My father’s chessboard saw many checks with many mates.

New Tim Powers excites new love for old poetry.

Bold journeys towards higher experience levels seem less desirable when the first step requires manoeuvring through creepy mist, over the bones of dead adventurers and past screaming maws.

Perhaps I shall return to my village and become a scribe.

In the future, vast walls of chocolate will be defended by homicidal redheads. Vanessa Lake is an unwitting prophet of carob ascendancy.

Hoard your wisdom before the Tongans chase you away.

I was never there but I feel like I was. Nestene Cultural Consciousness.

Occasionally a longing for a distant, less polychromatic world emerges, only to be soothed by the application of an alcohol that serves to dull the faux-nostalgia receptors of the brain.

This, however, is an image to stymie such a strategy.

This chronometer has ruined me for any other method of time-keeping. Don’t speak to me of your localised objective hours and minutes. Cubis Time is the only temporal flow I intend to keep track of from now on.

That’s my “now on”, by the way.

Where I first kissed a girl, behind the Housing Commission Estate in Bellambi, just down from the public swimming pool that was choked in sewerage and also contained a dead shark.

Her name was Kate and her friend Jamie teed it up for us.

Romance in 1992.

Superman tried to free these prehistoric legends from their corked prisons but they died and decomposed to teeny tiny fossils.