Creativity is non-acceptance, wonder, rebellion
On my last day in Marrakech, I went to a cultural space to the south of the Medina. There was Saharan music at 7pm, and I got there just before and ordered some food. The sun was setting, so I went up to the roof and took photos. A woman was on another nearby roof... Continue Reading →
Here are a few of my own poems, written in moments of nostalgia, sadness, and anger. -Tamara Pearson A well-contained crossness she was so silencedher broken glass ragewas sandsitting as little hillsin the landscapes of her feetshe stayed a mother and wifewell after the man and children were goneunable to pronounceher needsNo one, no place,... Continue Reading →
He tells me the long story of trying to cross the border, of looking to buy a life jacket to cross the river at 4am but then changing plans at the last minute because there were gangs there extorting or kidnapping. He's been trying to cross the border for three years, and he will try... Continue Reading →
I can actually draw quite well, but I do these drawings for fun and creativity. Enjoy :)
An abstract painting by a man with lots of time was on display at the national gallery and featured in television documentaries. It was heard loud and clear by lots of people: it had the loudness of a million people clapping. A first-world man's installations were featured in textbooks and in the state library. They... Continue Reading →
Like cream in guitars Like jealousy stains Like the things that calm down hurricanes Like impotent roses Like wrinkles in the sun and goosebumps on the moon Like dreaming elephants and crying tigers Like trains without rails Like bottled meat and smurfed love Like the sound of him painting colourful skeletons Like the colour of... Continue Reading →
Venezuela. The day Florcita understood what dance was, she was waiting for a Communist Party meeting to start. Two comrades arrived in their car. They were in their eighties, and had been active for decades, including when the party was underground and repressed. The woman had had a stroke a year ago, and with help... Continue Reading →
I'm sleeping, surrounded by pillows and a warm doona. It feels like soft flowing hills. Outside, there are storms. They gather around the city like hungry seagulls. Greedy rumbles and too much water. Overflowing concrete barrios and broken stone roads and rubbish pile-ups by drains and nearby a town that will slide down the hill... Continue Reading →
resistance words 