I’m delighted to have a poem included in an anthology of poems inspired by Twin Peaks, called These Poems are Not What They Seem, published by APEP publications. My poem is called We’re gonna keep her out of it and draws inspiration from Sarah Palmer and the character of Judy in the return. It’s also about rumours.
The anthology out March 7th and is available for preorder now. It’s a US publication though, so check shipping costs.
I also read my poem as part of Performance Anxiety, a monthly reading on skype. You can listen below. I’m the token...
This is the second story in a series I’m publishing monthly throughout 2020. More details here.
CW: self-harm, blood
From the pharmacist, I get gauze, bandages, surgical tape and antiseptic cream. It took me a while to find a pharmacist that still took cash. From a grotty corner store I pick up the plainest, cheapest razor blades I can find. I don’t need five blades and a trimming razor. The moisturising gel is unimportant. I need razor blades that will break apart easiest.
This essay from Jack Underwood blew me away, because he nails down thoughts I’ve had before but have struggled to put into words. He describes poetry as a necessary counterpoint to the simplification of stories we are being fed today:
They know that nostalgia for simpler configurations and categories is a symptom of fear and frustration. They know that as everything gets worse through deliberate inactivity the more frustrated and scared we become. “The answer is simple,” they tell us: “We must simplify!” Then: “You do not cohere to simplicity. Why are you making this so difficult? Everyone...
Night falls so quickly
it breaks apart on impact.
Dark shrapnel scatters.
Taken from Bristol Sounds interview with pet Shimmers, January 2020.
As a Friday bonus, have this song by Anna Meredith.
I was lucky enough to see her and her band last night and they were incredible.1 So much energy and joy. It’s the most interesting and exhilarating music that is unable to be defined. It goes in so many directions and all of them are excellent. Plus at the gig they finished with a medley of cheesy songs, including Daniel Bedingfield and ABBA. What’s not to like?
This song seems appropriate given the events of yesterday. It’s a slow growing collapse.
I was very lucky to have a poem on BBC Radio Bristol’s Upload show. The poem is called Encrypted and was written for Tonic, which is an amazing night. You get given a prompt and you have a month to write a piece for it.
The prompt I got was “threw postcards in the shape of airplanes hoping they get to where they meant to”. It pushed the poem in strange new directions I never would have thought of if I was just sitting down to write without a prompt.
Thanks to Chris Beale for recording it and Upload...
Theres a new poem of mine up on Fevers of the Mind. Its called Failed Hypothesis, go here to read it.
I love these cold clear winter days. Here’s a photo I took yesterday by the harbour:
Write something else. Write it faster. And network more, because...
Just before the door swung open, Amber was certain she could hear voices. When she walked into the small office, they had lapsed into silence. It had sounded like Tom. Great. He was meant to be the only friendly one. He sat at his desk, pretending to concentrate on work, music on as usual. Derek and Robyn ignored her as well. All three of them wore headphones, lost in their own world. Amber shuffled over to her desk, clutching her cup of tea, trying to ignore the tension in the room and failing. She wasn’t paranoid any more, she was...