6th – 11th March
I've been horrendously bad at keeping this up but again I have excuses...big big race on Saturday took up all energy I had in racing and organizing and then an essay on Monday meant all creative resources were plowed solemnly into that (it was solemn, most definitely.) However, I did a bit of fiction, attempting to try an anti-narrative approach and this is it...
With flattering poses and obnoxious pouts you attempt to prove a point that has never been proven before, and need never be again. It wasn’t long before the mirror in the mars bar showed you something you didn’t like so you spat out lumps of chocolate and tried not to choke. Presently, the west wind blew hard and the pout stuck leaving you with a face like a platypus so it was impossible to eat soup, or anything remotely viscous, from a spoon and if we’d just poured it you would have choked. The silver spoon from which I ate rice pudding and custard, gloating, reflected back and you were surprised to see the bitter hag that you had become in the space of five minutes. Out of guilt and self loathing you stood on the window ledge threatening to jump, though we both knew you wouldn’t and we both knew that you’d climb back down and pour a strong gin and not-much-tonic to drink in a deep hot bath to calm your nerves.
This is just the beginning, there was more, but I couldn't decide whether it worked or not particularly.
Currently looking at Zimbabwean poets for a feature in the June Warwick Review issue... Like a guy called Chris Mlalazi a lot, and also Charles Mungoshi.