Category: AI Art
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Ten Things of Thankful
The forest followed me home this week. A grey heron in the garden, several nuthatches flashing past too quickly for a photograph, and a new visitor: a eurasian jay. November may be foggy and grey (heading toward -5℃ on Thursday) but apparently the garden didn’t read the memo. I. Fog, Then Light Thankful that the…
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1111: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
Strikethrough #5 A Forest Gone I settle in with a mug of breakfast tea and Mimi’s cake, and begin editing my notes: the small forest of birch and oak beyond the village is gone, leaving only stumps leaving the pale wounds of stumps where the trees once held their ground. When last I was here,…
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1011: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: #14 (catch-up with all episodes here) Clive doesn’t look surprised when I return with Jacob Macleod’s ring in an envelope, which is either professional discipline or proof that solicitors are born knowing how badly families behave. He opens the insurance bundle again, dips his pen though he has nothing to write,…
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Me & Marcel
THE OLD WOMAN AND A MOUSE NAMED MARCEL The Forbidden Word The Old Woman sits at the kitchen table, looking distinctly cross. Marcel is extracting a raisin from a slice of fruit loaf. “What’s wrong?” he asks.“Someone wants my poem deleted,” she says.“Was it very bad?”“No.”“Did it rhyme?” “That’s beside the point, Shoelace.” “Then what…
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0911: The Liturgy
Liturgy for the Lie That Kept the Children Fed I. The Sin That Has No NameThere is a sinthat the catechism does not list. It is not theft, though something is taken.It is not adultery, though a bed is left cold.It is not murder, though a man is buriedin the silence of his own wife.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Birthday Grievance(Or: A Feline Case for Cake) The cat sits on the windowsill,nose pressed to glass,watching the boy across the streetrun through a garden of balloons,bunting,and what appears to bea very large cake. His tail twitches.His ears flatten. “Old Woman,” he says,without turning,“why have I never had a birthday party?Why has my existencenot been…
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The Old Woman & Marcel
A Penny for the Guy “…and will you stop calling me Shoelace. My tail does not look like a shoelace.” Marcel sits beneath the table with a chocolate cereal box over his head. “What are you doing, Marcel?” “Taking precautions.” “Against what?” “The British.” “That’s rather broad.” BOOM. “See?” “It’s Guy Fawkes Night, Shoelace.” “Yes.…
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Stream of Consciousness
The Last Four Pages(in the style of James Joyce’s Molly Bloom’s interior monologue) I poured myself into a cup of coffee this morning no sugar just milk, and then opened my notebook which has only four more pages left in it so that should give me eight days except the last page overleaf is a…
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Ten Things of Thankful
Today is 5th November: fireworks, concussion, bonfires, and the burning of effigies rooted in old religious violence. The noise is physically painful for me, but more than that, I find the spectacle of cheering while a human likeness burns utterly repellent. There is nothing about this day that I enjoy. It feels brutal; I therefore…
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The Old Woman & Marcel
The Old Woman and Marcel (or the universe remembers its own size) The Old Woman was writing about short things when a mouse climbs onto the table. ‘Small,’ she said, looking at him.‘Relative,’ said Marcel, looking at the cheese. Then he wrote: Short My legs are short.My reach is shorter.But leave the cheese too near…
