Tag Archives: Vernacularisms

Guest Post: ‘Judith’ by Eunice Yeats.

Judith, he goes to me, don’t be gettin’ up on that stepladder for you’ll fall and crack your skull. That’s Victor, my husband. Victor was married before. First wife died in 1986 and Victor never left their house for two … Continue reading

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Thought for the day

Sometimes you just want somebody to make you a cup of tea.

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The Appointment

Who the fuck is Jerome? No idea. No matter how deep I scrabble around in the usually-fertile soil of my memory, there is nothing there. I don’t recall meeting anyone called Jerome. Ever. But there it is: a reminder on … Continue reading

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Waking

That moment between sleep and the coming day, when nothing else matters – just being; The unblemished intimacy of soft skin; blissful union of mind and body. Innocent as childer we are perfect.

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Guest post: ‘sometimes’, by Martin McKenna

sometimes when the traffic weakens you feel you could have the run of the city in memorium. when there were no capitalisations, only silent confetti   and these light needles back through these shut blinds seam all the day mine. … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘from a kitchen on ravenhill’, by Martin McKenna.

as rain sloshed everything else, you in my gut, again. i try to think about outside,   again. buck chopping board smile, the sag of my knives give away the other side. spear through to   blot bottle of wine … Continue reading

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No Laughing Matter

Nobody knew where it came from, or how it spread so far, so quickly. It appeared on three continents in the course of one day; a mark on the calendar that became portentously known as Day 1. It was soon … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘A Genius’ by Colin Dardis.

It is 2:30am when Graham spies me from across the road. Uh-oh. I said goodnight to Graham about an hour and a half ago so I could go and finish the night off in the gambling parlour, and now I … Continue reading

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Today’s Existentialist Rant

Driving back up the road after dropping my daughter off at school, I notice a middle-aged woman wrangling a blue wheelie bin into position outside her back gate. She looks miserable, the corners of her mouth turned down into a substantial, world-hating … Continue reading

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Cars, Ormeau Road, Part 2.

Black Maserati, revving; stuck in traffic.  

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