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Lauryn Anderson
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on change.
Change is approaching. I feel the tremors of dawning beginnings and the reluctant departure of old habits in every conversation, in every message. In a week’s time, my friends and I begin to leave for university. Our web of familiarity will disperse amongst...

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Cornwall on Film // 35mm shot on a Nikon F50

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My complicated relationship with social media: why I quit, and why I continue to return
Following an aimless day of scrolling at the end of August last year, I stared at the artificial glow of my phone screen and decided to quit social media. I composed a slightly confused and unexpected message to my friends and then proceeded to deactivate I...

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A Tabula Rasa
I am highly ambivalent about this title. Currently, my life very much embodies a blank slate. A state of emptiness; one of freedom. Yet, I remain governed by my own ideas and goals, perhaps more so than ever. 3 weeks ago, I finished my International Baccala...

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Yellow.
Yellow Under my feet, the thinly-threaded leaves curl, like crackling slowly warming in the oven. My bedroom is drowned in the dappled light of drawn out days, seeping through emptying amber-veined trees and finding refuge in golden patches on my walls. At ...

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Yellow.
Yellow The colour of October clouds at 17:31; outside, the sky is jaundiced, painted with a deathly yellow tint. Yet, as the sun sinks, my walls are painted in deep golden yellow squares, the light rich and dappled from the delicate amber-veined trees outsi...

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Poetry is dead and we have killed it: my thoughts on literature and post-modernism.
  God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? ...

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I am dancing on a volcano.
My thoughts swirl inside of me like magma. I am dormant; I am in waiting. It is 10:45pm. The glare of my computer screen casts artificial light over the work before me. The humble drone of The Maccabees filters into the night air through my open window, and...

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La Palma, Isla de Canaries ~ 35mm
 

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a short story on femininity and freedom
Isabella blew out the gas-lamp by her side, and undivided darkness prevailed. The only fracture in the night sky was the ethereal gleam of white light emancipated from the moon. The indifferent silence perplexed her, and she began to reflect upon how all li...
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