I was riding in a taxi between all my heroes—
flannery o’connor and pj harvey and eileen grey
and ching shih the heartless chinese pirate who held the world to ransom.
We roll down the windows to smoke and the wind flutters through
all of our dark hair like war pennants and
our cheek bones are so sharp
they cut the eyes of any one who dares to watch our fun.
After we break up, I have a miscarriage. I’m too fucking angry to tell you. At first, I was in so much pain I thought I would die. But after I pass masses and lumps of dead, bloody tissue, the storm seems to pass but I continue to bleed for weeks and months. After a while it seems to change, and turn black. One morning, I taste it. It has the texture and taste of high quality soy sauce.
I decide, this is not a good sign.
I go to the closest doctor. The receptionist’s desk is littered with small green glittery frogs and over thirty pairs of chopsticks. Both doctor and his desk are covered with very small, printed notes. These are a hybrid of health messages and fortune cookie.
ARE YOU DEPRESSED
AN APPLE A DAY
IF YOU WANT TO TAKE NARCOTICS—THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM
He speaks in a low voice and avoids eye contact during the entire consultation. I start telling him about the bleeding, the baby, and finally, that I have become a kind of biological dispenser of condiments. When I mention the soy sauce he grows angry and tells me to leave the surgery. As I’m being chased out by the doctor, the receptionist and all the waiting patients, I wonder what he has against soy sauce.
Dreams of new knowledge:
Inside the body of each chess piece is a gold plated tooth from a certain type of deceased person,
Translators (portuguese to french and italian to chinese only)
Those who have proven their courage
The only hairdresser who really ‘gets’ your hair
Chess sets not conforming to the above criteria are not true sets and are considered false flags.
I have a dream that I live in a greenhouse, but I still throw stones.
Patriarchal powers are somehow magically isolated into an entity which can be held accountable. They are forced to pay reparations for thousands of years of suffering, discrimination, slavery, rape, torture, stolen generations and dreams, pay loss, unpaid household work, physical and emotional trauma, and a shitload of fucking awful poetry. We shoot all unrepentant men into space on a giant rocket.
Dream of dream format:
I wonder why I keep writing in this dream format. There’s nothing more tedious than someone describing their dreams. Maybe I worry that if I frame all this as truth, that you’ll all think I’m a crazy bitch. Actually I’m like a blind man staring out the window watching the street. Most of my dreams are quite tedious. A recurring nightmare I have is that somehow I become fat and hideous. It makes me so uncomfortable to wake from these dreams, because I feel it betrays some kind of intense repressed fatphobia. But maybe this is a common dream amongst women, because being fat is often depicted as the worst thing a woman can be. It’s not a fear of being fat. It’s a fear that nobody will love us.
Think about this for a sec: your face is given to you by your parents. And they’re supposed to love you!
I was shopping for designer furniture with my siblings on the weekend. David wants to buy a chic cowhide rug for his new apartment. He asks me if I think this is ethically complicated, because obviously a cow had to suffer for him to have a fashionable rug. I say something along the lines of you eat meat, so I think you’ve already made your decision. After inspecting the cowhides on offer, he decides that they don’t have quite the right colour he wants. I want something like that, he says, pointing to a large reddish dog on Smith Street. We all laugh but I secretly think he is some kind of genius. How clever, to erase the distance between the present, living animal who breathes and feels, and our own selfish need to consume tasteful products.
Mum called me but I forgot to call her back.
Here is a list of spaces you can be:
Up my alley
In the hand
At a crossroads
In my wheelhouse
Climbing the ladder
Between a rock and a hard place
In a pinch
A dead end
At death’s door
Astride the grave
No man’s land
No standing zone
20,000 leagues under the sea
Lost at sea
Comin’ round the mountain when she comes
Round the twist
In a rough patch
Up shit creek
Down in history
In the good books
Back on the horse
Back to the drawing board
Between the lines
On the page
Out of one’s depth
Over the threshold
On a pedestal
The friend zone
The twilight zone
The forest for the trees
In the dog house
Don’t go chasing waterfalls
Stick to the rivers and lakes that you’re used to.
I wake from my dreams and the morning is cool and bright.
Dream that I call my mum back and she tells me everything I ever wanted to hear.
Rachel Ang is a Melbourne-based comics artist. Her comics and illustrations have been published widely, including by The Lifted Brow, Going Down Swinging, The Stella Prize and Cordite Poetry Review. She is a Wheeler Centre Hot Desk Fellow for 2018. She holds a Masters Degree in Architecture from RMIT University. Her first book, Swimsuit, will be out in November 2018.