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Reading 26: She pervades all this
My fingers are cold on the keys, it’s a cold snap, an ‘arctic freeze’. On Thursday, I bought new thermals to wear under my thin autumn dresses. I’m 26 years old now, and over three years on hormones. The longer I’m on them, the less I have to say about them. Like many other things…
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Reading 24: Frou-frou foxes in Midsummer Fires
Another season, proposing a name and distant resolution. And, like the wind, all attention. That was the opening line from John Ashbery’s poem ‘The Ivory Tower’, taken from his 1981 collection, Shadow Train. I’d been avoiding that particular collection for years, put off by its continued use of quatrains, the most hideous of poetic forms,…
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Reading 23: We need a trans Marguerite!
I went back to visit my family for a few days towards the end of May. I hadn’t been back to my home town for a while, not since Christmas, so I thought it best to spend the May half term holiday there, working from home in the daytime, and spending the evenings with my…
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Reading 22: doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound?
Once again, I’ve let several months slip away without posting anything on here. I do have good reasons, though. For one, and the main reason, is that I’d been working on finding a new flatmate on spareroom. From February until the end of March, much of my life and mental space was taken up by…
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