Creative Practice
She wears a cape of winter grey draped over her shoulders bare they call her Prim bow to dance her suitors unaware, of victims past and lovers gone regarding false identity, mounting her in cold dominion riding her absentmindedly. A path is laid with daffodils heads heavy from winter rain, would you stand tall Crowned…
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Below is a short story I began in class. It was inspired by a map of London in 1602, and written within the twenty or so minutes we had: I was strolling along at dusk with the chill of the Thames sweeping across my neck, when I saw, in my state of bleary Flaneurism, a…
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Equipped with my shiny new Reader’s Pass from the British Library, I felt the urge to go again and rummage through archives, just for the Hell of it. Something reminded me of my past. Perhaps it was all of the studying I did of the novel Rodinsky’s Room, while working on my essay. I felt compelled…
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Tumbling veil of roses, blush pink and red like apples strung together fall around her face. Sucking in smells: oxygen rich plants crave her majesty’s light, twitching whiskers in twisting bushes I revel in nature’s underbelly. Sweet nectar perfume drips down, blue sky, falls valley of a granite storm Mother’s release of her pain. Black…
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The other day I decided to do a walk for the blog post. I had been putting it off for some time, wanting to give myself ample hours to photograph and think. As I normally take a cab, I decided that this time, I would walk from school to home. This is something I have…
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Orchid in the Office 
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