A.Journal

Checks

291 checks

Medium

Profile. Clear view.

Medium

On his finger, a wedding ring.

Medium

Her cigarette dirties the table. She winces, tries to reach for a dishcloth, gives up.

Medium

Eyes sore. Vice grip in skull... Gonna get squished...

Medium

Ahahaha. Says you fucked it.

Medium

From the room next door, the sound of the television warps and slows ever so slightly.

Medium

The air in the tram is stifling, charged, near flammable.

Medium

Death wouldn't smell this bad. Burning hair, burning metal. Burning flesh.

Medium

The red hole hisses beneath your hands.

Medium

His cheek is rough with stubble.

Medium

The red hole hisses beneath your hands.

Medium

Her cheek is soft against your fingers.

Medium

One of Tesoro's cards.

Medium

The overhead lights cast a sickly green colour across the brown paper.

Medium

One of his pockets does seem heavy.

Medium

The camera aperture whirrs as it zooms in on the oversized pill bottle.

Medium

His upper lip inclines to the right as he speaks. His canine is chipped.

Medium

Portofiro's sprawl flashes briefly across his six-fold lenses as he sneers at the city below.

Medium

The antennae extend tens of metres into the void, their length dwarfing the satellite's.

Medium

Written over months, if not years, given the different pen colours and how the inks faded. This is something Straniak returned to.

Medium

Sun-facing panels glimmer like the frost-touched carapace of a great insect.

Medium

Signals unfurl around you. An ocean of drifting voices and prayers lost amid the electromagnetic spectrum.

Medium

High pressure tries to expand from the direction of the Eastern Republics, but low pressure from the Noscorrentes region will continue to compete. Conditions likely to remain unsettled throughout the week, seek comfort in the familiar.

Medium

Had you been standing a couple metres farther away, you wouldn't have registered movement.

Medium

Rain from sky-smeared cloud pools in the cracked pavement.

Medium

Somewhere nearby, a stray creature grunts as it tousles through long-discarded things.

Medium

It's been scrubbed clean more than once, to banish graffiti, paste, grime.

Medium

Dust gathers on everything. This place has been preserved exactly as it was once left -- months or even years ago.

Medium

Her smile cracks the skin of her lower lip.

Medium

She pants slightly from the effort of extended speech.

Medium

She whispers 'sorry' to the machine.

Medium

Ahead of you -- there.

Medium

Once you're done with the sections here, you'll want to go through those big, unsorted piles too. Could be something premium in there.

Medium

Images aren't enough. You need to get hands-on -- rolling around, biting, giggling.

Medium

Feel for the most expensive magazine.

Medium

The faintly sweet smell of old paper, tinged with an unpleasant hint of mildew.

Medium

A pained intensity in his lowered voice that strains his vocal chords.

Medium

Shortness of breath. Pale, sweaty complexion. Nosebleeds. Symptoms of hypertension.

Medium

You throb at her words. Your heart dances, your nipples ache.

Medium

For a second, you see a third eyehole open in his bag. But then it goes.

Medium

Blood drips from his mouth to his eye.

Medium

You can almost hear the phone ringing throughout Bagman's studio, reverberating off the empty plastic cups and audio equipment.

Medium

The dishes she hands you are hot, clean, and faintly lemon scented.

Medium

Your heart flutters, races. This is scary -- awesome!

Medium

You can still feel hard edges against you, even as your mind splits into pieces.

Medium

A steady crowd noise drifts over from that direction.

Medium

Smells like rubber bands, hardly vegetal. It is also very obviously dry.

Medium

Astounding. Must've been harvested just a few days ago.

Medium

No cologne this time -- only a faint, metallic scent.

Medium

A mild, yet regrettably symmetrical case of double-strabismus.