The Last Table

  • Mere Significance

    16 . November . 2018 by

    a case against audience-driven authorship As someone with Autistic social disjointing, often unable to naturally communicate or thereupon maintain friendships, and who’s thus nearly lost my mind from loneliness, I have usually doubted the value of my presence. I can quite rarely tell if anyone about me genuinely enjoys my company, or if I am… Read more

  • Blue Period

    3 . February . 2018 by

    When I was young, I was born from an ‘imaginary’ world, where trees spoke, giants stood tall, and the sky glowed with the pleasant warmth of two suns. I kept to myself, spoke less than most anyone you’ve ever met, and enjoyed the company of one for most my time. Now that I’m older, I… Read more

  • Sacramento

    22 . December . 2017 by

    I know it might seem odd for me to highly identity with a film about a Central Valley, California teenage girl in high school, struggling with teenage girl issues and her turbulent mother daughter relationship, all of which fails to fit me at all. Yet I did, very much, even if I was the only single male… Read more

  • Foreign Self

    7 . July . 2017 by

    Dear Public Journal, The rows of listerine and foot creams seem utterly foreign to me. What language do the potato chips speak? I’ve been working on two other posts in conjunction with my Artist series and dissertation research, yet I found a need to write this instead, so here begins my public journal, entry one.… Read more

  • Invisible Stalkers

    13 . April . 2017 by

    The sun is out today, the birds sing, the breezes grace treetops, and I would rather sleep. One cannot control depression so much as one cannot control addiction at its worst. The two are very similar in this matter; the addict sees the men with stuffed pockets, waiting to make their acquaintance, just as the depressed… Read more

  • The Lonely Tamed fox

    7 . March . 2017 by

    My Dear, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to choose someone, to choose something. I’m the sort of person no one ever chooses; they may at first, but then, sooner or later, they move along and forgo their choice of me. Loneliness is my letter from life, for I am always the world’s… Read more

  • Winter’s England

    18 . February . 2017 by

    Darling, It’s been a while. I’m sorry. Winters, you know, are so very difficult. I visited Lewis’s grave around the very beginning of this one, a little after my last letter. Had class on the day he died, so I wound up going on his birthday instead. The train from Stratford to Oxford is about… Read more

  • Halfway out of the dark

    14 . November . 2016 by

    My darling little thing, As I hope I’ve told you, my grandpa was an amazing man, who influenced my character far more than I ever realised when he was here. I wrote a blog post (one of my first to The Last Table) shortly after he passed away, but I don’t think I had truly realised how much I took… Read more

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