The Poem, Afraid
Some dog’s ghost
glares from the
attic window.
I know the door
to a nuclear plant
with his teeth
captioned above it:
Some mammal was
here and such.
When our youngest
walked in on us
last night,
I was coming.
She was scared
because she heard
someone crying.
I kiss the bruise
a bad dream leaves
in her head
& keep an eye
on the lonely ghost.
“A foggy day in London town
Had me low, and had me down
I view the morning with alarm
The British Museum has lost its charm…”
–––– From “A Foggy Day” recorded by Sun Ra (with the Nu Sounds), 1954
The Orange Line, Platform
Continue reading “The Orange Line: Collages by Wullae Wright”
Fragment I
The story of a screech: it rose as the last bus of the evening crossed the borders of the city to the motorway. All seventeen of us on the top deck turned our heads. Oh yes, it was perfunctory (because on a double-decker you cannot really see what’s going on behind you on the road, even less so in the dark), but the gesture had already captivated me – the meaning, the intention. By the time all heads were turned, it was clear that we had all misjudged the nature of the screech (pitch dropping, frequency decreasing as it unwrapped). This could never come from a human throat, but rather from the strained brakes of a vehicle. Continue reading “Three Fragments On The Portative Organ* by Eva Ferry”
Cybergoth Archaeology: The Seductive Datacombs of OPN’s “Age Of” by Maria Sledmere
‘Cybergothic,’ write the Ccru, in an essay titled ‘Unscreened Matrix’, ‘finds the deep past in the near future’. There is a Crypt, a shadow space that exists beneath the gleam of our cyber reality:
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