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Burnt out conversations


An office is a collection of unfinished conversations. Have you read Calvino? A book called “If on a winter’s night a traveller …” 

Like a waitress’ cigarette, lit in a single moment of peace and rest, attempting to own 3 minutes of air, smoke and some semblance of silence, but only ever afforded a puff. 

“Nina!”, they call, or “Mindy!”, or “Clara!”, “Waitress!”, “Please!”, or even “Yo! Ay, Lady!”, and the cigarette slowly burns down. 

She always returns to find a grey, untouched line of ash.


Interrupted clerical conversations, 

like an involuntarily abandoned cigarette, 

lit by a light curiosity and an easy professional synergy


are invariably, perpetually cut off, never to be resumed, 

burnt out by idleness 

and an effervescent, delicate indifference.



Speak. Open your mouth.

I'll help. I'll pull it out of you, a rough, scratchy crinoline rope, choke you and make you gag with love, with nothing

but care, with all of my affection.

Let it out, dear. Give me frogs, your toads, your scorpions, your cockroaches, I'll watch them crawl out of the depth of your soul, covered in your blood, their callous carcasses carrying up pieces of organic matter gently torn from your insides with unforced violence, and I'll wash them and nurse them in a little cage. A glass aquarium. I'll stuff them all in together and pet the horrendous vermin. For you. All for you. 

And when I come back to you, I'll collect you, sobbing residue, you spread over our living floor in a million thin layers. I'll use a spatula to scrape the particles into spirals, assemble you inside a paper cup, yes, and keep you in the freezer. No need for you to suffer. I am here, to suspend you in your dissipated consciousness.

Your pets and I, my pets and you, us and them… we'll watch them grow white, angel white, pure ivory, milky, innocent, righteously alabastrine. We'll sap them of their power, consume their darkness, erode their intensity, deplete, assuage, drain, until your essence is drawn out of them, until they run out of air and become etiolated, pallid, sickly monsters. Purified, petrified, reformed angels.

That's how much I'll do for you. Through creamy clay, I'll shape you into a ghost of yourself, I'll incorporate you into your new existence with shards of your shattered pieces, scattered over every part of your cold body, and I'll wait for you to wake up.

I'll watch you come back to life.

I'll put beads in your eye sockets, and blow life into them with my tongue. I'll lick them to make them wet, I'll prick a hundred little holes into them to give you irises. Wake up. Time to eat. 

With a spoon, I'll feed you the feeble creatures. I've given you teeth of steel, sharpened them with your bones that you left me on the floor when you fell apart. Crunch down on these polished, debilitated, translucent inner demons I have trained for you. I am their Master, they wake only when I demand it. Don't pierce their shell too much, for you need to feel their legs moving as they struggle to slide down your throat of sensitized glazed mud. 

Open your eyes now. You are free of yourself. Purified. Let's walk together into a pale sunshine, and be each other's fodder. We shall never be hungry, and you shall never be cold. 

As for your spirit, left floating in the living room, we can leave it behind. You don't need it anymore.

This I promise you, my phosphorescent ice queen, for I've heard you beg it in your sleep. 

I am here, to leave no trace of the person you see at night, the luminous doom of which your dreams tell you in earnest. The whisperings of a black messiah. Yes, that is what’s to come.

You won't be here to see it. This, I promise.

Jes Chatwin is a writer and poet from Tbilisi, Georgia, and the US. She writes experimental poetry and prose in different languages, including English, Georgian, French, and Spanish. Her work begins with prose and short stories, and delves into poetry, especially visual, experimental, and spoken poetry. She participates in collaborative poetry writing events, and often works in series, for example, a series inspired by a fascination with the interplay between the ethereal and the tangible, blurring the lines between dream and reality. A series on recycling words, language becoming clay to mold and remold. Another of surrealist and visual experimental poems, or the latest series on writing pieces of art through art, in other words writing poetic booklets using exhibitions as inspiration.



A great gambler

For the thrill


To court danger

With the idiot


Breathtaking ideas

To plan in exile


During the winter of exception




Time and again

Livelihood of danger


At the tables he took the penniless novel

Decided to depict time as at roulette




He risked honour and in return

He was no less ready


In his art





Dostoevsky was the potential triumph of a win


And his fictions 

are essentially 

about Geneva.




And most gamble.


Dostoevsky’s novel

Began in 1867,


This to explore his friend

An absolutely wonderful person.


Brink of death


All he was he writes:

The idea is harder than that,

A risk under my pen.


Letter 330 turned out to be

The most challenging.




And no philosophical describing

I don’t think there can be anything




And no philosophical describing

I don’t think there can be anything


In a notoriously intractable project

To our will




While new to virtual conundrum

I took: Maybe

To Apollon Maykov,

Geneva, 31 December 1867

The resulting work.


Affectionate penmanship


He, his Maykov especially,

Develop in it

[12 January 1868]

One of 


Grandest and

[...] creations.





  • Classics and Introductions assist the reading narratives.

  • Inexpensive general jargon Notes interpret surprises we enjoy.

  • Editions write - We free the stories of spirit.

  • Designed teachers and readers- because pleasures advise Introduction.

  • Wordsworth reader specialists provide rather the revelations, 

  • and Appeal to students’ wide understanding for secrets..


Guessing game


Are **** **** to the commissioned
To ranging ****, to **** that would  ****

Our ***** **** than them.

In the same **** of ****

**** are inseparable from the ****

And that **** all contain ****,

**** Strongly advise ****

To **** this book

Turning to the **** ****.

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