‘Old age is a sustained process of injury. You are being very distinctly shot at.’
‘I don’t know if you have any idea,’ he said, ‘how your bladder works?’ He didn’t pause for a reply; he was already sketching eagerly on a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘This sort of thing,’ he said. It was the Aswan Dam, I thought: a prodigious reservoir, prodigiously contained. 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.
‘There was a red patch, and what looked like a slightly raised piece of dead skin in the centre of my chest. Just to the right of where I assumed my heart was.’
An extract from Gabriel Smith’s novel Brat.
‘Four Organs allows us to step out of time and briefly inhabit infinity.’
Maartje Scheltens on Steve Reich, repetition and discomfort.
‘This one – it’s a bit of a beast, he said.’
An extract from Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer. Shortlisted for the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award 2022.
‘Ungraceful, the heart boinks: / drugged, suspended, spiderwebbed – ’
Four poems by Katie Farris.
‘He was our younger sister’s baby – her and her husband’s baby, I guess. They were young parents and excessively chill.’
Memoir by Emma Cline.
‘I didn’t enclose a note, though there were a few things I’d have liked to say. Restraint is classier.’
