Going Down Swinging
On Chickens
'One afternoon, Seedy, my white silkie, got watermelon juice in the feathers of her head pouf (not sure if technical term), so I gave her a bath in the laundry trough. I took a photo of her after she’d been shampooed and put it on Instagram. A friend of mine, who is a farmer with hundreds of chooks, sent me a message: "Haha what are you doing??"'
dot dash
A friend is going to move for love. And we will stay in touch. And things will be different but just as important. But then the world goes on pause for a while. And I? I am guilty of holding the remote close, begging not to have the channel changed. I feel safe in staring into the picture, however glitchy it may be.
Offerings
When I was eight, my sister moved home and transformed the games room into a cave. The couch became a bed and Mum tucked her in with her old teddy bear. In my memory, my sister stayed in the cave for a hundred years. Dust spread over her skin and spiders spun her a garland of webs.
Not Your Miss or Madame: A Three-Act Meditation on Love, Opera and Friendship
Women, slaves, lower classes, and migrants, while siphoned by their masters into the lowermost foundations of Western society, 'in many ways...provide one of the richest archives of friendship practices throughout history'...Friendship proved a necessary salve for the violence of labour and unnaming, and a means of survival, solidarity, and secret-keeping. The name that your master discarded was salvaged by your friends.