Writing

Words can never truly show the thing we attach them to, but sometimes it's all there is

Silence

One of my favourite things to do is to steal a morning, steal a light that others sleep through, to see a part of the day that only those...

Ways of Reading

‘A patron cannot be surrounded by music or poems in the same way as he is surrounded by his pictures.’[1] Somebody I know, instead of usi...

Bottom-draw vintage silk

a motif of history threads of long past memories stitching together like a fustian tapestry only to sn- sn- snag on a machine pulling thr...

Biosemiotics

among whispers and calls the sallow leaves fall with a noise akin to raindrops heaving off trees long after rains’ last fall   one b...

Sellotape

what was the last stitch you made? was it as blithe as the first? or was it lost to incongruous days with hours moving in and out backwar...

Rooted.

My story is of connection of life and definition of the things that have never and will never be spoken   You call it dirt I call it...