Essays Poetry Stories

The Philosophy of Ice Cream

Ice cream is very serious business. It is as serious as delight. Delight does not have much time so rather than sitting it around, it goes around playing its sound and dreaming of change and when delight shows its face, everyone becomes filled with play, dreams and joy.

Delight has no voice so when delight becomes the sun- joy sings their favourite song and dream holds everyone- it is only play that lets the feelings of itself enter the temporal world in drips and drops. They share themselves through ice cream and everything sweet.  Delight only lasts as long as a second. Delight is the feeling of sun, warming your eyes.

You can’t take it. You will burn, if you held it too close. If your retinas, know all it can hold. How can you hold a feeling that runs into heat whenever it meets anything that exists?  

The philosophy of ice cream is just this.

Photography by Nova.



Its mother’s sound,

The one that makes you

Beat yourself aloud,

Its mother’s sound,

The one that makes you scream out


It is mothers sound that makes you love in desire and flow into the deep.

It is mother’s sound that makes you cry and weep.

It is mother’s sound that makes you love in desire,

It is mother’s sound that gives blood out for hire.

It is mother’s sound that makes

Mother does not speak.

She does not breathe.

He does not call.

Mother, unbound.

Will save us all.

Poetry Uncategorized

A story from M.U.M

The time for waiting was finished. If we waited any longer then our freedom, would be left to the dust mites. Hungry creatures, with no discipline, just like us.

Now that is unfair, of course we had discipline but we had it in all the wrong places and we wanted them, yes them, to help us. They can’t help us. The next time I ask a hungry man, where the buffet is, the next time, I wait for my freedom.

She did wait- she waited until everyone was packed and ready to go. She waited till the storms of Jupiter had calmed and until earth’s moon had a new technologically driven friend. She waited until her heart, gave up and her forever spirit took over and protected of her loved ones. She waited because freedom did not exist for the individual, if it did not exist for the collective.   

AS Logo by ASTRO


We are Acceptance

My body is seen as poronrgraphic . 

My body is censored.  

My body is read as woman,

They will kill me for it. 

My body is read as black,

They will kill me for it. 

I am trans. 

They will kill me for it. 

I made of stories and hopes.

I am made of loving bones. 

I am made of truth,  

I am unknown to you. 

I am unknown to myself. 

I am prisms of light. 

I wear no disguise. 

I wear no shield. 

My armour is love.

It is how I heal.  

It is my home. 

It is my truth. 

In my body, 

I am bloom. 

I am fruit. 

I am new. 


Forbidden Fruit

I like nothing- 

Other than you. 


Your tender skin-

Peeled into a crunch. 


Savouring love. 


Your flesh ingrained with delicious desire. 


Wetting my lips

Bending my neck, 

I bite. 

Your flavour sinks into my life, 

Seizing my mind, 

With your fragrant ties

You take me over-

I beg for nothing- 

Other than you- 

Your rebirth. 

Your fruit.  




Photography by Jon Sailor 




I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to see.


I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to bleed.


I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to know.


I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to grow.


I place a seed in my hand,

Cocooning my head in the sand.


The wind pushes me away.

I fall into the tides.

Chasing the seed in the chaos of its wake.


I am not a child of pride.

No motion to follow.

No mountain to climb.

No hill to conquer. 



My mother laid me down-

                                        Taking my hand and tucking me tight.

                                            Uttering words that haunt me every night.

Do not worry child-

There are no monsters under your bed

No monsters that will chew your bones.

Only monsters that won’t accept no.

I am not a child of pride.


I am not a child,

You see.


I am a message, conceived.

I am a tradition, untold.

I am culture, with no home


Bloody hands,

sink into the ocean.


Shedding into hydrotropic weavings,





For the seed.


That held the togetherness

Of the land,

I wish to breathe.


Photography by Darius Iromlou



Confession. No1

A look into love. You and me. Thoughts of a forgiving heart on the mend.

You violated me.

Peeled me into shreds.


Turning my roots, to branches.


 My skin found ways to breathe.

Sucking on your misery.

Pleasuring your body.

Left me naked.

Pulled me from the skin.

Pulled me from past sins.

I could see,

The beast within me,

The beast of you,

You feed.

You lie.

You chain.

The pain an excuse,

to call me other names.


I cower,

Afraid to look into your eyes

To afraid to see,

How much misery loves company.


I have been thinking a lot about fear and how it alters perception. What does it mean to live in fear? How does this connect and alter our connections to other persons and how does it limit our capacity to love? I feel that if you have a large amount of fear in your body, then it is impossible to love with the depth and thoughtfulness of space and becoming. Whatever you are afraid of, will lynch and suffocate the beings you love, whether consciously or unconsciously you are limited and tied to the beliefs that you hold inside your body. What do you hold inside your body? How does it feel to breathe as you?

What does it mean for you to love the persons you are in community with? Does fear dictate your heart- loss and grief- or hope and becoming? There is no shame or right answer in this but I feel it’s the knowledge of knowing that this is what you are giving. We are here to be in love with one another and we are here to imagine new possibilities of living. This may not be possible if you believe you can imagine what another person can be. Knowing the limit of your imagination is leaving space the infiniteness of the cosmos aka your loved ones.

This year has shown us what lives beyond our control. Everything and Everyone deserves the space to breathe. To imagine as ourselves; without apology- without conditions.  If you call them home and family, trust their vision to reveal a space that gives love rather than fear. But don’t forget yourself as you do. The compass, the recognition that lives inside you may pave new paths and light new ways.


They came in the shadows. Lurking behind every happy moment and corner. They came in the shadows haunting me- turning me into a time machine of their horror, of their pain.

