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St. Ghost

Thoughts from the deep dark

Bridging the gap

Structure is a discarded utterance. It’s spoken in the same vein as ‘hey’ or ‘yeah I’m good’ and ‘here’s your change’. It’s tossed about as if we can fully comprehend the extent of its semantics, but of course we don’t,... Continue Reading →

‘The Adults’

Yeah sometimes you look up and see colours in the windows of people who used to be like you who used to be human fire in the chimney fire in the holes in the wall...

‘Burial Song’

6: Owl eyes in May, lamb stew, pine aroma of photo frames for the pontiff who can’t do kung-fu while he’s off to the judge’s houses donning papal apparel, ceramic enamel, with an infectious laugh at the skull of a... Continue Reading →

Daikannon: Ice Light

“Yes abso-bloody-lutely”   Says sax woman when I ask her if she could take me to the hospital. She rings a small, golden bell she’s holding and I realise that we’re on a boat going down the river where I... Continue Reading →

American Abstraction

She provided a bold dedication to the abstract, as a painter who would later go on to help define the LA art scenes in decades to come. Her stylistics clearly emulate surrealist style, but compose them into...

The Moon on A Silver Chain

Afro-surrealism is fluid. It exists to establish neo-narratives, but simultaneously reflect pre-existing power. ‘Solitudes’ embodies this wholly, while moving at such great speeds that it’s true nature is virtually imperceptible throughout the text. Even re-reading his poetry feels like a different experience, a submergence into a memory that changes definition like trying to view shards of a mirror in endless strands of phosphorescent light.

A Poem to Read at 130 bpm

lips lush fast in the cave of the blue/ leaping to forest fires underneath burn marks/ drum beat in the force of a cane in the hand/ heck and hell holding hands in the water/ turk and wayfair crossing the... Continue Reading →

Daikannon: Parrot Ladies

Low sax lounge man drapes in past Saturday morning and into cello twanging evening before sitting down on my sofa and offering me a drink. I say I don’t want one, and that the best ones in the flat have... Continue Reading →

a Vacuous Affair

Imagine being trapped in a room, the walls are made out of orange, rusted metal and there's a large red carpet on the floor, lit only by the faint glow of a lamp in the corner. There are no windows.... Continue Reading →

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