No flood as parched as this — a mere foot
or two of gilded bilge — will turf us out
from the lands of the frog and the newt
who for the best part of a century
have bided our time in the tall grass.
We’ve stood their ground and stand it still,
though our legs are cased in long green boots
and t…
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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.
No flood as parched as this — a mere foot or two of gilded bilge...
‘When my father saw an advert in the Echo / for a big house at a peppercorn rent / he rang.’
‘Words only point to experience, they can’t replace it.’
Vanessa Onwuemezi and Colin Herd discuss UFOs, relation, and the search for an inner sense of home.
‘When I was eleven I fell out of a tree. This is why I can see into the future.’
