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'Pickles is the name of my cat and I love her very much. Pickles has soft, white fur, dappled with orange and tortoiseshell. Pickles likes to sit where you were just sitting, or in places you were just about to sit (perhaps she thinks the chairs are being pulled out for her). Pickles’s favourite toy is my pot of Blistex Lip Conditioner SPF30.'
(My Cat Pickles Endorses Voiceworks #123 themed 'Pickle'. Adalya Nash Hussein, Editorial introduction)
Contents
-
Hold : Your Sun is Arriving,
single work
essay
'It’s cliché to begin with the weather. Like the body, Billy-Ray Belcourt contends, ‘so much is won and lost there’, though in a more fictive, low-stakes kind of way: pathetic fallacy has long been the domain of white men with a bone to pick about their mothers. Still, in the wake of thick, foggy evenings that have pulled the day like a blanket over a bed that’s getting too much use, the break of cold sun on my apartment’s balcony feels aerated with the weight of possibility, a semiotic kind of lightening. I pull myself into wakefulness. Things are less burdened with history, or they exist in memorialised time in which history is allowed to pass with less of its stowed baggage.' (Introduction)
-
Still Life,
single work
short story
'There's this awareness you sometimes come to in a still life class. Let me explain. It begins workmanlike: sketch in the shapes, block in the tones and colours. After a while you switch to a smaller brush, add highlights, blemishes, the finer points. Still, it does not look quite real. So you pay closer attention to the path of the light, the violence of the shadow - the intricate dance of reflection and refraction, moving all around you, so fast as to appear still. And now your subject is not the fruit, but the dance of that light's motion - rebounding off the taut skin of a pear, swooping through the shadowed hollow of the bowl below and back up again. Suddenly even something as ordinary as an apple seems too much to articulate, too detailed and alive. But if you hadn't tried, you would have only ever seen a bowl of fruit...' (Introduction)
- La Niñai"The weather divorces us from agency / I watch", single work poetry (p. 11)
-
Dispatches from the Altar of Beauty,
single work
essay
'Daily, I watch my friends enact rituals of control and augmentation. They negotiate personae, attempting to embody the imagined desires of imagined people. I take part in similar rituals. I oscillate between veganism and vegetarianism. I obediently strip my face of its oil and drench it in a different oil, from a little bottle, like a rebirth. I online window shop for Miu Miu dregs, dresses that would make me look like a doll. I struggle to disentangle these habits and disciplinary choices; vanity, art and environmentalism become difficult to tell apart. To witness these acts of control and reorganisation is to reach for the same questions again and again. Can you worship beauty from a place of love, from some kind of divine and transcendent space? Or must it erupt from a place of punishment, disgust, self-flagellation? Is beauty a kind of surrender, or is surrender the opposite of a commitment to beauty?' (Introduction)
- Dream Translationi"The speaker of my poems manufactures joy", single work poetry (p. 20-21)
-
Misadventures of the Anaerobic Heart,
single work
short story
'A part of me is feeling nervous, so i ride around in the back of the bus for a while. My bare, dirty (oh so dirty) feet are pulled up onto the plastic seat. I birdwatch the late-night people. Where did you come from? Why did this story choose you? What does your 'about the author' page say? I wonder about them. (Please let them wonder about me.) There is a Miss Lonelyhearts looking out the window and mumbling to herself. There is a boy and a girl kissing up the front. they are both beautiful. I imagine myself as the girl. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my thigh. Wake up, you miserable freak!...' (Introduction)
- Why You No Longer Live in My Cupboardi"She put you up last summer -", single work poetry (p. 28-29)
- Simplicity in Preservationi"Narcissus drowns in the pool, and is beautiful", single work poetry (p. 32-33)
-
The Mercy of Sea Foam,
single work
short story
'Time does not exist for the island that the conquerors missed...' (Introduction)
- The Worst Word in Any Language is 'Gone', single work autobiography (p. 49-55)
- Remembering One Chemical Nighti"I bought a rock that made me think of you", single work poetry (p. 57-58)
-
Siren Bird Song,
single work
essay
'The evening breaks with song. A woman wrapped in a shawl sits at a piano, adjusts her webcam on its mantle, and begins to play. Her chords drift into digital space, a space which yields the bandwidth to hold even the deepest waves of grief. As much as language can ostracise those who do not understand, Melanie Hsu's vocalising at her piano follows a cadence all can comprehend. She sings free of words.' (Introduction)
- Where There's Wateri"It has been dusk for years", single work poetry (p. 68-69)
-
Stone Cairns,
single work
short story
When we hit Emu Plains, the sky falls open and the horizon fizzes blue. Heat reverberates across the land. The Big Smoke dissipates behind us. (Introduction)
-
Strange Lands,
single work
autobiography
'My final in-patient rehabilitation clinic was situated just a block away from the beach. Occasionally, my partner would take me to the waterside cafe early in the morning, when the light was still soft and grey and my scheduled day of therapy had yet to begin. I would try and match my jagged, imperfect breathing to the soft cadence of the tide. I imagined my heartbeat falling in sync with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean. The salted breath flooded my veins like a painkiller. I was hypnotised by the inexorable motion, the reliable inhalation and exhalation of a giant pair of lungs. I imagined the scars on my head were thin, glittering lines of salt that marked the places the tide had touched. Later, two more lines of salt would precipitate on my chest, below my reconfigured pectorals.' (Introduction)
- Encirclei"We don't go viral when something happens", single work poetry (p. 88-90)