Rulers Without Robes
The recent BBC drama Marie Antoinette is an uncomfortable series to watch. The combination of off-tune music, flaking powdered faces, and menacing whispers reveals the truth which lurks behind the beautiful Versailles backdrop: it is a cage, rather than a palace, for the 14-year-old Austrian princes
My best friend doesn’t know why she’s a sub
We are the first generation to have had access to truly ubiquitous porn in our formative years. Statistically, it is highly likely that most males in our generation had their first sexual experience in front of a screen, and it is highly likely that most females had their first sexual experience wit
Icon of the Week: Lizzie Jones, Captain of Oxford University Korfball Club
By the time I arrived at Freshers’ Fair they were handing out the last of the tote bags. After rushing past the stalls for the Oxford Finance Society (the bad guys), the Oxford Climate Society (the good guys), and the Oxford Sustainable Finance Society (God knows what), it was becoming clear to me
t4t
I’ve asked around about you And get the vaguest answers, It’s not enough to paint an impression. How many grooves have you memorised To blend so well into the wall? You are a mirror, an artist of conceit, The in-between of a million things, I want to peel you off the walls bump By bump [&hel
Grassroots II
this night the night to hear to let the world run through her veins through all her veins to let to let it all of it run through his veins through all the veins to hear to hear the night this night *** The poem above recounts an evening at Saint Frideswide’s Farm, [
Won in Translation
Translation is often seen as a necessary evil. It is the imperfect remedy to the embarrassing fact that we can’t speak all the languages, to be swept under the rug and forgotten about. Translation is merely the conduit that allows us to access writings that would otherwise remain mysterious to us.
“Bigfoot, I think, needs more attention”: Cowley’s Best Cocktail Bar
The shadowy shape of a poster of a creature beckons me as I pass the wooden threshold of the little cocktail bar. Is it a big bear? Or a gorilla? All wrong. It’s Bigfoot—diversifying the mythological landscape that is Cowley Road (a parrot sits on a window sill a few shops down). Charlie and Geo
Maislie and Japlicorn
You wake to my eyes staring at you in the room where you loved me. Something rolls up from the depths of my stomach and rams against my lips. I’m sick. I can only spit bile, hold you where it hurts as you pull: drag me back to June, when your kisses were sweet, […]