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”


Sitting at the hospital waiting for the test results,  I can feel the building sway as its foundations swell and recede in the storm. The contents of the pale brown cup in my hands from the automatic vending machine are cold and somehow unaffected by the weather, but I am too tired to move and find somewhere to dispose of it, or even to lean over and put it down next to my feet. I keep it in my hands. It gives me something to think about. I think I’d like to die on a Sunday. It feels more conclusive.

2018 was the worst year of my life. Both grandparents on my father’s side had died, followed very swiftly by my mother, and a six year relationship with someone who deserved better than my ability to merely exist, came to an end. That was a few years ago now, and I don’t blame her. A few months later I had dated, and once more broken up with, a nice girl because I hadn’t been ready, didn’t know what a new relationship was supposed to entail, and decided that it was ultimately easier to be on my own. I have only told one person about my tests, about the small pieces of skin detaching and not being able to feel it, and about the eyes. I have never met her face to face. Continue reading “Endings”


Voyager reached the edges of the solar system and I ran my duster along the edges of the skirting board. I asked you if you would mind if I killed myself and you said you’d understand, but it didn’t quite answer the question. I wondered what the highlight of tomorrow would be, and to the whooping delight of the cleaning staff, found it to be the intoxicating scent of the marker pens. I felt like you wanted a reason, but I wasn’t sure there was one. Things just were. Unchanged. Unchangeable. The pens smelled so much almost like liquorice that I could have drawn rapidly, ceaselessly, on my tongue.

You should talk to someone about it. I lay in bed, mostly paralysed, with your hand on my arm, too delicate and clammy to be real. I felt a single tear slip from my eye, navigating between the fine hairs on my cheek, before it came to rest in the creases of my mouth. I felt the salt harden before I had strength to taste it on my tongue. I couldn’t contact the authorities, there was something too cliché about lying in the dark, crying. It was 05:00 AM before I recognised sleep would not take hold again. Continue reading “Laziness”