Getting myself unstuck

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Growing yams in Tokyo

I wish I had used this site like I did last year, ideally even more so. I wish I had written in my journal even half as much as I did last year. I wish, I wish, I wish.

This year has flown by. I spent the first 6-7 months allowing my job to totally rule my life, and the last two trying to wrest it from its grasp. It makes me sad to think that there are tons of happy memories that I’ve made this year that I’ve already forgotten, or will forget in the coming few months. 2019 is a lot more worth remembering than 2018, which I’m more than happy to allow to fizzle out and fade from my mind entirely.

I spent an hour at the Tokyo Photographic Art Museum this evening. Something so small, so easily done, feels like it’s lit a fire inside me…

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Title pending

I have been an extremely neglectful blog owner, I know.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s continue. I’m going back to Melbourne, officially. I’ve already experienced the excitement of it offline, of getting my visa finally, of booking my flights, of booking my air bnb and telling everyone I should tell, that I’m off, for good this time. I’ll be back to London, of course, because I’m always back.

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The Myth of the Black Unicorn

I hadn’t grown my horn yet. The thing that would keep the wrong men away, the ones who fetishised and confused me for other-worldly creatures I didn’t know.

“Nubian Queen.”
“Ebony Goddess.”
“I’ve never been with a Black Woman before.”

I am in fact, a black woman, but not the one this white Australian man was referring to when he invaded my online dating inbox. He meant a caricature, with a large backside, full lips, something tribal and aggressive about the way I dominated as the sexual huntress he imagined me to be.

Read the full story over at Black Ballad

white boy

I wonder about it.

What I heard when you spoke to me that first time. We let our tongues loose on topics like travel and gender inequality in the workplace. You expressed scepticism over whether the latter really still exists, and I went to work trying to convince you with facts. I didn’t remember for long moments that you were a straight white male, that you had little knowledge or need for empathy towards those that didn’t look like you. The ones that carried more than your three monikers.

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Issue 7.2 Is Out Now!

My latest piece “Calling” is in the Storm Cellar Quarterly issue below – here’s an excerpt…

“I’ll see you in two years: that way agent orange won’t get any of my money.”

She chuckles over the phone, understanding and not really getting it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Illinois doesn’t crackle over the phone anymore, between there and London, where I am…

You can buy the full issue here –


The ball of his feet. Synthetic material. One toe poking out of the sheet, the other foot pressing lightly against my calf. Things feels strange all the time now. I try not to stir him. The lawyer will call in an hour but we’ll both ignore our phones. We’re having an ‘us’ day. Our last day, together. I wonder if sleeping is a waste of time. He snores softly beside me and I suppose not.

Continue reading “Bounce”