Issue 1 index

Meet the Editors & Designers


Rhys Shanahan

Rice Paper
Damon Young

Hopkins & Hallam
Note from Naomi Lebens

Before I go I have to say...
Kate Pursglove

Some Other Where
Steven Matthews

Weekend Poems: Breakfast
Eleanor Burleigh

Aged 7
Jean Watkins

Childhood & Plastic People
Zeng Chen

Street Scene
Peter Robinson

A Martian Writes
Michael Hutchinson

The Tarot Reading of The Fool

Stop Making Sense & Bla bla bla
Jenna Fox

Fringe Festival
Claire Dyer

When you have hope of life returning, this
Kate Noakes

Broadwood 7362
Gill Learner

A Drop in the Ocean
Lindsey Jones

Pitch of Ghosts
Vic Pickup

23rd February 2021
Kitty Hawkins

The Sofa
Tara Bermingham

Trophies on a Windowsill? & Still (monetizing) Life
Laura Rozamunda

Good to know perhaps, but nothing to be done
Kate Noakes

Heading Out
Michael Anania

The Threshold
David Brauner

Hannah Lily

Park Recollection
Liam Anslow-Sucevic

Rhianna Bryon

Ephemerality of the World
Salma Haque

The August Elvis Died
Gill Learner

Michael Anania

Hit Me Gently
Daisy Dickens


Stomach stumbling sick to the toilet seat, stuck between two Ukrainian philosophers chit-chattering about something incomprehensible. The queue spanned out for miles across the hills, lines of men bursting from the bowels outward, scritch-scratching their arms, blowing their nose, eager. Finally peace in, on the seat bob on a sea of atmosphere, the grumblings of a twisted sort of party-play thingy rave being acted out in the three floors of bar, below and above. Bar stools look wretched, everybody dancing like sims, the smokers is filled with the smell of horse-dung being expelled with the smoke. Home is where I want to be, the writings on the toilet walls say - Hey! That’s not your line! I know it’s not but it’s true. I guess I’m already there, no your not, there’s an argument for it, well I guess I see what you’re saying - Cmon Bruh Hurry Up! Comes on on the jukebox from outside, like the eastenders drums concluding all the inner dialogue. Fix up sharpen the belt buckle. Phlegm balls drop from the balcony, tinnies populate the basement stairs dotted like a zebra, or the other one? Who cares? Negotiate the polarity of the two banisters. Up or down? Up into the bear pit, my cigarette sits naked on my lip. Have you got a lighter mate?

︎︎︎ Previous
︎︎︎ Next