Magnificent Octopus

The dirt floor was warm and damp. The space inside the pigsty glowed brightly, then crumbled into little pieces, like a mosaic. Swallows g...

"In June of this year patient experienced an attack of vertigo, nausea, and a feeling that she was going to pass out. A thorough medic...

Nobody dies of consumption anymore. The wasting disease of frail women. The body consumes itself. Was it cured by the mass consumption ...

When companies posted open recruitment notices for the second half of the year, Jiyoung felt as though she was standing in a narrow alley cl...

The Woman is well dressed and clean, but there is a high, manic gleam in her gaze, and her bright, cheerful voice sounds false. No one is...

Everything feels off today. Yesterday was brilliant, but today is off, like I got up on the wrong side of bed today, only it's the same ...

Days are getting shorter. Like I'm running out of time for things. We're having a heatwave. The city phoned me yesterday with an...

You're not built from the soles of your feet up — it's more like your head is a "castle in the air," with scaffolding rea...

I am unable to concentrate on work this past week. I sit and stare at my laptop for hours. Not cooking or cleaning or distracting myself wit...

I, Hazel Brown, eldest daughter of a disappearing class, penniless neophyte stunned by the glamour of literature, tradeless, clueless, yet w...

Well, here was my first lesson: it had almost nothing to do with computers, the modernity I was trying to understand. Computers were the bon...

Writing, I'm convinced, is often nothing but revenge — a way of twirling one's mustache, donning buckler and sword and feathery hat...

Some days are better than others. I am walking more. It seems to me that, in my neighbourhood, vehicular traffic has increased, while foot...

You can't help but take walks in the Appenzell. If you look at the small white-framed windows and the busy, fiery flowers on the sills, ...

It's Mother's Day, quiet outside except for the wind. Delicious breakfast in bed — I'm so lucky. My mother will have to leave he...

I walk to the lodging. The key to the front door has slid inside the deadbolt. But I have no recollection of this action ever taking place...

On Agnes Martin : Making art seems to have been a kind of meditations for her: she meant her paintings as aids to contemplation — "flo...

Still in the process of becoming, the soul makes room. Here's another meditative, highly interior novel that I find difficult to write a...

Day 50. I'm getting sick of this, really today I just want to cry, I'm tired of planning breakfasts and of planning dinners and of r...

When promotional material for Cult Writers: 50 Nonconformist Novelists You Need to Know fell into my inbox, I couldn't resist comparing...