The Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra, Superchi[k], Pat Benatar, Florence and the Machine, and 'Cape Verde'
'A Jazz and Blues Christmas', Izzy Bizu, Micah Bournes, Bastille, and Aaron Gillespie
With the first third of 2018 behind me, perhaps it's time to rethink Emily on the Internet.
Once, I fitted neatly like a tooth/ Perfectly part of the clean white rows/ Once, I was sturdy and sure.
“Now it passes: Another day, another stagnant pen, virgin page” - the story of a writer who feels like they aren’t.
Carcasses. That's what they were—the glass carcasses of liquid highs and reckless nights and preparation for another party. It shouldn't have been her responsibility, but Eva knew that Jack wouldn't make it his (even though it was, and she resented him for it). Her calves were still aching after ten hours of serving, sweeping, blending, … Continue reading Carcasses | Short story
Dedicated to Owen, Trish, and Auckland City Limits: "You are radiant when you dance/ Arms unfurling into ribbons of melody/ Intertwining with sound-wave vibrations."
Welcome to the shadow dome/ Who knows what you will find/ As midnight figures all parade/ Through rainbow-coloured minds?
The worst sort of dreams are the ones where you think you’re awake...
Depression feels like ankle weights. It's the perpetual fog of a head-cold, without the optimism of a quick recovery. It's lacking the energy to cry in frustration, lacking release from the emotions you can only half-feel. It's dragging your feet through the paces of routine, counting down the hours between waking and sleeping, only to fall into dreams as empty as your days. Depression is standing in the rain and only feeling wet.