The SA Series

A journal detailing 12 months in South Africa

afterthought nausea

afterthought nausea left by the coffee now two days gone left by the sleep ignored for so long left by the mess of the unrighted wrong afterthought nausea.


She wears her bruises like a badge, blossoming on her vein-marbled skin. Every cut, every scab, every hard earned scratch, is a mark on her map, a sign of a win.


you gob shite you arse wipe you absolute twat. you wanker you plonker you snake and you rat. you nob head you dick head you ungrateful shit. you arsehole you skank hoe you total eegit.

Best of Them

the boy who mouthed over your perculiar judges knows better than them of your faults and takes out his iron to flatten your creases to smooth your flaws the mismatched friendship


He's prone to exaggeration, it's spreading like a contagion, with steely determination, through a sickly population, or like a lover's silent elation, during a vivid evocation,

Miss Ambition

She's an over-talker an it's-not-my-faulter a parentless daughter a truth-distorter an I-want-morer a thought-contorter a reprimand-vaulter a synus-snorter a self-doubt-aborter

Night Shift

It might seem deathly quiet lonely, empty, yet haunted still and with the grey forever of the hallway weak glow of the bathroom light the scene is set for fear.

No Man's Meat

I can't feel pain the way you do, I guess it's not in my DNA. Neither's humour, isn't that true? Or what is it that you want me to say? And you're genetically predisposed

Oil Spill

So seep in midnight oil spill, drip between the twists and turns, nooks and crannies, delicate carriageways, intricate corridoors, thought roads. Burrow deep and spread like

Road Trip

We're cutting a line below the star-spangled dome, through the dry grasslands and the forested hills. The trail we leave is not always straight and the journey we make is haltering.


touching wood

I've been touching wood a lot because of recent vivid dreams watched that dead baby's body rot the world unravel at the seams London's waiting up ahead tapping at her watch

Two Years' Time

will you be ready in two years' time, or will I still be waiting then? in 5 years, 10 years? will it end? this a game of your design. it's hopeless this imagined love


So who visited you in your childhood bed? -The old man in red or the woman with wings? Or perhaps other unearthly things. Or maybe the villains who arrived at night