Anne Whitehouse's poetry collection, Steady, isn't a poetry collection. Rather, it isn't just a poetry collection. I, perhaps naively, set about reading it without first getting a sense of its length or breadth. The book is divided into four Parts. The first, second and fourth sections, titled Morning Swim, Signs,
First Pat: Did you just key my car? Other Pat: No. FP: You did. I heard it. As you walked by you keyed my car! OP: No. I didn't. FP: There. Right there. You keyed my car! OP: No. I did not. FP: it’s right there! You can't deny
I don’t have writer’s block. I have writer’s fright. Nothing is permitted. Everything is true. I tell myself that I cannot lie in my writing. Is this what I’m afraid of? Why should it be any less easy to lie to myself than it is to
Exist Otherwise is one of my publications featuring creative writing and photography inspired by the gender-nonconforming writer, artist, and activist, Claude Cahun. Exist Otherwise #7 Claude Cahun was a Jewish French gender-bending writer, artist, activist, and anti-fascist in the first half of the last century. Their creative and political work
‘O WHARE are ye gaun?’ Quo the fause knicht upon the road. ‘I’m gaun to the scule,’ Quo the wee boy, and still he stude. ‘What is that upon your back?’ Quo the fause knicht upon the road. ‘Atweel it is my bukes,’ Quo the wee boy, and still
When Judas heard the crow cock three times, he only did what his Rabbi asked him to. He fulfilled his destiny knowing full well what the cost would be. Condemned forever for an act of loyalty.
Many people say the light leaks are part of the charm on vintage cameras, but I find them annoying. If the leaks were random in origin, shape, size, or character, that would be fun. But light leaking onto the exact same spot of each frame, and in exactly the same shape, is repetitive and boring.
At exactly the halfway point between then and now, time, in concert with the earth's inner core of blazing iron and nickel, reversed its direction and began spinning backward as if seeking its own birth in the fiery magma of amygdala.
I've migrated my newsletter from Substack to Ghost. The reasons are important to me but it's doubtful you need to be bothered with them. This change isn't the reason for my long silence, though. That's because my writing is becoming less narrative and more impressionistic. I'm not satisifed that prose
I call to Carna, also known as crane sacred witch, sworn enemy of screech-owls, vampires, rapists, and cads, protect our bodies from violation, ravishment and desecration.