The Ruttledges saw Johnny resting in the shade of the alder tree at the gate,...
The Ruttledges saw Johnny resting in the shade of the alder tree at the gate, leaning heavily on the girl’s bicycle, looking exhausted after the steep climb from the lake. He did not see them though they were only a few yards away. When he straightened, passing his hand over the hair flattened acr…
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
The Ruttledges saw Johnny resting in the shade of the alder tree at the gate,...
‘They alone among all the creatures of the earth would never have to go that way.’
‘An enormous black form rose from the water. Uncle Feng told me in a low voice to run fast.’
Fiction by Can Xue, translated by Annelise Finegan.
‘The husband, when we are introduced, will already be the husband.’
