The Many Colours of Snow: An Immigrant Experience
First, snow was colourless – a seemingly impossible pigment of the imagination, rising in aimless reverie as the mind remarked…
ozzie
Drip…Drop…Drip…Drop… Oswald hates the water. He hates how it drips endlessly into a puddle, growing ever larger. It drips when…
Why we shouldn’t neglect activism through art
Last week, Stormzy broke Twitter (and shook many other forms of media) when he used his platform at the Brit…
An interview with the LSE graffiti artist
I guess we first want to ask about the location. How did you choose it and why? Well, a big…
Would you like it back?
We’re left sitting In silence In confusion In frustration In this broken love Soaked in the curdled hearts we’ve shred…
Milky Way
It was perfectly nighttime. There was a sloping tangle of layers of deep green thickly weaved. Short trees and stout…
Night
The moon on the sea has polished a mirror Etched its image in dull quicksilver The cicadas sing in the…
The Ethics of Spectatorship and Violence; or, why can’t I just enjoy this play for what it is?!
My transition from humanities undergraduate student into social sciences graduate student has severely hampered my ability to feel pure emotion…
Monsoon
I fell asleep all too soon Lulled by the quietening monsoon Pattering away on the roofs A thousand pairs of…
HS2: Sixty Thousand Exhumed at St James Gardens, Euston
It startles the skin when people dare to ask it, the timeless binary that binds us: rot or burn? To…
