratsgnawinginsensatelyat my fragile beingcuttinginto the faint scarsof a damaged angelresurrectingdead fears their laughterpetrol to a burning firerope of toleranceslowly burns thinfrom the black ashes of shameI shall rise I killed my prince I killed my princechop, chop, chopwrapped his pieces in poison ivywatchedthe wind carry him across the great Ganges a lost cloudfloatingtowards a sea of karmic debtdeath knows not royalty or bourgeoisie i was "The One"unknowingly"two, three, four"followedclose behind Cinderellahis midnight mistressSnow Whitehis wintery delightas he slept with his BeautyI killed my princechop, chop, chop all the kings horses and all the…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

schisms

By
sparked by a t-shirtseen in pinetown'sfamed rainbow clubwhich gave sanctuaryto refugees fleeing hostilities between theifp and anc before thefinal thorn in the heelof apartheid walked free capitalism           communism           fascism      humanism                                              nationalismfederalism                 monarchism        republicanismconservatism                   liberalism         marxism         for the             masses                  maxism                 for the                 masters isms isms isms        cause                 schisms                 schisms                 schisms           sod the blerrie lot of 'embut one:                                  ANARCHism                  let's riot
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Black Madonna

By
you will be a cover-girlboys will lock themselvesin bathrooms with magazine copiesmen with tired dicks willvisualize you beforethey go into their wivesschool girls will skiplunch & supper for your shapehousewives will not missa single print of cosmofor a model figure. you will beon skype with oprahmotivators will findcitable quotes from your mere remarkson how you get on with lifedr phil will google you for a punch-line emcees will use you as a metaphorpreachers will sing your nameto tell us for whator for what not we are here you will be in periodicalsprofessors will be indebted to youfor their out-come based…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Hunted

By
His ghost settlessmothers like a fogcuts with pin pricks and broken edgesA sharp punctures the surfaceletting bloodmy pleas drip to the floorYour answers strikedissolve deeperThe wrenchingThe sickness insideI am without weight with youwringing my handssuffocatingOne, twothen a torrentthen weepingI ask you for a hollow handI'm asking for a spookI am a mistdripping blood for your answers
The quirky rhino has captured the world's heart.Petitions and protests and t-shirts galore.While you - King of the Beasts no more -Slip into history and slowly depart.Does your golden beauty set you apart?Will your raw power be remembered before No-one can track your massive spoor anymore?Would it help if I impartSome shocking statistics? Human global population: 1940 (2.3 billion) 2011 (7 billion) Lion global population: 1940 (450 000) 2011 (20 000, we think.) We really are quite arrogant, (some would say stupid), aren't we? We choose what animals to saveWhile we breed and breed, and breed some more.If humans were…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

On Words

By
She said, "Love the only thing that lives is letters." The truth is a clamour, is a great rocking vibrationthat's brittle and sex-shelled. That's listening, a conch. I've looked into that mouth, and asked: Did I know you from my self's start? From the first crustacean dollop of my brain, where both the speaking and the tongue are still sitting, undrained? Our lives wonder each other, disassemble like engines,the process sudden, apparent. Stop midspeech, take the motor out your talk. Click the conversation from its context into a grammar even your mother used like false teeth: a means to an…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Two Poems

By
Concentration Camp Where is your home?My home is the line where The ocean meets the shoreAnonymity touching the edgeA rag doll of a pale childA bone-thin puppet in threadsFading into the night airOf a war not yet deciphered. The interiors of this campAre built for the insane and The only cure for the insane is to Compose the notes to freedom And peace, to use the instrumentOf their mind, to build a Dialogue with God. Spirit, soul, homeland, bread,Self and other, wisdom, recovery,Chronic ill health, poverty in The history of the world, waitingFor execution or a profound linkGermany transformed the…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

We Will

By
This work was created through the interference of varying forms of digital mediums. With the use of restrictive rules, programs, and parameters I have allowed my computer to take free range of fabricating these poems. It is my interest to allow our intelligent design to unintelligibility articulate itself, with minimal guidance. I relate this poetry to Dada artist Jean Arp and his collages of falling paper. This method of setting up a situation and allowing for a randomized outcome allows for a purely unique experience and end product. My work is meant to present an alternative narrative to an original…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Conquests Bound in Digital Form

By
Slammed up against the wall of my adolescenceBracing the fierce winds of petty jealousies I wandered into the canteenFull of false pride and empty stomach Hungry for my equalFinding inequality Cheek to perilous cheekThe world was way too youngTo be inherited by the likes of meSerenading acne Loverboy of poster figuresCavalier with www.beautiesMy conquests lay bound by a 13" frame that pronounced my name in robot syllablesOne at a time until battery-life waned Slurred their speechesStammered my fantasy
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Sins of the Father

