Kategorie: Lit-Mag #26

Little Things Fortune had bestowed upon me susceptibility for fungal malaise. It begins on a limb — usually the lower leg — as a spot much like an ingrown hair or a pimple, and with any sort of blemish, I feel the irresistible urge to tamper with it. The first few days I scratch at… Hop Dac weiterlesen

Two Days Out I have to cut across the city. From inner suburb to another. I start at seven. The bus is running late, and I have half an hour to get to work. Outside the shelter, the winds rip through my uniform. I’m not listening to anything anymore. I’ve switched off. I’m going to… Shane Jesse Christmass weiterlesen

Stalking Bob Stalker Bob shuffled into our lives through the unlikely conduit of our new flatmate Jess. We interviewed a dozen or so perfectly reasonable people to move into our spare room, we settled on Jess, as she was the only person we’d made walk up the hill to our house more than once. I… Nicole Gill weiterlesen

Autumn In New York Milton Sayers lived alone in a second floor apartment in the East Village of Manhattan, before everything became high-rise. As I climbed the stairs I could hear Billie Holiday emanating from the other side of the wooden door. Autumn in New York. She sang over a piano that was only there… Lachlan Williams weiterlesen

The Cull It was quiet at first. Quiet in the deserted book shop, while the thousands of stories and their billions of words waited to see if the humans had definitely left for the night. It had happened before you see, where just as the books began to relax and ease out of their jackets,… Sally Hardy weiterlesen

The Dog-God and Me My brother Pete, who’s a ghost by the way, warned me about the people at no.22, The Smiths, but I really didn’t pay much attention. “They worship a dog-god” he told me. “Down in the basement. They’ve got an altar and a statue and every month they sacrifice a puppy to… Kami weiterlesen

The urban bestiary The old man watched the junkie returning on early morning streets; he reached for his notebook. The rare flightless bird, not content with life on the ground. He looked intently at the arms for new scabs and sores. The exotic plumage changed regularly and keeping his notes current was a constant effort.… Hayden Payne weiterlesen

Oil Spill Janet was waiting, alone at the Oil Spill. Piecing together the events of her afternoon. She had been going about her usual militant business and was just about to start internal solidarity time when she had fielded a very interesting phone call. It was an anonymous call. Definitely a man, with a husky,… Briohny Doyle weiterlesen

Bong Talk It took me some time to learn bong talk. My friends, including Doc, who I’ll talk about later, put up with me for a while. They accepted that when I was stoned off my tits, I could see faces in walls, posters, crusty coffee cups overflowing with cockroaches, and other assorted items where… Geoff Parkes weiterlesen