Jackson

5th of October 2008. Capitalism is teetering, tripping, reeling. At 1:25am on a Sunday morning I’m not at an anarchist punk gig. I’m awoken by a scream on TV. Samantha (12) has friends “sleeping” over. I get up, yell “for fuck’s sake, Samantha!” and go back to bed. I dream the New York Stock Exchange… Read more

What d’you reckon? Am I just another stupid woman trying to write on the train trying to transcend its lurches and rocks and sways as it makes up for its delay? I love riding on the train and the bus and waiting in the bus-station, so 70s, so grimy, with ads for trouser drycleaning on… Read more

This is not my house. Waves of patchouli oil. This aromatherapy my suffocation. What would I have? Roses and coffee and nothing and jasmine coming in the windows First published in dotdotdash Read more

I’m still dressing up. I’m in the basement drinking with the street performers The heavyweights are upstairs sampling postmodern canapes If you weren’t gone, would you be down here, or up there? You’d be out walking in the night and I’d be with you. Read more

The world is so strange and beautiful now. Something has happened to it. An eerie light flicks and glows in the gloom like a searchlight on the horizon in a Blade Runner Neuromancer smog. Bands are trying to pretend the Gulf Wars and 9/11 and Iraq never happened. The 18-year-old rock singer at the next… Read more

Wrinkled winter apple. Organic, scenty, fully ripened, gentle on the tooth and honeysweet, but nobody wants you. People don’t try senior apples. All they know are glossy new Pink Ladies, pricey, crunchy, vaguely fructosed. You’re in the bargain box, the “cooking-apple” box, good value. Read more