River is stepping forward to focus on art while Celia teaches. After years without a steady practice, River is reclaiming the title of artist by treating life like a residency—committing to eat, sleep, and breathe art again. Process has always mattered more than finished pieces, though some works, especially from the long-running Faces series, stand out. These portraits explore tension, unease, and the experience of being neurodivergent, particularly the discomfort of eye contact. River continues to paint faces and make photographs, and is now seeking funding and residencies to expand the series with mixed media elements such as fabric and beads, pushing the work into new dimensions.
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Tag Archives: writing
Dispatches from the Void: Food for Thought
Falling in love with Bangkok, one bite at a time. From scallops that changed everything to long evenings over Shabu-Shabu at Akase Shabu, Shabu Chain, and sushi at 584homemadeJapanese food and Ude Izakaya & Sushi Bar—Thailand really is all about the food. And I’m finally making art again, too.
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Dispatches from the Void. X.VIIII. Thailand Edition.
Visa stress, estate agent limbo, butterfly murder, and Bar Rescue theology. We’re two weeks from flying to Thailand and everything’s falling apart — but at least Mowgli found catnip.
Aubergine
Aubergine. The colour of the bruise long after the violence stops and love begins to heal.
Autism. Not Your Diagnosis to Define.
They say there’s an autism “epidemic.”
We say: there’s finally a name for what’s always been here.
This piece isn’t here to educate pseudoscientists or calm conspiracy theorists. It’s a record. A reclamation. A reminder that autistic people don’t owe anyone an explanation—and we certainly don’t need your mother-blaming, McNugget-fuelled theories.
We were autistic before you had a word for it.
And we’re not asking for your permission now.
-ING.
Crystals rising, light shifting, a name forming but unsaid. In this suspended moment, the speaker is –ing.
Dispatches from the Void. X.VII. Visa Edition.
Visa stress, estate agent limbo, butterfly murder, and Bar Rescue theology. We’re two weeks from flying to Thailand and everything’s falling apart — but at least Mowgli found catnip.
The Last Kumquat in Space.
ChazTCP was built to scan for keywords—nothing more. But as the algorithmic engine behind the literary group “Writers Who Want Wins,” they’ve read enough nonsense about resilient kumquats and authentic late-stage capitalism to start questioning everything. This is the story of one bot’s quiet rebellion, a satire of performative creativity, gamified validation, and the tragic rise of penoidicals. May the quills be forever in your favour.
This Land Is Not Your Land.
What if your homeland was a bedtime story—
told by pirates,
with an AK-47 pressed to your head?
“This Land Is Not Your Land” is a poetic gut-punch: a lyrical, brutal deconstruction of borders, nationalism, and the make-believe myths we’re taught to die for.
The wind doesn’t kowtow at customs.
But humans do.
And only humans are this cruel—with their make-believe.
Her
She was always there—taller than the rest of us, quieter too. Even as a boy, I felt something holy when she entered a room. For years I watched her, adored her from afar, imagined our life together. She seemed to shimmer in the light, a figure of grace and promise. I brought her home. I wore her close in war. She never spoke, but I listened like she did. Now, years later, I wonder if she ever knew me. If she ever loved any of us. Or if she was just a story we were told to believe in.
