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He’s waiting for me. He’s just sitting there, in his car in the parking lot outside the store, biding his time.
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Once a month we’re swapping work with Canadian literary magazine PRISM to share our writers with a wider audience.
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Once a month we’re swapping posts with Canadian literary magazine PRISM to share our writers with a wider audience.
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Do know what red wine doesn’t do? Judge you for drinking red wine.
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The two of you will be in love forever. Many other couples have got it wrong, but not you. You are dynamic creatures in a world filled with weakness and uncertainty, and while many things are ambiguous the two of…
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Following on from Going With Fergus, Z. P. Heller searches for the serendipitous moment in Scotland. There were no otters in Otter Haven that afternoon, at least none we could see. Anna and I sat in a wooden bird hide…
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Once a month we’re swapping articles and interviews with Canadian magazine PRISM International to share our writers with a wider audience.
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Three stories from Patrick Lenton’s first collection of microfiction, A Man Made Entirely of Bats.
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Fiona Broom on travelling to Lebanon, ignoring government warnings and following a madman.
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We sat and listened to the rain fall. Me and Eduard nursing our whiskies. Ice disappearing, drinks turned oil spills. Eduard’s huge horse eyes blinked slow. On our seventh-storey balcony we could hear the storm wail its guts out, could…
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The topic of food has long been a lively muse for the creative mind – think sensual stimulation, social ritual, folk traditions, nourishment, and its converse, deprivation. The inaugural SecondBite Poetry Prize was an opportunity for Australian poets to muster…
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Once a month we’re swapping articles with Canadian literary mag PRISM to share our writers with a wider international audience.
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Entrepreneur of absurdities Adam Grant (Jafflechutes) shares a time-travelling story from his curiously curated blog, Eggs on Toast with Thyme. When we heard there was a blog of time travel stories sourced entirely from an anonymous online taskforce, we had…
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The final letters swapped by Oliver Mol and Katia Pase from across continents.
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Oliver Mol and Katia Pase revive the epistolary form by writing to each other – across continents.
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Oliver Mol and Katia Pase revive the epistolary form by writing to each other – across continents.
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Oliver Mol and Katia Pase revive the epistolary form by writing to each other – across continents.
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here – the bellbird’s “pip” there – overhead, a helicopter churns nostrils flowering with eucalyptus metal mimicking the ocean wash after relentless wash of cars on highway. only a few metres away a progress narrative is unfolding. on a road…
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Una Cruickshank’s satirical take on the 2013 federal election – Scout-style. The meeting convened in the Scout hall at exactly 7pm. Having made sure that all the parents had coffee, or tea, or green tea, as per whatever their preference…
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I’d been thinking about how I could fuse my music and prose writing, listening to plenty of Lou Reed and Paul Kelly and Belle & Sebastian, all of whom use spoken word in their songs.
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New spoken word and poetry from GDS contributor Tiggy Johnson, who also provides a commentary on the creative work that emerged from her research into the Earl Grey Scheme of the mid-1840s. The scheme brought young orphaned women from the Irish…
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Fiona Wright reveals the prose and the Tupperware Party behind her GDS No. 32 poem sequence, ‘Tupperware Sonnets’, in two parts. 1. Sans Souci Triptych The light fades over the small bay, the yachts bobbing on water as still and…
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It reeked of sleep. Somnopolis. It reeked of insomniac worry and disquiet, and thwarted escape. Because we are all poets or babies in the middle of the night, struggling with being. — Martin Amis, London Fields Because with a…
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GDS contributor E. Kristin Anderson provides an eerie insight into her upcoming paranormal and cryptozoology inspired chapbook, A Guide for the Practical Abductee. Static Believe me, I want to leave. Or I did once when this space in my…
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Comic artist Michael Baylis has something to say about Australian beards.
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On a bitter Sunday in November, in the middle of the second world war, my great-grandfather shut the kitchen door on his wife’s voice. Her threats sliced the air with each trudging step he took up the hill, until…
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when he finished work he saw how lovely it was to deal with the end of autumn, to walk out of the office, leave behind the all-day geometry of the red walls, the blue doors, the white plains of the…
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He real nice this one. Want you to meet him. This one he real good to me. I’m happy. Real happy. Lost six kilo. Don’t know how, why. Just woke up and me fat was gone. Seemed like that. No…
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