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The archive is a separate site formed from all the posts from that original Ink Sweat & Tears website, it consists of everything we have published up to the end of 2019.

Recent posts

Ilse Pedler

      Jed of the Dodgems My brother said you can’t make a mountain out of a sow’s arse and at sixteen he ran away to join the fair; changed his name from Gordon to Jed of the Dodgems, grew his hair, slicked it back with Brylcreem perfected the art of...

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Melanie Branton

      my brilliant boyfriend told me you’re not very intelligent, you only got good grades because you’re a conformist that’s the text we had to learn, boys are vowels girls are consonants, boundaries, sheepdogs, only there to hold the vowels together,...

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Kate Rigby

      Hyperhidrosis     ephemeral tides of a faulty sweat-tap bits of rubbish wastepaper with lives of their own to form a gallery accidental sculptures accidental shapes escape plop and drop to land celebrating moisture drop from crevices or...

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Kenneth Pobo

      Mrs. Panterluck says she doesn’t know why she keeps dis- appearing.  One minute she’s in a mall walking over to a perfume kiosk and the next she’s gone.  It’s like she misplaces her skin.  Wherever she is, she retains a brain, though Mr....

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Ruth Aylett

      Graphic Designs He arrives in a pixellated taxi so low-res he could be any of the men who’d tried to resize her round the axis of their doubts. Her fractal word within a word within a word, too small for her own resolution, plinks into the glass...

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Caleb Parkin

      Queertopia (Working Title) i dreamt it once     but i dream a lot of things     not all of them printable     but this was some kind of culty shit well      no        the good bits of a cult     if you can say cults have    redeeming features i...

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Philip Dunkerley

      Good Neighbour Irecê, Brazil An entrepreneur, he ran a butcher’s stall in the market. So you could see the meat he’d waft the flies away with his hand. We rented a house from him; he showed us the covered tank in the yard - that’s where the truck...

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Steve Griffiths

      Your artificial light gave out Your garden has no security, just the electronic sensor that whispers in husky unpredictable clicks that accompany the moths feeding in the darkness. To your mind, to my mind the world of the moths will be...

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David Punter

      Neighbourhood News Hi, I’m Bill. I’ve just moved in to that little house on New Street (you know the one, it’s been covered in graffiti for God knows how long). I’ve got six dogs and a dead rabbit which I keep in the fridge as well as lots of...

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Gurpreet Bharya

      Imagining myself as a bitter, old woman   Here I am as old as you said I would grow altogether alone drinking tea curled up with a gossip of stars and the milky thaw of the moon – the thrum of the air still thrums in me as the flowers fold in...

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Louise Mather

      Afflictions   I swallow the seams of the moon – they have always riddled me, if I lay on a stage of feathers I would still feel the underneath of dark atoms, afflictions you pull from the bridge only when god has given you to the water....

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Jon Miller

      Shadows night blinds the forest tracks pins itself to pine needles antennae frisk its long coat and small foxes learn their trade each leaf sleeps ponds close their one eye woods are busy in their dark diaries as all the shadows unbuckle slip...

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Simon Maddrell

      There is a paradox of the irresistible that wonders what happens when it meets the immovable. * A man tried to sell a shield & a spear his marketing spiel had such a fatal flaw it triggered a Chinese word for contradiction. * There was a fox...

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 Zoë Green

      The Way North After Paul Flora’s Der Weg nach Norden II The way north is a savage smile that zig-zags the whole length of the page of ice. You pause on the lip of its jaw above dumb unspeakable black. Across the void you dream the flickering...

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Helen Ivory on April Fool’s Day

      The Fool I am the man you see on a ladder square centre of a field on your morning commute. The rake in my hands clears a patch in the clouds for a clutch of sunflower seeds. Next time you look up from your paper a pother of songbirds have tatted...

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Rizwan Akhtar

      Demands   now a surreal residue lives on your hair you play with in a corridor checking out light fading smiles a verisimilitude of close hands evenings spent on waiting chairs creaked but that decibel silence torn by a stubborn bird outside...

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Michael Bartholomew-Biggs

      Break-out Session “I’ll stay here with the strawberries,” he said. He still supposed such droll remarks displayed his youthful eccentricity. The fruit in question, surplus to the buffet lunch, was resting, moist and fragrant, in a bowl, alongside...

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