One evening,

After a day of troubled decisions

I awoke to find myself transformed

Into a monstrous dream

I first felt my legs, as they twisted and turned underneath me

Splintering and sprinting

To form the purple nightflesh of my thoughts

A self-evading substrate, brimming with algae and dishwater

Spilling and swilling, as a drunken Danish waiter

My arms grew like roots above me,

And with the disorientating cradle of canopy for my head

I twisted backwards in my bed

And hung wishes

Like stalagmites, like dog teeth

Like swishing sprouting royalty, like floundering crowns foundered and unfound,

And from the caverns of my ears – distant cheers,

a flock of bicycle bells, a thumping heart attack, trees being felled, a traffic jam spreading on the besotted backside of a toasted heel, clapping towards a suicidal walrus with eels for sighs –

A screeching as my eyes melted to letters, posted themselves to minds they found better, and declared –

I was the son, and daughter of a king, and I, find it now appropriate to sing, and die

And from my ribcage, bursting blossoms, my soundless organs long forgotten, and dust playing the chorus to my rotting

My existence twisted and upturned within me, and time found itself rhyme-lessly irrelevant –

I spent 17 years watching through the grime of a window, the movements of a pink elephant

That I had mistaken for a mare

Whinnying and whistling, through the gaps between my hair

To later lose that language up the flaring nostrils, of a stranded, wrecked colossus,

Inhaling his own sand-hidden self-importance

And dissolve with resolute dissolution, stirring myself to a solution, that gave my sinful skin the resolve to revolve in revolution and disappear

And bursting wide, fear came sliding, an invertebrate with glowing eyes, carefully inspecting the holes in – what had been my thighs

The nib of night blinked, blotted and buried and I sank with unhurried acceptance beneath the oblivion of images and phantom senses

–

A pleasurable surrendering, to an unspeaking tide, that bides its time in twilight

–        

And will be banished and unspawned all the same

By the drowning mismemory of the dawn’s waking brain

Amita Murray. Speaker review.
I thoroughly enjoyed listening to this week’s speaker. I found her to be engaging, insightful and very funny. She was very animated as she read her new novel ‘Arya Winters and The Tiramisu of Death’.
Once she went onto to read the book I agreed with the production company who may making the book into a ‘tv option’, opinion that the book is like Fleabag meets Agatha Christie. She went on to explain ‘the inner turmoil of her protagonist’, that she suffers from social anxiety and in the book, she wanted to ‘tackle the problem of loneliness’. I thought this was a very relatable point to make. At some points in our life, we have all felt lonely, in spite our how much we may enjoy our own company. Whether thiscomes at a point when we are not in a romantic relationship or our friends’ lives have moved on in different directions. I liked the fact that however lonely Ayra was, Amita decided her lead character was
‘not willing to compromise on who she spent her time with’.
I also realised I had never thought about the appeal of food when it is applied to literature, she commented it has more of a ‘visual appeal’ which I am inclined to agree with. Particularly as I Love Tiramisu. The Tiramisu makes its way into the title as the lead character Arya’s profession is baking cakes. I found it remarkably interesting the way Amita described her process in relation to character’s backgrounds. She relayed she ‘did not want a detective as an actual detective in profession…. as an amateur detective, she can get away with stuff others cannot’. She relays a scene in which Arya removes
yellow tape from a crime scene and implies she then in fact tampers with the scene. I am sure you are inclined to agree we all love a character who breaks ‘the rules’. We learn Arya turns amateur sleuth as her Aunty Mira and her ex-partner Craig’s Uncle Tobias have both been murdered.
I loved the way she described her writing process, and rather than focusing on plot, she is very ‘character based’. I also really identified with the fact she makes her characters behave in ways she wishes she could. For example, Arya is ‘very forthright’. A trait that Amita ‘admires about her’, she also alluded to the fact she wishes she could be more like this in temperament. I also liked that when asked by Vonder if her writing process was ‘planned or chaotic and feral’, she admitted it was the latter. I agree writing for me is more comparable to this as you write and then realise you missed a pivotal or vital part that could add to the suspense or excitement of your story. Amita encouraged us to do writing exercises and admitted ‘writing doesn’t have to be perfect’ and to do ‘your personal best’. I was
thoroughly captivated by Amita, found her advice insightful and look forward to hopefully hearing her again in the future.

crickets send condolences / mimic the song that played / in the backseat when bedrooms / weren’t private enough / when dirt tracks stretched out / like unspeakable proverbs / as bells chimed blue-movie / melodies / averting their gaze / as we plucked / forget-me-nots with kisses / & sucked honey from the suckle / as if it were our last meal / as if the forest / would swallow us up / crippling us in tremors / of adolescent soil.

Dew moistens our clasp / your roots unknot from mine / I hear the sound of tearing / as the morning dawns red.