 I am left once again without a name.

Begging for a space to breathe.

I bend till my knees bleed.

They tell me,

Please forgive me.


Confession No1. 



I / 8/ SELF

(Read Aloud)

Voiced by Moonstar 

Written by E.V.E 



I am losing my love, the one I seek.


I am losing my love. The one I need.


The one I know.

The one I grow.


I am losing my love. The one that breathes.


I am losing my love- the one that says.


‘ It will be okay.’

‘ It will be fine.’

‘ You can fly.’

‘ You are beautiful inside.’

‘ Don’t listen to the horrors inside your M.I.N.D’

We will find beauty in a new way.

We will find beauty in a new truth.

The beauty lives in Y.O.U.

Y.O.U can’t lose this bloom.

Remember I am here with you. 


I am losing my way.

I have lost the door.

I have lost the key.


I am within the trees.

I am within the roots.

I am within you.

I can’t see.

Who will I be?

Who will survive?

This fading disguise.


I open my eyes,

to endless sky.

I see dreams.

The voices have disappeared

All that is left is M.E. 


A beast with a wondering disease.

I feed on vulnerability.

I feed on pain.

I feed on truth.

I feed on blame.

I feed on desire.

I feed on Y.O.U

I feed my roots,

With nourishing truths.

Nourishing my soil,

Nourishing my name,

I am a process of change.


Discarding. Decomposing. Disintegrating.





I break through,

To see,

Nothing but M.E. 


Beyond my chains,

There is being with freedom in its veins

Beyond my chains,

There is a being with love at its core.

Beyond my chains,

I am no more.


I am the volcanic floor.

I am the tide.

I am the changing sky. 


I am being that has learnt to fly.


I am being that has learnt to fly.


I am alive.




Photography by ndidi iroh





You feel pleasant.

Pleasantly strange.

Foreign, in all the imaginable ways,

Isolation and regret

Lace your fingertips.

You tell me you like me like this.




You like, alone.

You like to have me, to yourself.

How lucky I am.

How fortune, I am.

To have someone like you.




I like you.

The forest of you.

The danger you entail.

It smells,


Childish giggles stich my lips together.

Closed, frames create fences.

You prevail.

Climbing over me with your broad claws,

Ripping my form.

I have nothing left.



You ignore me.



I like it rough.


Fight more.


I am in submission.




It’s a game.  

Winner takes all.

I am used to this call.

I thought she was different.

I thought she could see,

I wanted it to be her and me.  

I bow to her will,

Fear used,

Like a wheel.

Rolling me into






I kiss her flesh.

Her meat is a smell, not a taste.

It reminds me of early days.

When I still sulked on her tit,

Feeding her mould.

She bends my bones,

She stands alone,

I know she is afraid,

To afraid to say,

She knows no other game.

Except pain.




Photography by Ari Richter


Eve’s Love Letter

I am not the same as you.

I look, how you imagine me too.

Am I beautiful?

Do I hold onto your words?

Do I listen?

I cling, onto every second you speak.

I am desperate for the feeling.

             Everything you breathe,

                                     falls into majesty.

I am not the same as you.


Does anything else remain?

I think this is what it means to be okay.

They sat silently at the desk.

Taking my complaint.

My neighbour is loud.

My landlord makes advances.

My friends don’t listen.

My roommates ignore me.

My lover hates me.

My boss befriends me.

        They tell me it will be okay.

                  Today is my last day.

Do I look the same as you?

Perhaps I am desperate.

Perhaps I am a pitiful pain,

That lives a particular beauty each day.

Somehow I don’t see.

                    I look into the mirror.

                                            I see a beast.  

Perhaps being the same as you,

Is being me?

Would that make me free?

Or naïve.

Photography by ndidi iroh 


Quebrar e a chance de Reconstruir

I came by the forest.

Finding stairs and long corridors,

That lived on a view.

No bodies,

Yet the sensation moved,

In different rooms.


Connection is intention,

As people are bloom.

An open door,

          With comfort as the fruit.


Unlike the tree, I am rooted in uncertainty.

My responsibility escapes, finding stones.

Creating mountains,

As bittersweet leaves, frolic away from lusty trees,

I grow my vegetables and fruits.

To find a harmony that is not artificially bloomed in societal truths,

Am I understandable to you? 


I want something I can taste,

Smell, touch and unravel.

I wonder,

       How you smile,

When you see, a mind,

               That breathes freely.

                              With no pattern to walk,

              It stalks. 


Driving a force,

Like splitting wood,

Each log a different call. 

Fuelling your form.

You find a purity that burns to keep you warm. 


I do not wish to change your heart,

You are yours.

I am mine.

I only advise,


So you can walk, a path,

You choose, with each moment

You produce.


Three words

You built a cage,

A safe.

A collection of broken pieces

I desired to seek.

    I treasured,

A pleasure.

That was never intended,

     for thee.

You amused,  


A fantasy.  


       Seeps into a vivid dream

A sickness,

     only you could remedy.


I want to please.


    I lay down,

     Take me.


    Your love bleeds.

            I hold the hardness like smoke in my lungs.


    Your past excrements are secrets,

    Tightly wrapped. 


 A dancing hollowness,

 Configures, my wings

     Beyond the cage

I helped you make.

In exhalation

I play,

   With the memory you used to take


      Our love,

               the bitter taste of chains and frames


No lock,

    No key,

Simply the possibility, you were the one;

  I would need. 


How foolish I was to believe,

   You were anything but a hollow beak,

            I had to feed.

Photography by ndidi iroh