India Whitmarsh-Lewis
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Echoes
I found, in the first instance, that my time online was time well spent. A blurry selfie by a thirteen-year-old child in a blue and yellow blouse came into the world. The world at that stage being nothing more than my own family and a handful of similarly aged friends. This was good: I realised…
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‘But I’ve / not read a voice like my own like my own voice will be.’
A couple of weeks ago I attended a talk by the poet Alice Notley. She wore three masks which were gods, and she told us that humanity fell out of heaven when it discovered the texture of colour: when we no longer saw colour as transparent, when we gave colour touch, rough sensory touch, then…