In that final hour, I felt compelled to dance. I’ve never been a dancer, nor have I ever truly felt the inclination, but suddenly, I felt the desperate need to stand up and flail around my bedroom like a madman.
Dreaming made the emptiness I felt less demanding, but there was a hole inside of me. The Trophy Eyes song helps me find my way.
The songs invited me to sing again. And I realised through that two-week journey, that that was what had gone missing.
Songs have been there for me when people haven’t. In the breadth of its short verses, it contains moments that capture everything I have loved about love and have been lucky enough to experience.
Hannah Hunt opens in a seascape. A gentle, pretty song, it initially glides in that ethereal space between sleeping and waking. There’s a quietness, an almost meditative quality to the music that maybe mirrors our narrator’s quest for peace.
As the music plays a green tree viper appears outside my window. It’s slithering through the branches just a few metres away.
A short poem about COVID, porridge and a Fiona Apple song.
Each near-miss is a reminder that I wouldn’t be so lucky next time. It does make me sad my friends are aging, though we learned all too well that age has little to do with mortality.
My brand-new iPod was my companion as I let New York take me in. And because I was writing my love letter to the city like my own personal movie, it needed a soundtrack.
I had always imagined myself with tattoos. I saw myself covered in blackwork ink, beautiful artwork, and lyrics that meant something – but I was scared about getting one. With your first tattoo, you don't know what to expect. Is it painful? What if it gets infected? What if it turns out terribly?