An Interview With Helena Blackmore |
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Eel: You started off in literature and you did a Masters in…
HB: I did a Masters at Queen Mary College before it was Queen Marry and Westfield. And then I went back to Middlesex where I did my first degree and started a PHD on “A Question of Literary Value”.
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Born in Somolia.by Judy Luvshing |
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As the plane took off, I felt a great relief. It was like a load off my shoulders that I had carried since childhood. In my heart there was peace. For the first time in my life I felt a sense of hope. I felt safe. I waved the land I was born in goodbye. I had no sorrow that I was leaving. I never wanted to look back.
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Letters.by Thomas Sadler |
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He wrote a letter to her. It wasn't a good letter. Scrunched in to a ball it arched through the air, ricocheted from the back of the waste paper basket and landed firmly amongst the other rubbish. It was one of those moments that make life a little lighter, but today it went unnoticed.
He thought the perfect letter,
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A Programming Errorby Thomas Sadler |
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It turns out it wasn't love. Now I think about it, when has a robot even been in love?
They said it was a programming error, I told them I didn't want to be fixed. After all, nobody is perfect, and I was reveling in my imperfection. I suppose they didn't like it affecting my work.
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by Richard Frederick Lewis |
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Out of the sea a dead fish salt sprinkled
Washes onto scratching pebbles, ash emerald,
In bewilderment at it’s dusk-blind fate.
Forgotten eyes whisper of the cliffs,
The sands, the faces just out of sight.
The shadow of its odour lingers like smoke.
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Mother Had It Coming.by Rosa Moron |
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Mother had it coming
Living in the rooms she did
Father gave it to her and
And then she had this kid
She remembers nothing
And swears I shouldn’t be
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Black Stone Partyby Rosa Moron |
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The party had been raging for quite some time. The floor was covered in cigarette buts and spilt alcohol; the stone grey sofas were splashed with a deep red stain from an entire bottle of Wolf Blass Merlot Shiraz that had been thrown against the wall and everyone
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PANDEMONIUMby Richard Frederick Lewis |
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A crowd settles like dust on a grave in the theatres week high space
Thick with its nightmare dark thrill, the voices rustle,
The bodies still. Waiting for the wasted temptation.
Sound tires, the ceiling is small as an open fist.
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legends and lessons of fear and tradition.by Leo Marques |
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I heard a story of a man that keeps good company with beasts. I heard of a wild bull that bleed for the entertainment of rational kind creatures. It was the woman inside the tree that told me the story. It went a bit something like this:
‘My child hear here from the eternal one, from the one that moves in a different sphere
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