The Radiator Song

There’s a voice in my room that hums me to sleep With songs of burnt dust and the counting of sheep. And I dream of the woods that live by my house Where the trees are soft and the dark is deep.   The voice is coming Humming, humming From my radiator’s lungs. My mother…

the future of feminism? or, rise of the clay-people: a true story

THE SCENE: a deep forest in the lostest part of suffolk, on a lush day in late june; a clearing in the trees. the ashes of a campfire, still gently smoking at one in the afternoon, where a huge iron pot of porridge crusts congeal in the gathering heat. a series of tents gathered round…

ch ch ch ch changes

SO: after a few straight months of trying-to-finish-my-novel, i am back in Weird Ould Norfolk, in rather fine fettle except from having the plague (freshers' flu finally got me, gang) & ready to try n get back into a posting routine again. HOWEVER. this is going to involve probably writing about anything & everything that…

im back babey // late july blues

18.07.2019 (adele voice) hello… it’s me… da da da da da da da da da i don’t know a whole lot of that song yes, yes, my absence has been lengthy as the mourning of a victorian spinster for her wealthy uncle, albeit a widely disliked one. second year has swept over me like a…

(after decimating my kingdom)

so, yesterday i went through this blog & locked about a hundred old posts, i.e most of my old spn stuff. i'd been holding off doing it because i'm still proud of the amount of time & effort i used to put into meta essays, even the ones that were completely batshit. but when i…

on heroes

i wrote this in december 2016. it's still my hands-down favourite of my own poems although there's probably quite a lot wrong with it. * Now he's a myth. A half-seen figure alive in the heart of a green bonfire. Spangled in glory, silver thread at his seams edged from behind in the neon of…

winter, 1892 (ish)

see below: an extract from my novel. it's my birthday & i'm lazy. this is from chapter #25, provisional title: SWEET CHIMING CHRISTMAS BELLS. unseasonable, i know. it's a story of dreamy boys & girls, snow, various sorts of unrequited love, & lots & lots of gothic architecture. oh, & there's airships. & murder. &…

writing hell redux

so naturally as soon as something actually clicks in re: A Certain Project my laptop starts being A GIGANTIC PIECE OF ASS & okay that is partially my fault for knocking a moses sea of water on the keypad yesterday but you know what isn’t my fault? the fact that last night it spontaneously decided…

writing hell update

so, for whatever reason, A Certain Project is DOING MY HEAD IN i am hopelessly behind on my wordcount, i can't seem to find my way out of a Maze of Plot, & i keep breaking off to mope over southern gothic inspo tags & listen to doom jazz (on the other hand the sun…

a future household in sum

a domestic scene. a living-room with a coffee-table, a squashy sofa, & two armchairs. the coffee-table is crowded with books, opened jellybean packets, & half-drunk mugs of tea. it is four p.m. occupying the sofa are "ANT BOILER" & "LCYRD". in one of the armchairs sits "BISCUIT MAN", gazing at his laptop. "RECKLESS FOOL" sits in…