By
Burn mePut me in the groundThis skin drapes my bonesA crumpled robe of shameYou see me totter on the sidewalkHunched and weakWeepy of eye and beaten by timeAll this living has killed meBut no, no, do not pity meOr underestimate meI am rotten to the coreAnd I have secrets to shareI will write them before I go   This winter is my lastSome people are going to be unhappyI was there when Radko torched the villageWhen they raped and torturedAnd cut the balls off the menI was there, I ordered itThey needed cleansingAnd the disaster at the passNo accidentWe set…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

in silent

By
we are slain for our own diamonds immersed in torrents of coerciongiven weapons instead freedomto slaughter one another in the name of politics this wretched continent has divorced the benevolent onesthe vocal ones are glued: their lips & chopped their tonguesthe top dogs want to eat all the pie in silence they marry countless wiveswhilst the poor still strive for a better lifewe are lost in commotion of nepotismbayakhula bayabusato exploit the poor, my brother
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Blueprint For An African Planet

By
Was raped at 9Pregnant by 11She begged; her village listenedShe begged some more; her village stopped listening, told her "Marry"Listen:Husband rapist Husband rapist Husband rapistChildren children children Loveless mother Oversexed wife Abused little girl Invisible womanShe ran away*Her mother took herHer mother didn't want herHer mother diedHer mother ran away*Her lover took herHer lover wouldn't dieHer lover loves herShe ran away Ran past her screaming children to America, dipped her big toe into a quiet city called "Forgiveness", thought "best settle down here for dear life."Therapy? Don't know. Can a devout feminist wrap her strong arms round a masculine-identified butch…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Tyrants on the Throne

By
When evil men rise, there may be no bloodshedBut there is always fear in our hearts When evil men rise, there may be peace It is not the peace of mind.When corrupt men rise, we are impoverishedBut our leaders are rich beyond our shores When evil men rise they may tell the truthIt is usually the truths of the tortoise When evil men rise,Our roads turn into mountains and valleysOur academia become strangled and fund-starvedOur granddads are walking corpsesWaiting endlessly for their annuityAlways queuing up, fainting and dyingFor the payments they worked for When evil men rise,The youths are throwing…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Measuring Waves

By
Wasn't he foolish?Captain Carlos's first and last move: to plough the sea. To straighten the sea waves in plumbed manner. An Architect's Masterpiece was his intention. Tools on deck; tape, chords and all He set out to his dream. Swinging back and forth, he became his own victimAs angry waves grew and leaped. Subtle ripples ignored calmnessAnd embraced rage, bursting paths in awakened passion. Who traps the unseen?Even the earth knows not to balance day and night. And when this is over Carlos, show me a glass half-full.
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Boniface

By
He's a funny guy.He wears a round hat.It's black - a bowler, bit like Jonathan's.That means he's Ijaw, maybe Ogoni - he's no Saro-Wiwa, though, more like a phoney.Cries 'Wolf, Wolf!'then buys a Hummer. Cries "oppression!"then buys another. Watch hair dye createa youth leader; the people's voice up in Abuja.He figures he's a young Obama...somebody tell him the difference:'yes, I can' ain't 'yes we can.'It's poverty we hate, not quite the white man. Why dress like him?It seems colonial - what's traditional about Portuguese shirts with gold chains on 'em? Small Boniface,grown so fast.He's now a big man.A quick-talking, aggressive…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

A South African Experience

By
Father was over sixty years old and diabetic.He was thirsty on that hot, humid, January 1981 day.We had come over from our home in Umhlali to Durban.Disenfranchised, my sharp featured South African fatherwas always well mannered, civilised and concernedabout the welfare of others.We would not be like the ubermenschen. Disadvantaged and barely literate, my tall, brown fatherusually dressed impeccably and carried himself with dignity.They could tell him that he was genetically inferiorbut he did not have to behave that way.Father bought a drink from the Nicol Square Parkade tearoomand sat down on an old wooden bench inside the crowded, Commercial…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Welcome to the Free World

By
Welcome to the free worldWhere you will be socialised into being submissiveWhere you will be subliminally fed lies about yourselfTo keep you here on the groundScared of flight and afraid to fightYou will not be taught who you areYour books will not reflect your historyYou will be mentally enslavedSo they can physically maintain control over youWhile they intravenously ensure That you'll keep fighting an internal warKilling each other for more of their dope to smoke Welcome to the free worldWhere they will train your brainAnd have you believing that your people are nothing more than addicts and rapistsHappy to work…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Two Poems

