6: choice

6: Hannah Chukwu

5/6/2017

An Introduction

‘What is your favourite key?’ - I whispered as morning song
crackled through window eyes and rested on
couples and strangers and
me and you,
or you and I
or we,
you know -
someday.
You regarded me with curiosity:
'A’ minor, I think, for it is
simple in its melancholy.’

I silently agreed, and tried to capture your face unguarded
but you stared at me with laughing eyes and
replied,
'Flying or breathing underwater?’
Startled, my answer fell -
'Breathe underwater,
I think (I knew),
for there
are secrets there
more beautiful
than we could believe’.

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6: Julieta Caldas

5/6/2017

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6: Aaron Skates

5/6/2017

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Thanks Mr. Banky

‘Help me I’m Lost’
–Come Down to
Us

Burial moves his cursor like a Ouija board
Only comes on after a night tho
When you’re spooked enough to entertain those thoughts.
…Welcome to my channel.

The age demanded a .jpeg
To keep its netrality neutral
Not simple like the just stunned gunman
…It really makes you think.

The age was ‘unrelation’
If we all remember; it’s funny
After hours scroll & I’m undecided.
…So yeah I just really like it.

Burial moves his cursor like a Ouija board
My password is a strong independent person
I’ve grown to love the code.
…Don’t forget to comment and subscribe.

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6: Beatrix Grant

5/6/2017

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CHOICE

This is a CHOICE. Yellow is a choice. This is a choice CHOICE choice.

What do we mean by the word choice? How far are we afforded to make a choice?

Let us return to week I’s word - ‘act’. Here we began with my acting as The Girl in a Yellow Puffer. How far, we may ask, was this a choice of mine or not? How far do social conditions impose this label and how far do I decide whether or not to be this.

This is a CHOICE. Yellow is a choice.

Our apparatus for this examination we shall take to be the colour yellow. So often apparatus are confined to one question, one label, one box upon which we may watch the conditions act and spread in clear block arrows.

However, a colour spreads. It grows and spreads and lives. Since a colour is a living force it is via this that we may better determine the making of a choice since we may see how the river of yellow bends and flows, meanders and merges.

We may choose to view the world through a yellow prism. I’m talking about feeling the tang of mustard yellow, the warmth of buttercup, the clarity of post-it yellow, the decaying dry cleaner’s tag, the cynicism of processed cheese...all of these tones we may apply.

If yellow contains so many varying hues, then does agency lies in our altering of intensity, our slight rotation of the colour wheel, until we have found the perfect shade to view the world through on that day, to fit our particular mood.

If we associate varying yellows with different emotions, then although we may choose our own prism, can we choose the emotions others feel about the shades of yellow that we wear, that we inspire in our speech, that we attempt to communicate.

The same emotions do not always align with the same hues. It is not a linear relationship. It is a prism, a spectrum, a refraction of light.

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6: Harri Adams

5/6/2017

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Hedgerows (II)

Having been sick upon waking and trying to stand
as the cold, white, heavy orb of the sun began
its second hand’s ticking around the rim of the sky,
I’m taking ginger steps around the Meadows with my friend
who croaks out a laugh at some brave people in a punt
moored up on the Cherwell’s bank;
like they’re stopping to refuel, he says.

Jet-planes meeting in the air to be refuelled.
At my Christian primary I believed the sun was God
incubating his flock, the hatchlings from
a serpent’s egg.
I’m on my way, growing into being pale-faced like the moon,
from ‘innocence’ to ‘experience’,
being lit by others as opposed to lighting; the yin.

With a bleary-eyed look up from my feet I notice
Canada geese picking across the blue grass
with occasional weeping notes of honking.
Soon they’ll migrate again
(as dependable as the moon’s reappearance from his tomb)
and be heard overhead, in v-formation,
black arrowheads against the sky.
My friend tells me they swap positions as they go along
when each new spearhead begins to tire
from having pushed on up to the height of the spires
the eyes reach up to as you enter the Meadows.

He says we’ll have to go punting when Trinity rolls round again;
with everything ahead we’ll have to meet to refuel ourselves
somewhere down the Cherwell where the river loops through the Meadows
or where it seems to take you towards where Summer VIIIs take place
or down past Magdalen’s Fellows’ Garden
or somewhere, elsewhere,
etc., etc., etc.

Somewhere near the end of my second year

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6: Anietie Ekanem

5/6/2017

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rupture

My lips are dry
And my eyes are itchy even
When I wash them with water they
Are blood shot. Blood
Shoots through my veins give
Me breath give me bread.
I can't see that I can
See. Sea
Water flow I, go.
Id ego

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6: Annabel Sim

5/6/2017

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6: Hannah Chukwu

6: Julieta Caldas

6: Aaron Skates

6: Beatrix Grant

6: Harri Adams

6: Anietie Ekanem

6: Annabel Sim

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