Eating Well

Some seek sugar. Others fats.

The thicker and sweeter the cream,

the richer and better the bone.

They gnawed on meat

carving limbs with limbs

taking photos before feasting

Opulence is only luxurious if it is

witnessed

Born of this or that, the plate

becoming a transit system

Transporting you between worlds

where abundance is signalled by scarcity

and the privilege of paying more is

taken as a given.

Is it the multitude of utensils

egregious amount of animal

or lack of any

that makes it ‘well’?

The women only eating

greenery hung gently

across their ribs or the men

washing down whatever with whiskey.

The scarcity and excess combine to contribute

some twisted form of nutrition and pleasure.

Abrupt Transition

Photograph by Annie Spratt

The snow dumped yesterday. Without warning. Or maybe there was a warning, we just didn’t take note of it as we spent the weekend cuddled and huddled, anticipating the change by preemptively hibernating.

People seemed put off by it. Slush, snow, cold, complaints aplenty. I spent a few hours outdoors. Some with walking sticks in hand, looking like a skiier wading through the banks and salt. Some moments armed with a shovel, and some with a leash in my gloved hand, my northern rescue coming to life in the powder.

The city has a blanket, if only for a few hours. Too soon, too cold, too much - I love it too. It’s beautiful and romantic and makes everything feel quiet and close. There’s no urgency to leave the house and an uncertain blurring effect. A haze of coats and hats, a pale white blue covering what was lush, insulating what was alive. Little tracks around the backyard and a sparkle when the streetlight hits the ground just so.

We accepted it all as a signal to start watching Christmas movies.

What's your handle?

Illustration by Petra Eriksson.

I felt close, warmed to the screen 

Proximity and time carving grooves down my spine 

forming pathways from optic nerve to left ventricle 

@mistirry understood me, related, educated

I was no longer alone, sitting by myself at 3am

time is an illusion, a light always on, 

a wifi signal that never goes out 

Refresh request, forward like

I followed you across platforms 

ingesting only pixels for hour expanses

My world expanding beyond borders 

world orders crumbling in clips and voice overs, 

screening telephone calls calling screens telepathic 

The algorithm stroked my head styled my hair made my bed 

and I fell asleep, rocking forward and following in its harms

Costume Consultant

In another life I’ll figure out a way to monetize my true calling:

coming up with Halloween costume ideas.

If you’re scrambling tonight and want something to pull together, here’s a few options:

Cardi B

Materials: Deck of cards, antenna and/or wings

Tape cards to yourself (or your wings). You’re Cardy Bee.

23 & Me

Materials: Helium balloons

Get number ‘2’ and ‘3’ balloons, tie them to your shoulders. You’re 23 & Me.

Trash Fire

Materials: Garbage bag, tissue paper

Cut out the bottom of a garbage bag and cut holes for your arms. Make some flames to come out around your shoulders. Add Twitter or other company logo to the front if you’re feeling cheeky.

Subscription Box (NSFW)

Materials: Paper and markers

Make a little sign that says $24.99/month and stick it on your p^$$.

and so many more… Happy Halloweening.

Illustration by Katie Scott.

Miss Tits and Dismembered Misfits

Illustration by Lucy Bohr.

Anyone else find the creation of even more products depicting/isolating parts of women’s bodies an odd, tiresome aspect of capitalist feminism?

I’m all for greater representation and diverse body types being shown and celebrated but I haven’t seen mugs, T-shirt’s, posters, and the like covered in a variety of penis shapes and sizes. I feel no more at peace with my breasts or bottom or belly or bareness because my tote bag has tits of two dots and two lines printed on it.

No longer reserved for perfume bottles, shampoos and household cleaning products, some version of my form, an unidentifiable ‘her’ is now visible everywhere, anywhere. Dismembered and dissociated, primed and prepared for profit.

It’s like in the quest to capitalize on feminism and wokeness we are reduced even further to bodies and body parts, served up for consumption in whatever form you fancy. 

All boobs are acceptable - but it’s still the boobs that give you form, value, acceptance. 

Certain Illusions

Art by Rob Bailey.

Businessmen have the uncanny ability to speak in certain terms

or is it no uncertain terms? I’m not certain.

Lead me to believe that what makes us human

are all the grey tones and qualifiers

the hesitant acceptance that we don’t

have any control at all.

Hazy

Illustration by Cecilia Castelli

Every few months a cloud descends

or maybe it’s a wall that ascends

a curtain that dropped

that one missing sock.

The laundry left in the machine

the dishwasher loaded but not turned on

the playlist on shuffle but never playing a song

your head in the pan

your heart on a plate

but who it’s in front of already ate.

The point got past

miles back

or was it metres

the point is

was

remains

could be

it’s hazy.

Quiver

Painting by Inés Longevial

I shake when I get excited ever since I was a child. A vibration running through me, present but mild.

My hands used to raise and contort in anticipation. My body unable to contain so much sheer elation.

“That Xxxxxx, she has a real vitality to her,” a friend’s mom once said. Maybe it’s just my feelings don’t stay within my head.

Pure energy output, a subconscious force. The feeling and frenzy coming out my pores.

Gripped

Illustration by Jakub Rebelka

Held close

a safety net, a leash

Elevating senses

numbing vision

blurring truth

Powerful and solid

liquid pulse.

A single, endless

stationary movement

The nudging, bulging

fear

pushing you to do

nothing

Romanticize

Image via Behance: Exotic Destinations on Earth for IELTS

There’s a way we romanticize things, people, places, events, that is so interesting. One of many masks we elaborately assemble and collect, uphold and establish. The special ones, the ones we hold sacred and golden, often benefit from the shine of time.

An event I’m engaged with, a part of, living and breathing will never hold the same romance and sparkle as something that has been completed. Sealed by days gone by, infinite in its illusion. A story from five years ago, words you heard on the street last week, all preserved as a moment in time. Ripe and ready for you to embalm and encase with your own sense of self-importance and gravitas.

Steel Tissue

Image via Pinterest. Source, Build.com Rug: Nourison FA24-BLK-REC-8X11

Oh Darling

where were you when my cells

divided, bloody and bruised

a name in the paper

empty tissue box.

The melted ice cube, rings on the coffee table

we

you

I

never drank coffee.

Some varied version of a fingerprint

remnants I unearthed

with weighted eyelids, barely lifting

and a concave chest only time

could reassemble.

Gasping countless times seeing

a haircut

a coat sleeve

a gesture

I finally saw you

just once.

Cast my glance downwards

refused to look back;

just once

my resolve described in terms of

metal.