By
ALGEBRA He raises his hand to solve for xbut is not selected. He rewrites his homeworkafter working out the equationsto make it all look neat. He makes the bubbles of his 5s perfectly roundlike a globe. He is a boy without a Father. He can point out Russia on the map and seems to have photographed Georgetown in his memory.He's only been once. His eyes are steely;his teeth almost refuse to stay in the confines of his mouth.And he used to love eggs. When the solution for x doesn't give his equation the balancehe needs tonight, he will wet the…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

How to Oil an Indian Mans Hair

By
Your apartment smells like coconut oilin the mornings. Watch the Vatika bottlespin lazy circles in the microwave to be sureit doesn't melt. You sit between my legs,your dry naked feet crossed and meperched like a fragile, cautious birdon the buttery leather couch. Pull over the cheapdark square table, fold a paper napkin twice,pour the milky warm oil into my palm,place the bottle on the napkin.I wear nothing but your boxer shorts,your low tsk tsk as the oil slipsthrough my thin fingers, burrows between bones,falls onto pallid thighs white as flashesagainst your skin. Begin at your scalp,rub it in.Add more oil,…
Pregnant minds give birth to hostile windsDreams walk long miles to locate the colour of goldHeavy expectations rise high to drive dreams of their mastersThey promise their masters heaven and earthAll the same when they arrive in Jozi, all that glitters fails to resemble goldIt breaks the appetite of big dreams and shreds it into small piecesObstacles conceal the pigment of a shining goldBut those with sharp senses discern its colourThey buy man power to track its whereaboutsThose without manpower kiss their dreams good byeAnd retire themselves to daily survival games and tacticsThey locate themselves a place where shattered dreams…
Monday, 30 April 2012 02:00

Rabble Rousers

By
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00



By
88 year old, Papa Seun's dying breath; Debris in a rotting coffin with the pelvis left; 16 pigeons in a formation beneath the Sun; Clouds painted, with oil, on canvas in a museum. You must forgive my pretensions in the verse above. It is not easy to express yourself when you are asked to interpret a symbol you have only seen in scary, gigantic, mathematical textbooks. I must, also, clarify that it gets weirdly difficult when you have a label that says, 'POET', nailed to your forehead by those around you. You tend to want to force yourself into being…
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00

Amazon Song

By
Magma woke, dancingthen ash, its solace offspring,from my heart.The red river in my veins and arteriesbit madnesswith caustic joy, It was only the ages' miracle of seconds When on the garbled grave of my boneswearing the naked soul of rainbows,you first dawned;in your eyescosmic like the moon in its frisky noon I sawthe fullness of emptiness,the raw bouquet of gifts of treasure trovemy eyesyou molded to melt spiral stars of God's scar. It was only the ages' miracle of seconds When you licked the plateau off my cheeksand my rivulet of smiles turned seas, spewed sugary,my heartbeats grew deafeningand I…
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00

Where The World Ends

By
There, where the blue sea meets the indigo sky, Is where the world ends. I stand alone, in my red coat and yellow boots,Faded and shabby with use.I clasp a thick, gnarled staff,Made of oak or elm, I know not and care less. The sea breeze brushes my cheeks with damp fingers,Smoothing away the silver tracks of loneliness,Even as the orange-and-green striped sail Of a passing catamaranBillows with the fierce joy of movementAge and illness have so long denied me. Dancing over the playful white caps,The cat bears away, Into the distant horizon that beckons. I lean forward, far over…
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00

Like Cats and Dogs

By
Three parables that may stand the test of time. I do not need love "I do not need love," said the cat, rolling onto her back."I do. I need love all the time. I cannot get enough love," whined the dog, leaping out of his basket and wagging his way towards the couch until a voice told him to lie down."Your obedience is your downfall," purred the cat, batting at the fingers that scratched her belly."Not true," barked the dog. "We are loved for our loyalty and friendship.""They love me for what they think I am," said the cat."Is that…
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00

Art Critic at the Beach

By
This seawood is just spool. It's green and long as a projector's tongue. And the rock it's onseems plastic-knifed. Debowled, like an old VHS. It doesn't work for me. But then, suddenly, the sea arrives and edits the scene out, awkwardly washing towards, replacing. I have my suspicions about the whole thing and scan the horizon for junior curators. And parking. Down a ways, my girlfriend plays at the tide while I find some paperto put this on. She kneels and welcomes the water: I think she's sure I'm writing about her now, her body angled so I may describe…
Saturday, 03 September 2011 02:00

In Sharp Focus

By
I am led to believe I am losing you we talkacross so much distance I cannot tell whatyou hear; absorb what colour you spray acrossmy dull gray. Suddenly I realisetake itin my stride of lifeand death thisis not thedivide and then the wordsfind each other, dance almost embrace if I were to picture it, itwould be like twomerged reflections ina crystal pool in such sharp focus thereis no place we could be(so clear, so enhanced) but at the point of infinity.
Page 3 of 7