All posts filed under: writing

The Weyward Sisters: Back to Black/ Collaborative Amy Winehouse Tribute

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Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective:
Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning Oh, Amy Whenever I go walking In my stilettos, I hear you talking. Dream me up a way Of swishing my hips And pursing my lips And singing your riffs So that I find beauty Like you. lois e. linkens she puts her black dress on in the dark, anxious nails red and messy in their early-morning artistry. he left the candle burning in the winter window – vanilla and cinnamon on a Sunday evening, tears and vodka on a Monday morning. last week’s relief breathes into tonight’s regrets, but the shadowy smear on the glass is all that is left of him. Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal Rummaging through black air, nauseous red nails bearing oily seas Suffocating existence with conversations, conversations with glittering nail cutters, cracked moons laughing hysterically in them Conversations of fallen boyfriends, of fallen love Fallen being the new being Aurora Phoenix/Insight From Inside She scrawls lines up the back of her fishnet stockings wiggly-lined intoxicated rebellion strutting down memory…

‘You have such a three-year pattern! Look at yourself, for god’s sake!’

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The door slams. It’s 1994, in a hot Sydney summer, when even the fat cockroaches in our slummy student house look a bit sweaty. My friend R has left the living room, but her dark mood and comment lingers. I frown back, staring down her words. Am I really a 3-year addict? Does it matter? Obviously it does to her, but I’m not feeling that distressed. The sink pipe knocks as usual while I pour myself a glass of water; is our hopeless landlord ever going to fix that? Well, it won’t matter anyway, if I move out… I’ve lived here for a while now, and it feels like time for a change… to the beach maybe, over at Bondi. How long has it been, this inner city dwelling? Nearly 3 years of hot pavements, squashed terrace houses with fragrant frangipanis, the endless hum of cars and their exhaust fumes. Before that, it was a scruffy flat in Coffs Harbour, with greasy carpets, and peeling paint on all the weatherboards and windows. Did I live …

Moon Ate the Dark Writing Prompt Challenge: Moon/Hazel Reid

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Originally posted on Brave & Reckless:
“Mum Moon ate the dark chocolate!” yelled Ash. Mum panicking, yelled back asking him did Moon actually eat it all. Ash getting more panicked told her that he did and that he’s lying on the floor moaning and that his tummy looks funny. Mum frantically getting out of the bath drips large drops all over the floor making it slippy. “Ash you’ve got to get him outside quickly”. Finding clothes she tries to get them up her tacky legs and thinks ‘yet another terrible start to the day’. “Mum he’s going to be sick” a plaintive Ash calls up to her. On reaching him she grabbed Moon and dragged him outside. He did indeed start throwing up; black vomit. She was glad that she knew he’d eaten the chocolate because it looked like blood.  Stupid dog. ?

Moon Ate the Dark Challenge: Finding/Gabrielle Griffin

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Originally posted on Brave & Reckless:
What leans a woman into her Life? Lean close to the Ache of pain or grief instead of away? Not Away into drink, sex, TV or buying. But instead Breathe hot and brave into heart ruptures, pressing pearl bones against trial and Mistakes, angled up close enough to see the Splinters as they happen. Moon was such a Woman. Tall, strong, soft, wrapped in amber and citrus oil, Kindness like a long scarf trailing from her hair. When Moon first kissed her with mint fire lips, did all the stars Stop to watch? It seemed so. She sank her black bags of Loss to Moon’s bare feet, who simply leant in, stepped over them, and Kissed her again. When they first made Love, after 2 months of crawling round her Ugly walls, Moon whispered her name over and over, calming urges to Flee outside her frozen body, with the thin blood and forever tears. For Moon, she Warmed. When they first fought, as all lovers must, firework shouts Cracked…

Thank you! Here’s cake for my 100 Followers! :~D

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Yup, I just reached that sweet baby milestone, and want to honour all of you who’ve taken the time to read even one Post. I’ve always wanted to be a ‘writer’, ever since I worked out how to make a word on a piece of paper (I remember the moment; it was of course c-a-t). I felt like I’d made magic, and sometimes still do. When I write or read something poignant or visceral, I’m so grateful for my blessed life, where I can make Art in peace and safety, with a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’m going to donate $100 today to The Indigenous Literary Foundation here in Australia, whose mission is to provide language-appropriate books and reading classes to disadvantaged Aboriginal children in remote areas. I’m also going to eat a piece of cake. If I could share it with all of you, I would. Thank you so much for your support and love, gabrielle xxxxx

Episode 7: Press ‘Pause’

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Before we go any further, are you up to date? Did you read Episode 6? Or do you need to start at Episode 1? Are you sitting comfortably? Then let’s begin. The ‘Like at First Sight’ date meeting: tick. The two hour Japanese lunch across the road that neither of us wanted to end: tick. The wandering around groovy film art exhibition, wondering if/when/who/how the first kiss: tick. The vintage clothes shopping (but each of us too shy to actually try stuff on): tick. The second-hand grimy bookshop browsing down a hardly-used art deco mall, wondering if/when/who/how the first kiss: tick. Press ‘Pause’. Now one of my readers asked me why I didn’t write ‘Love at First Sight’ in the last post Episode 6 HERE? Because it’s a cliché? Because I’m a sensible grown up 50 year old woman? Because it seems too soon? Because it can’t possibly be true? I’d say I’m a fairly loving, affectionate person; my son ‘almost17’ and I use the farewell phrase “Love you” most days for example, and at night before …

Soggy not Bloggy 

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It’s been hard being flooded. Not as hard as for folk in the 2 big towns either side of me, who have been devastated by rivers more than 11 meters over their banks. But still very stressful. Not as stressful as being bombed in the streets of Syria of course, but still pretty shit. It came up so fast. Rainfalls of between 500 & 950mm in 24hrs. An entire month’s rainfall in one dreadful night, thanks to Cyclone Debbie. I’ve had a delightful & significant blog post about Episode 7 in my online dating story drafted for days, but it felt too superficial to post it, when so many of my dear friends, neighbours, & community have been coping with up to 2.5mtrs of brown smelly muddy shitty river water through their homes. People have died, including a mother and her children. Houses have literally been swept away downstream. Business stock has been ruined, and flood insurance is incredibly expensive round here, so not many people have it; there are rumours it’s going to be …