^{Image by Addison Williams}

I’ll call it a privilege 

To be loved so softly 

Through the sound of rain fall 

Hands intertwined 

I think I know you best of all 

And maybe I don’t know where life is taking me 

I can’t see the future

I don’t have a key 

But I’ll affirm it every morning into the mirror 

You are my darling that I’ll keep forever

I was starved of something so bright

The others got it, it never seemed right

But now there is colour 

Hues so vivid and clean 

Fall back to the arms of my lover 

And maybe I don’t know where life is taking me 

I can’t see the future

I don’t have a key 

But I’ll affirm it every morning into the mirror 

You are my darling that I’ll keep forever

And growing up I never saw myself on screen 

These were things saved for men’s magazines

So, I’ll create a story Disney failed to show

I’ll create something I thought I wouldn’t know 

And growing up I never saw myself on screen 

These were things saved for men’s magazines

This beauty didn’t seem possible 

Her beauty didn’t seem possible 

And maybe I don’t know where life is taking me 

I can’t see the future

I don’t have a key 

But I’ll affirm it every morning into the mirror 

You are my darling that I’ll keep forever

Being a teenager is hard enough. Going through supposed “phases” and styles. Figuring out who the hell we are. Some of us develop talents in the arts; some take the role of Queen Bee. Some of us never fully know how to define ourselves and stay in the shadows. But one thing that is never talked about enough is sex. Yes, S-E-X. The word practically all teenagers are afraid of exploring. Some of us find it easy to delve into, while the rest of us think it’s all a bit awkward or have no interest in it at all. Is it shameful to be curious? Of course not. This Netflix series is the show that isn’t afraid to giggle at tampons, masturbation, penis size, vagina shapes, you name it and it’s in there! Sex Ed wasn’t great in the schools I went to. My single dad had the humorous job of buying books titled ‘What’s happening to my body’ and watching me hide my face in a cushion with embarrassment as he went through the pages. The words ‘pubic hair’ would make my insides cringe.

 When I found the Netflix show Sex Education, I though it was fantastic. Why? Not only does it joke around topics we typically hide from or think of as crude, but it normalizes them. For example, the writers made a clear effort to include LGBTQ+ students and make their character journeys just as important as the main two, Otis and Maeve (even though we love them too). The show wasn’t afraid to expose topics like sexual harassment either, like Amy’s story of the bus. It sheds light on the realities of being a teenager. I was particularly touched by Adam’s story. People who act out of anger sometimes just want to be accepted. Similarly, is head-strong, independent Maeve. First appearing heartless until we learn of her drug-addicted mother and the money pressures she’s had. Otis’ best friend Eric is surrounded by a family that disapprove of his homosexuality and desire to express himself through fashion and makeup. The head teacher, Hope, puts a non-binary student down for wishing to wear baggy trousers. However, in Season 3 (without spoiling it for anyone), the students stand up for themselves. In this sense, the show is incredibly empowering to all young people of today. I am confident to say viewers can relate to more than one of the characters in the show.

With that being said, the show also touches on sad topics too. For example, when sexually awkward Otis starts dating popular Ruby. They agree to have casual sex after a house party but she starts to get deeper feelings for him. By the time she admits to loving him, Otis feels bad for not feeling the same way. In his head, it was only about the sex. The show perfectly balances comedy and tragedy. Every episode either made me laugh or cry. The show normalizes the issues we all feel ashamed about. Feeling like you don’t fit in; dealing with pressure; losing your virginity; coming out; being yourself; moving through friendships; heartbreak.

I think the writers of this show were so successful because every character that we meet has a back story and goes on a special journey. The parents, the kids, the teachers (who also have sex lives, believe it or not). Each one has a touching story that makes us realise we aren’t as alone in our problems as we think. In addition to this, every character is memorable. So, if you need a good laugh, a new fictional friend, or a relatable cry, I would recommend you watch Sex Education. Happy watching!

Having scoffed at it all my life, I accidentally discover

Transcendental meditation

At Clapham Junction Station

Sitting on a winter afternoon train

Homebound. My new ear buds

Block irritating human sound.

Delivering reggae bass guitar

Loading direct to my ear canal.

Frontal, lobal, global sound

Trembling spaces between.

Invite me to lay back and lean

Why?

When I, through all the buddhist chants

Through pitter-pattering rain on plants

Reduce stress and sleeplessness

Downloads. Deep breath, foot flex, was left

Awake.

Did it take the loud sound of sound systems

To crash me into actualised relaxation?

Moments in a cold carriage, doors wide open

When I finally stretch, the busy switch flicked

To off. I remember that other small happiness.

Take the bar reverently from my bag and sigh.

Winter sunlight caressing my eyes.

Doors beeping.

Shut.

Eyes closing.

Shut.

And I smiling, as I break transcendental

Into sweetly affordable chunks.

Bass guitar booming with chocolate.

Elemental. Mental. Transcendental. Bliss.