#Scurf159: kaleidoscopic kolkata
this time in the city of relationships and friendships
#Scurf158: Who's an all-time chaotic, poetic mess?
I wonder if all terrible people who are equally terrible writers have to endure these caustic insults in their private lives.
#Scurf157: Sentence thoughts 💀
On tweeting sentences that stand suspended in nether (forever)
#Scurf156: In between places
Ways of describing one's (meta)physical presence
#Scurf155: Me? A good-for-nothing
Wanking on about being a pile of leftovers
#Scurf154: Dazed and confused in Frankfurt
A language known yet unknown
#scurf153: A photoessay on a photoessay
Notes on Kyle Chayka's New Yorker essay on In the Mood for Love
#Scurf151: Writer in the dark 🌃
Lorde fixations 🍂 🤎
#Scurf150: Brown noise
A poem which is also a 😱
#Scurf149: My writing was changing with age, and I kept notes**
Allowing writing and thinking to exist, even foment, like mildew in an otherwise drab life
#Scurf148: We Are All Animals at Night
How RARKPK is the cure to many modern-day big city malaises
#Scurf147: Un petit chaos
I write about a July week of restlessness, anxiety and sickness that ruined my life
#Scurf146: There is nothing but then
How you sift through stilling silences and find something to hold on to
#Scurf145: Moviegoing as a formative indulgence
On going to the movies with friends and suchlikes as a nerdy teenager and then some
#Scurf144: Of sick weekends and sweet smelling Pasoori
Routine is good but also bad and madly musical all the same
#Scurf143: Waylaid scribbles, unscrupulous thoughts, parsimonious mulch
Notes
#Scurf142: journeys
a chonky clutch of wordy nothings
#scurf141: Greeting cards, wordy words, jibber jabber
The meaning of these silly things that seem to be holding a lot of me together
#Scurf140: Does the visual memory hold?
Some thoughts on the urge to photograph, and what gets lost in translation
#Scurf139: Carpets as Portals; or The Stories Rugs Tell
Assailed by menstrual melancholy, I ponder over the power of carpets and the stories they tell
