Author: Tristan
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Untitled [On connecting the dots]
When I was a small child the mysteries and potentialities of a dot to dot picture would fill my stomach with what I understood were butterflies. I favoured blue-ink pens for the task of doing a dot to dot, colouring the finished picture in with textas or pencils later maybe but treating the dots and… Read.
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On ‘Chest Open’
My short story Chest Open is now up at 3:AM Magazine. It’s a huge thrill to be published in 3:AM. I was going to use this space to write something about the story – but I just want to enjoy this one. Read.
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Some travel notes
“$22, one carton.” Cigarettes for sale on the plane. Lights are dimmed and switched off – peach sunset. Time to KL: 6:26 Distance to KL: 5,426 km Outside air temp: -18 C Altitude: 10364 m Old Indian man stares ahead at the blank screen as if there is something showing, sips wine from a plastic… Read.
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On love
Stefany Anne Golberg’s article on Waiting for Godot, and love, is worth a fistful of your private moments. You could, like Vladimir or Estragon, easily be talked into hanging yourself from a tree by the only one who could save you from it. We must escape. We cannot. We can’t go on. We do. I… Read.
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On the names of things – Part II
There was a domestic dispute in the block of flats across from mine last night. I was washing dishes when I heard screaming and fragile things breaking and grunting. It began in one of the apartments that faces mine, the balcony door open to the warm night, the argument therefore audible, and later continued in… Read.
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On the names of things
Only when writing do I wonder about the names of things. I haven’t been writing so I haven’t been wondering about the names of things. Of course I have been writing, but not the kind of writing where I wonder about the names of things. * A young man squats out of the sun as… Read.
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On Chi Vu’s Anguli Ma
Anguli Ma is a murderer. In the versions of the myth that I found online, his name is Angulimala, named as such for the garland of fingers, lopped from the hands of his victims, that he wears around his neck. The wicked man is one finger away from completing his finger-necklace when Buddha convinces him… Read.
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On the 12 best books of 2012
You don’t know me at all. Read.
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On something Eliot said – Part II
In the time since sharing my last post, I’ve read The Myth of Wu Tao-Tzu by Sven Lindqvist, a book that directly interrogates this idea of escaping into art. The story the book is named after goes as follows: Wu Tao-Tzu paints a mural on a wall. Upon completing the mural, he claps his hands… Read.
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On something Eliot said
Sometimes I feel like. Let me start over. There are moments, days, entire blocks of my waking life when I wish I could immerse myself – but unthinkingly, that is, without thinking, without being compelled to think, having to string thought-images together in logical sequences – or fall, as if off a bridge, into art.… Read.
Tristan Foster 