The Life Chronicles: I Don’t Like Cider

I don’t always choose red wine. Red wine sinks, and makes a barrel of my body. It turns my purple eyelids heavy, and my pink tongue, purple. I drink a glass in the garden and watch the cracks in the patio or the pegs on the line: the ones that are so old that opening breaks them, belonging to tenants long-gone.
Sometimes white wine wins. It is strong and acidic, demanding the drinker to stay alert. White wine matches white blossoms, which match dinner in the garden, which matches white wine. Pollen tickles the inside of the nose and bees hum upon a bed of weeds, the one littered with dead bluebells. Continue reading The Life Chronicles: I Don’t Like Cider

i just woke up from the worst night of my life. i am twenty years old. i live in a city called Riverside, another city in the west. i am not from here. i come from Africa, the eastern part of Ethiopia, if you must know. i am here for school, attending college. and last night, last night was the darkest of nights for me. i am most certain the devil visited me. it hugged, kissed and did not let me sleep until my whole self gave up to its unsolicited caress. somethings are true. fear, anxiety, devil, evil, these things are true. they are for everyone in some ways, but until they happen to you, it is easy to believe they are not true. some crazed minds made them up to scare others. because until they happen to you for real, the idea of thinking about them is fun, enjoyable, giggly. but not last night. not when my lonely room shrunk to six inches, and in the midst of gasping for breath, in the midst of my extreme exhaustion, i was still keeping a tab on my eyes not to close themselves – because i did not trust them anymore. that i would not wake up if i let them shut. that the devil, in its grotesque gaze, was waiting for me to make this mistake for a split second, so it manifests itself all over my naked body in winter – sweating in winter, in a cold room.
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Adjusting To The New Normal: Home Life

It has been nearly four weeks since the beginning of lockdown conditions. Yet it is indisputably important to become hermits of our home at this time – not everyone is invincible to the invisibility of the virus. It’s a necessary collective effort and, really, few outcomes are worse when fighting a national health issue than staying indoors. It is restricting our daily lives, yes – but at the cost of extending the lives of those most vulnerable in our society. Continue reading Adjusting To The New Normal: Home Life

Hard To Say Goodbye: Cheesy Tuesdays

Ah, Cheesy Tuesdays. How I wish I hadn’t taken you for granted. I used to scoff at any suggestion to return to the sticky tiles of the Unit 1 dance floor, with a VK in hand, pressed up against eager, sweaty freshers. “Will they ever change the playlist?” I would cry. “If I have to hear that bloody Grease mash-up one more time, I will go up to the DJ and sock him one for lack of creativity!” What a fool I look now, pining after one last predictable, old-fashioned cheesy boogie whenever ABBA plays on the radio. Hindsight is a wonderful, heart-breaking thing. Continue reading Hard To Say Goodbye: Cheesy Tuesdays

Singles’ Round-Up: ‘Just Friends’ by Max Pope

‘Just Friends’ is the first single from Max Pope’s upcoming EP, In Limbo. A fusion of jazz/pop/funk/soul, Max Pope’s sound feels fresh and interesting, with a beautifully subtle groove in all of his work. He is easily comparable with Tom Misch, but I’d say Max holds a distinct sound himself. The guitar and bass melodies in this track carry divine funk and marry perfectly with a simple but wonderfully smooth beat, producing a song perfect to walk down the street to. Max is also a super talented lyricist, with this track focusing on anxiety around change and feeling like you have a lack of control over relationships. Continue reading Singles’ Round-Up: ‘Just Friends’ by Max Pope

The Life Chronicles: The Night Train

You board several trains a night, fraught with lilac mist. Blood oranges suspended above the walkway illuminate the path. Machines that blink white churn out Morse conversations. This language, the backdrop of the otherwise blank soundscape of the night. The sky is a milky pool, dizzying to look upwards when you feel you are looking down. The platform: angular and shrouded in geometry, as the silver body of the snake arrives upon the tracks and slows to a halt. It doesn’t chug, but glides silent and serpentine. Continue reading The Life Chronicles: The Night Train