‘In Bosnia, it seemed, a deal was a deal and the Bosnian was ready to pay his rent.’
They were sitting in front of the house, Cockroft in his deckchair and Timoleon Vieta by his side. It was a warm evening in early spring, and everything was quiet except for the rustling of a packet of nuts and raisins, and Timoleon Vieta’s occasional wolfing of rejected Brazils.
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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.
‘My work tends to be about people who struggle to understand what’s going on around them. I can’t think why that would be.’
‘A twenty-five-kilo dog is too small to survive in the countryside.’
An extract from Irene Solà’s forthcoming novel, translated by Mara Faye Lethem.
‘you notice / that some of these men / are full of passionate music / while others pain your ears’
Poetry by Elvis Bego.
‘This was no longer a fight, Krishna realised. This was a point of no return.’
An excerpt from Hungry Ghosts by Kevin Jared Hosein.
‘Though I have had dogs all my life, Coco is my first real companion.’
Fatima Bhutto on grief.
‘The beauty of The Idiot lies in its opposition to closed systems.’
