Grow

She watched the news over breakfast. Overnight there had been movement over the southern continents which had led to threats of action. It was political. Images of the three leaders appeared briefly, and she could see her reflection where their dark suits spanned the screen. The steadiness of her hands reflected apathy more than resolve. She noticed she still needed to get dressed. Continue reading “Grow”

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Seasons

I

I realised that I didn’t look out of the train window anymore, even when the contest for seats subsided during the holidays, and infact my ability to recognise my location by the sway of the tracks was indeed dismal but particularly helpful. The dark mornings and evenings had long passed, and yet the risk of catching the sky- dazzling blue, pink and orange liquid- gave an unbearable transitory glimpse into something which vaguely resembled peace, so I kept typing into my computer [I’m alright. It’s the deadline for Chair’s Actions today, so naturally no-one is adhering to it and I’m fucking stressed. How are you?]. There was a passage in a book I couldn’t recall which might have helped, and I couldn’t read it again- had it ever existed at all- because I didn’t have the time, and nonetheless the book itself was on the other side of town, sandwiched between other books in a box, between other boxes stacked neatly upon each other, inside a rented room at the storage facility – a type of suspended animation I couldn’t afford to resume. There would be other passages in other books that I wouldn’t read again or at all, because of the weather, or because I was busy, or because I would be dead in the future [I hope you are well. I have compiled a short list of outstanding queries regarding the project which I hope you are able to review/answer, if it isn’t too onerous]. Continue reading “Seasons”

Revival, Ensuing

Now it is Sunday morning.

The girl has understood that time is stationary. It is experienced only as slices of moments, divisions of samples; borderlines between the needle breaking the skin and having broken the skin, between arousal beginning and ending, between being alive and being dead – all particulars of the present that do not extend or bleed between other moments, but form separate and punctually permanent pockets of time, of stationary time, immovable and irretrievable.

The line of time is a course of pre-defined actions; in recognising this the girl uniquely punctures through the fabric of time and her designated role, causing the collapse of the Universe, and creating time anew.

Now it is Sunday morning.