“You may, at some point, feel rather uncomfortable.” Laila glanced over her partner’s shoulder at the slight man pacing around the room, a slimy shudder of resentment raising the hair on her arms. Their guide for the day moved between the pairs of facing seats in gentle swoops, arms swaying just behind the pattern of... Continue Reading →
An essay in two parts: the first, written by my friend Ken, is about me. The second, written by me after he died, is about him. Anna at Four Years of Ageby Ken EllysonSpectrum, 1978 “She was a little bright wave of willfulness, so abandoned to her impulses, so white and smooth as she lay... Continue Reading →
The wind is subtle. I imagine her whisper as I stand alone in Goliad Plaza. I remember the press of her hand against my chest after we danced. We trusted each other a little more each second as people watched her spin again and again to a Tejano song whose name I wish I knew,... Continue Reading →
* Jean-Michel Othoniel's Noeud Rouge, Paragon, Singapore. Photo by author. Briefly on Orchard picking up Paul olive & pomidoro, two small croissantswith the dahl from Wadi fixing two vegetarian suppers. Up/down theescalators at Takashimaya, omitting Kinokuniya’s coloured piles, pipedmusic and antiseptic. That could be left for another day. Crossingfor Paragon, where virtue and honour immediately infused passing across thethreshold. (Wondrous dizzying all-overcoming gumption. You smile throughyour teeth.) Muji third floor, essential... Continue Reading →
It was the first really nice day of spring. You know the kind of day, the one where you want to unzip your jacket for the first time and feel the cold air upon your chest. The sort when you think maybe you won’t need the stocking cap and the gloves and the scarf and... Continue Reading →
Belief creates tradition, and when left to man, becomes superstition. Jefferson Parish, 1940 The hole in the ceiling of the camelback house shone a ray of light through the empty backroom. The house filled with laughter and fresh fried catfish on Butler Street when Beatrice called her family to dinner. They lived, separate and unequal,... Continue Reading →
By the time they pack us up again, I’m ready to move. Five years boxed, standing up in an old warehouse — it’s about time. Hey, how is that to treat a king! King of Rock that is — “Elvis in the warehouse,” the other dummies joke. But I always knew that one day I’d... Continue Reading →
