tutankhamunexperience.com/london/
tutankhamunexperience.com/london/
A powerful dissection of what it means to go missing, exploring the human complexities behind the headlines & statistics to reveal unsettling truths about what it is to live in the shadow of absence.
blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/pro...
A powerful dissection of what it means to go missing, exploring the human complexities behind the headlines & statistics to reveal unsettling truths about what it is to live in the shadow of absence.
blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/pro...
gofund.me/dae762ed
gofund.me/dae762ed
www.nytimes.com/2024/11/15/b...
And if you don’t own…
moomin.co.uk/products/ali...
www.nytimes.com/2024/11/15/b...
And if you don’t own…
moomin.co.uk/products/ali...
library.dmu.ac.uk/specialcolle...
library.dmu.ac.uk/specialcolle...
‘I drew the water’s wings,
the windows within windows,
the water-leaves and sun-leaves’
From ‘The Dragonfly Daughter’ found in 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 by Pascale Petit
‘I drew the water’s wings,
the windows within windows,
the water-leaves and sun-leaves’
From ‘The Dragonfly Daughter’ found in 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 by Pascale Petit
‘In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.’
‘In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.’
‘So quietly did I sit, my pencil/darting its neon abdomen,/holm oaks enclosed me in an aisle./I drew the water’s wings,/the windows within windows,/the water-leaves and sun-leaves.’
From ‘The Dragonfly Daughter’ - Pascale Petit
‘So quietly did I sit, my pencil/darting its neon abdomen,/holm oaks enclosed me in an aisle./I drew the water’s wings,/the windows within windows,/the water-leaves and sun-leaves.’
From ‘The Dragonfly Daughter’ - Pascale Petit
‘Stations built of overlapping chords, where we/laid our heads on the hard wooden benches/and dreamed our own cathedrals, man woman and child.’
From ‘A Lost Patrimony’ - Peter Riley
‘Stations built of overlapping chords, where we/laid our heads on the hard wooden benches/and dreamed our own cathedrals, man woman and child.’
From ‘A Lost Patrimony’ - Peter Riley