Traumata: Bourgeois / Kusama at Sotheby’s S|2 on The Art Channel


Polka dots can’t stay alone. When we obliterate nature and our bodies with polka dots, we become part of the unity of our environments. – Yayoi Kusama

General Views Of Northern Spanish City...Pedestrians pass the "S

“She was my best friend. Like a spider, my mother was a weaver… Like spiders, my mother was very clever. Spiders are friendly presences… spiders are helpful and protective, just like my mother.” – Louise Bourgeois. The piece at the Tate was entitled Maman.

STRANGE MEDICINE BY MIKE RUSSELL #Short Stories #Weird Fiction #the morale of the story is @strangebookseye


Firstly I wish to thank Jay Snelling of STRANGE BOOKS for inviting me to read and review this book.

Strange Medicine by [Russell, Mike]


We recommend the following prescription: Strange Medicine – weird and wonderful stories for all that ails you.
Strange Medicine is a fantastic collection of extraordinary tales of transformation by UK weird-fiction author Mike Russell. If you love the strange, surreal and unusual or if you are just looking for something different, Strange Medicine is for you.


I love stories that are different, the ones that make you think outside the box, well this book is so removed from that, that is doesn’t even have a box! If you like weird or strange you will absolutely love this the bizarre concoction of 8 tales that you couldn’t even dream about. Some of the stories I found very intriguing with quite deep meanings when you really…

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The Monday Poem – Chance Varies by the Philosophical and Religious

Chance Varies by the Philosophical and Religious


A dictionary can tell us that

views of luck can be

popular and chance

appears comparatively late.

During love, this applies to a beating heart.

The mind is

out of control, with thoughts

that wishes or her luck commits the totally affected to

God its

order of the universe, in the same way that in luck has more to

do with games and the best.

Leaving it to fate.

Triskaidekaphobia has four basic principles.

This kind of behaviour shows us the


and it has been recorded as having said the following about selling luck:

involves two

Him allowing

any of us to supplicate all

else related to luck, as it is classified Good

to be created by a flower, but to be unprepared for

Robert is

a game we may call Jinx.

a Fluxus poem using chance methods. I hope you enjoyed it.

5 Female Science Fiction Authors

Here are five fantastic female science fiction authors for you! Let me know in the comments who your favourites are. Who would you put on the list?

  1. Ursula K. Le Guin. Author of novels. Short stories: The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,Nine Lives, more
  2. Octavia Butler.
    Born Octavia Estelle Butler
    June 22, 1947
    Pasadena, California, U.S.
    Died February 24, 2006 (aged 58)
    Lake Forest Park, Washington, U.S.
    Occupation Writer
    Nationality American
    Period 1970–2006
    Genre Science fiction
  3. Lois McMaster Bujold. Lois McMaster Bujold is an American speculative fiction writer. She is one of the most acclaimed writers in her field, having won the Hugo Award for best novel four times, matching Robert A. Heinlein’s record, not counting his Retro Hugo.


  4. Andre Norton andre-norton-portrait-300x257 Andre Alice Norton (born Alice Mary Norton, February 17, 1912 – March 17, 2005) was an American writer of science fiction and fantasy, who also wrote works of historical fiction and contemporary fiction. She wrote primarily under the pen name Andre Norton, but also under Andrew North and Allen Weston. She was the first woman to be Gandalf Grand Master of Fantasy, first to be SFWA Grand Master, and first inducted by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame.
  5. Nalo Hopkinson nalo_h2Nalo Hopkinson (born 20 December 1960) is a Jamaican-born Canadian speculative fiction writer and editor. She currently lives and teaches in Riverside, California.

    I hope you’ve enjoyed this little list 🙂

8 Surreal Writers

  1. Robert Desnos.

    Under Cover Of Night – Poem

    To slip into your shadow under cover of night.
    To follow your footsteps, your shadow at the window.
    That shadow at the window is you and no one else;
    it’s you.
    Do not open that window behind whose curtains you’re moving.
    Shut your eyes.
    I’d like to shut them with my lips.
    But the window opens and the breeze, the breeze
    which strangely balances flame and flag surrounds my escape
    with its cloak.
    The window opens: it’s not you.
    I knew it all along.

