from orchids to rice The Story of Tan Hoon Siang [taken from an information board in the National Botanic Gardens]: During the Japanese Occupation of Singapore (1942-1945), Japanese officials entered the home of Tan Hoon Siang and saw a Vanda dearei in bloom. They concluded that if he could successfully cultivate orchids, he could also… Continue reading Anna Onni
Five ways of looking at yourself in a cracked mirror 1. spot what is human and what is super- human / a distinction that could lead to a series of mis- understandings / I searched under marked paths for what is beyond parallel / If every timeline asked you to jump would you? 2. the… Continue reading Chris Tse
Brett Cross, Ellen Morgan Butler, Lisa Samuels, Murray Edmond, essa may ranapiri, Ruby Solly, Amy Leigh Wicks, Vanessa May Crofskey, Dave Drayton, Jake Goetz, Pascalle Burton, Michael Farrell, Judy Annear, Louis Klee, Claire Albrecht, Louis Armand, Toby Fitch, aj carruthers, Emily Stewart, Pam Brown
I numbered the pages to remind me of my place. I was afraid of joining the ranks of distracted lovers from whom nothing is safe: …
We are asking all members of the public / to be on the lookout for / a bluff, chuffed eager geezer / who’s got the unearned charm of a stolen hotel towel…
Once You Have Chosen a Headstone for the Last of Each Species of Rosa Please Choose from the Following Inscriptions and Symbols: …
Three girls at a table in the Market Bar with an overpriced jug of sangria. / Sometimes words are enough. Sometimes memory isn’t.
I will outline a light switch / in black so you won’t miss it. How / the pendulum swings with the / sun in your eyes. The hung crystal / in the window refracts faint greys, / blues, yellows.
…we’re playing parts, but i wouldn’t act / in any other bullshit play.
My new formula for grief: who might survive, who, with hammer, might crucify.
My favourite podcast is about the end of the world / It’s the big new thing happening. / It is already happening.
the writer does not write / the words that are there / or the words that are not . . .
I could come closer to tickling / the neurons, pulling them a // part, making connections / between the benevolence of a // bright summer’s day and my inability / to perceive reality accurately . . .
how can i / keep eating / popcorn when / i’m going / out of fashion / been going / been going / been going . . .
and the oily rainbow aura on the spirit cluster flakes off / as the treatment fades while I still alone and addicted // to new knowledge in my liquid crystal display
Tumbling through the cunt of Elizabeth I, kissing boys and kissing girls, I lock myself inside my house with 365 rooms and fifty-two staircases.
Humility / Taken on the rocks / With double shot and / Uber driver waiting. . .
a weighty jewel of a sun-bound / harkening, reaches (again) the memory / & malady of a doubtable god, part- / unseen, emergent. // On kite wings, we qualify.
Your hands are like fists all the time now. Lick the webbing / between your cats’ toes and wish they could set you right. / Know that they never can.
New Year’s Eve Eve I’m not the only mammal living herethe question is star achieverenduring theme I’ve swapped cheese for nutritional yeastnow if you could friends with benefits moviedevelop the courage to ask her where is the cyclonewho is in the hammock easy and natural conversationalisttake into the next world the banned Iranian director Jafar… Continue reading Emily Stewart