​       Harriette tinkered away at the keys on her keyboard. She had been studying for months, almost obsessively. She had studied the pages relentlessly. She knew where to put her hands, how to determine a note from the style of the symbol and the line it was on, and which finger should play the note. She researched the best place to sit in relation to the keyboard, how far away her limbs should be and what angle was the best for her forearms. It was so complicated but she had stayed determined. Right now, she was concentrating so hard that the middle of her forehead crinkled up like a Shar pei, her lips pursed tight to one side and her teeth clenched together as if superglued shut.

C C C, next ones a G, A A, another G, two Es, two Ds, a C. She sang the notes in her head as she played them.

She tried the whole thing altogether once more: CCC G AA G EE DD C.

Harriette was stunned. She had mastered it. Perfect practise and slow progress had led to this moment, and she was in awe of herself. She had put everything together; the reading of the notes, the positioning of her fingers, and the rhythm of the tune all at the same time. Harriette’s musicality knew no bounds, she felt.

A vision of herself, centre stage in the Sydney Opera house, emerged. Harriette could see the silhouette of herself sat at a grand piano, spotlight shining down on her. She was wearing a glittering black dress and her hair fell in marcel waves. Her eyes closed in sheer abandonment of everything but the music and the emotion of the music her own slender fingers were creating. She played faster and faster and her sleek hair began to fall out of place. Harriette’s hands raced up and down the piano at such a speed they were a blur, and the keys bounced back up again immediately, ready to take another pounding. They were her minions. It was as if Beethoven was reincarnate in her, and the final note was the most dramatic. She stood up from the piano and the crowd screamed in adoration. They threw roses and teddies and underwear. One person tried to climb on stage with her but her entourage stopped them.

As her daydream reached full fruition, Harriette’s mother burst through the door. Her face looked red from exasperation. As Harriette came out of her reverie she realised she was drooling, and she quickly wiped away her saliva and waited for her mother to speak.

“If I hear you play Old MacDonald one more time on that fucking keyboard I am switching the electric off!”.



How can I slow down time?

Or at least, my perception of it

It’s running out, am i still in my prime?

In the grand scheme of things I am a whit

Novelty is to prolong time for a while

It stretches our awareness of the concept

Pay attention and time will feel immobile

That is, until you become adept

A human and subjective experience

Unplug and watch the hours slow down

Run faster and faster you will notice the difference

Stop and listen to the heart pound

The Smell of Sleep

The smell of sleep is so potent

Like stale air, but sweet

Reminds me of a groan or grunt

Or a muffled, crumpled bedsheet.

Bodily sweats mingle together

With lotions and potions and shampoo

Hair sticks to duck and goose feather

Faces covered in eye goo.

I think I like it it has a mood

It seems to be very natural

It is kind of musty like a piece of wood

And I think the smell is peaceful.

With clean sheets it’s more pleasing

Both slightly stuffy and sightly floral

Sleep smells like heavy breathing

and sometimes deeds immoral.

Hot breath and warm skin

It’s so hard to define

Scrunched up flowery linen

And sometimes sunshine.

Stream of consciousness

Should I write down all my jumbled thoughts?

Get It all down on paper?

Like a long scary stream of consciousness

Then cut it all up and put it in order?

Would it help me start to feel less afraid?

Would it feel like transferring a file

From inside my head to the open paper 

So it’s no longer blocking up space?


Words Meaning

Life Spring

Coil Snake

Slither Cake

Flour Dough

Money Time

Space Stars

Twinkle Nursery

Toddler Child

Innocence Guilt

Crime War

Fear Phobia

Spiders Legs

Sexy Sensual

Passion Love

Heart Organ

Piano Music

Art Culture

Diversity Equality

All None

Nothing Everything

Always Never

Ending Beginning