  2. Tristan Tzara.

    Vegetable Swallow

     two smiles meet towards
    the child-wheel of my zeal
    the bloody baggage of creatures
    made flesh in physical legends-lives
    the nimble stags storms cloud over
    rain falls under the scissors of
    the dark hairdresser-furiously
    swimming under the clashing arpeggios
    in the machine's sap grass
    grows around with sharp eyes
    here the share of our caresses
    dead and departed with the waves
    gives itself up to the judgment of time
    parted by the meridian of hairs
    non strikes in our hands
    the spices of human pleasures

    Tristan Tzara
    Tristan Tzara
  3. Mike Russell


    Oh look, it’s one of those aqua-birds! They are common here in the desert. See the large, skin sack that hangs from its throat? That is full of water. Tragically, all aqua-birds birds are completely unaware of this fact. Constantly thirsty, they fly around the desert in search of something to drink. The aqua-birds’ thirst induces hallucinations of extraordinarily beautiful and ornate birdbaths. Look, this bird has seen one now! See how it dives towards the ground. Now see as it lands and pecks at the sand, bemused, the mirage having disappeared. Now see as it takes flight again to continue its search.

    The desert is surrounded by an ocean. The nest where the aqua-birds are born is in the centre of the desert. Each aqua-bird is born with enough water in its throat-sack to sustain it for three days. An aqua-bird can survive without water for twenty days, no more, no less. It would take an aqua-bird twenty three days to fly from the centre of the desert to the ocean. The perimeter of the desert is strewn with dead aqua-birds.

    Hear the poor aqua-bird’s cries. If only it would swallow.

    Strange Medicine by Mike Russell
    Strange Medicine by Mike Russell
  4. Louis Aragon
    Louis Aragon
    Louis Aragon

    Louis Aragon
    Louis Aragon
  5. Arthur Rimbaud.

    Novel – Poem


    No one’s serious at seventeen.
    –On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
    And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
    –You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

    Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
    Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
    The wind brings sounds–the town is near–
    And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . .


    –Over there, framed by a branch
    You can see a little patch of dark blue
    Stung by a sinister star that fades
    With faint quiverings, so small and white. . .

    June nights! Seventeen!–Drink it in.
    Sap is champagne, it goes to your head. . .
    The mind wanders, you feel a kiss
    On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . .


    The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels
    –And when a young girl walks alluringly
    Through a streetlamp’s pale light, beneath the ominous shadow
    Of her father’s starched collar. . .

    Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping,
    She turns on a dime, eyes wide,
    Finding you too sweet to resist. . .
    –And cavatinas die on your lips.


    You’re in love. Off the market till August.
    You’re in love.–Your sonnets make Her laugh.
    Your friends are gone, you’re bad news.
    –Then, one night, your beloved, writes. . .!

    That night. . .you return to the blinding cafés;
    You order beer or lemonade. . .
    –No one’s serious at seventeen
    When lindens line the promenade.

  6. Daniil Kharms.

    Kalindov was standing on tiptoe and peering at me straight in the face. I found this unpleasant. I turned aside but Kalindov ran round me and was again peering at me straight in the face. I tried shielding myself from Kalindov with a newspaper. But Kalindov outwitted me: he set my newspaper alight and, when it flared up, I dropped it on the floor and Kalindov again began peering at me straight in she face. Slowly retreating, I repaired behind the cupboard and there, for a few moments, I enjoyed a break from the importunate stares of Kalindov. But my break was not prolonged: Kalindov crawled up to the cupboard on all fours and peered up at me from below. My patience ran out; I screwed up my eyes and booted Kalindov in the face. When I opened my eyes, Kalindov was standing in front of me, his mug bloodied and mouth lacerated, peering at me straight in the face as before.


  7. John Ashbery

    John Ashbery
    John Ashbery
  8. Zoltan Komor 
    Zoltan Komor
    Zoltan Komor

    Born in Debrecen, Hungary