by Dave McGowan
I step out of the front door onto Endell Street and look up; the sky is the colour of old off-white underpants and the trees, which have shed all but a few yellow leaves are festooned with their curious carob-like pods. A white van driver fails to slow down in time and there is a bang and a loud scraping sound as his sump hits the speed ramp. I turn left and left again onto Short’s Gardens.
by Orlando Harrison
I’ve been thrown out of a lot of parties during my career in the entertainment industry.
I’ve been ejected from Beck’s aftershow party for asking him to breakdance in an impudent way.
I’ve been frozen out by pagan industrialists Coil for not being gay enough.
And I was thrown out of post-punk Diva Danielle Dax’s house twice, once for raiding her bedroom closet and dancing around in one of her designer dresses, and again two years later for attempting sex with her hoover.
But my most historically significant exclusion occurred at Reading Festival in 1998.
This was the occasion on which I was ejected from Alex James’s hotel room for being racist.
by James B.L. Hollands
I live in fear of houses
Pupating, overcrowded
Alchemy of imploding stars
Drying shadows into drowning mirrors
Butterflies into caterpillars
by Gary Smillie
He’s late in,
But no one’s up waiting.
He lives alone now
So being late in
Loses meaning.
by Zara Skumshot
A Masterclass in Job Avoidance.
by Marianne Hyatt
A sceptic take on the septic tanks.
by Julia Bell
Unhappy Clappy, Llangeler Sunday, French Exchange, Martha, Lot’s Wife.
by Malcolm Bennett
Stitch that, La.
by Zelda Rhiando
An excerpt from Caposcripti – Winner of the 2012 Kidwelly eBook Award.
With time the Photographer has been able to refine his methods, so that the ceremony allows him to distil a much purer language from the subject than was previously possible, thus increasing the power that he gained from the ritualistic tattooing, subsequent decapitation and final reduction of the subject’s head.
by James Hollands
Would you like a sweetie, sir?
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