I had a vision of a book that was about Everything. A grand, enigmatic introduction promised to reveal profound and mysterious connections between almost…Read More
High in a eucalyptus tree, Jeanie was woolgathering. ‘Yo ho, yo ho, a koala’s life for me!’ she suddenly whooped, breaking out from her…Read More
North in search of a true-nature tribe the proper study of man became everything a hot hidden Africa, a colonial playground except bullet-proof like…Read More
“Call me HP,” he says.
“Like the sauce?”
His face does not move. We drive on.
“Like a bird spitting seeds the fire spits sparks.”Read More
Poetry: “The bees are going down, you know, it’s a well known fact / statistically but also purely / anecdotally, because the ground is suddenly / pebbled with the dead little things.”Read More
Fiction: “I mean, anyone who lives in monochrome might be so preoccupied, their mind curling with sepia-tone daydreams and heavy-lidded prayers.”Read More
Poetry: “Nothing in the hushed hills, / the mute, grey ascent, to ready us for that / gash of gutted earth.”Read More
Fiction: “They had come at the wrong time of day, really. The sun seemed to be scorching the air around them.
‘Okay,’ she sighed, sitting up and beginning to stretch to her feet. ‘Let’s go.’”