A wildly unfunny joke I’m unable to stop telling:
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‘I hold the view that Australia is a more sweetly civilized country than England, but I don’t want people to think I’ve gone soft in the head.’
A wildly unfunny joke I’m unable to stop telling:
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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.
Howard Jacobson was born in Manchester in 1942. After working as a lecturer in Australia and England he became a novelist, critic, and columnist for the London Independent. His novels include The Mighty Walzer, The Making of Henry, and Kalooki Nights and The Finkler Question . His most recent novel, J , was published in 2014 and shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize. His non-fiction piece, The Weeping Pom, was published in Granta 70.
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‘Rosella and her co-creators curate an archive of pain, of endurance, of love and belonging, of alienation and disconnection.’
Nicole R. Fleetwood introduces the photography of Raphaela Rosella.
‘It’s hard to find a spot where the colony hasn’t reached; the landscape is consistently interrupted.’
Dominic Guerrera introduces artwork by James Tylor.
Winner of the Commonwealth Writers Short Story Prize for the Pacific region.
‘The moments of relief in this awful year that will stick with me are roaming around at strange hours, walking in the middle of the road.’
‘The hard thing, as Alice saw it, was that something bad had happened to her and it was private and then it wasn’t.’
‘Happiness is not a fact of this experience, at least not to the extent that one is bold enough to speak of it.’
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