In my favourite bit of woodland, where no one ever ventures, far from the hordes ascending Arthur’s Seat, a patch of wild garlic grows every year, a verdant carpet announcing its arrival with an olfactory riot. My friend and I — a friend with whom I often share these woodland
“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” — Mary Oliver A few months ago, I went to a panel discussion on liberation and experimental literature. Having recently emerged from a two year writing ordeal trying to translate the messiness of organising into words on a page that people
You, like the trees, were planted in place while the shells were falling. — Najwan Darwish, 'The Shelling Ended' I woke up to more shattering news of this latest imperialist hell. As I settle into a quiet, safe morning of caffeine and keyboard, far from the murderous herald of
news
When you’re not feeling the Lunar New Year vibe