It sounds like it’s coming from above and behind me, the wretched mewling of a cat in heat. I know there’s nothing there but it could still be real. There’s been a lot of that lately, not ugly cat sounds but the blurred feeling of being indistinct in the face of reality. I’m so substantially intangible and harbour such vivid intellectual viscera, when the lines are not only faint but shimmer and shift with perspective, who knows where the truth intersects. The effort it takes to focus on the agreement is exhausting, I get so tired of hearing lies.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.