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For today, if you like, I’ll be a girl. I’ll have two hands for you, and, let me see, I’ll have brown hair, long hair that isn’t brushed and flicks into my eyes unless I hold my head to the side. If it makes you happy then I’ll be seventeen years old. I will wear icewashed jeans; I’ll carry a windproof lighter, which I stole. I’ll even have a name if you want. Why not call me Sarah. I’m not changing my eyes though; I’m keeping those.

Yesterday, and the day before that, I was a magpie, turning on thermals like a black and white kite in air. My mind was small and sharp as a craftknife tip, and red. When I spread my feathers, I could scribble poems in the air, so clever and so sad that the people in the market didn’t know that I was there. Before you made me sit and talk to you, before these pills, I was nothing but a pair of wings in the sky.

Before today I was quick as silver, and I knew the secret things that hide among the city’s pieces. When I was a bird, I was cunning and magic, and a mystery to the world. Before you gave me a blanket to wear, I was narrow like a dart; I could throw myself at people’s heads, and spin away at the very last moment and vanish.

From the top of the town hall clock, the world is flat and hardly there. The sky is a landscape, huge, invisible, made of light and music, with great empty cathedrals and mountain ranges. I knocked my head on an outcrop of nothing, smacked against the gusting morning, and I fell. If you want, we can pretend that I’m a girl, just until my wings are mended.

from Padricka Tarrant, March 2008




'Boeing 777 landing at Heathrow' by sunilr007



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'Global Plane Flight Paths' by gletham



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Kate in the carpark

I went down to the supermarket carpark in Richmond today and took some photos, recorded some sounds, and made this little voice file while I sat and thought about Harriet and Yacub and our story. Then I went inside the supermarket and did some shopping.

In the carpark, 6 March, 2008

by Kate click here to leave a comment.



Duty Free


by Lebusque click here to leave a comment.



Icarus - Poem
Literary Review, Wntr, 2001 by Tony Curtis



Out of an English summer morning’s sky
drops an Indian who failed in flight
miles short of heaven. This frozen Icarus
thrown from the wheel-bay of a 747,
splashes into a Surrey reservoir,
cracking the water like a whip.


This poor man stowed away
in the Delhi heat, curled
himself into an oven of rubber and oil,
and dreamed as he rose in the deafening take-off
of food and rain and Coca-Cola
and television where the colour never ends.


The waitress at the Granada stop
tapping in two coffees and a Danish
at the till, for no reason at all,
looked up, saw a bird, or an engine,
or a man, and then nothing
but blue sky again.

posted by riem, February 2008

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Words



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Sound Up


From Sun Up, by Lebusque and Airport Announcement by NOISE.INC @ Freesound - click here to leave a comment.



“…Fair mounts the light balloon, by Zephyr driven,
Parts the thin clouds, and sails along the heaven;
Higher and yet higher the expanding bubble flies,
Lights with quick flash, and bursts amid the skies.
Headlong He rushes through the affrighted air
With limbs distorted, and dishevel’d hair,
Whirls round and round, the flying croud alarms,
And DEATH receives him in his sable arms!
So erst with melting wax and loosen’d strings
Sunk hapless ICARUS on unfaithful wings…”
- Erasmus Darwin, The Botanic Garden (1791)
posted by TaylorPhillips - Click here to leave a comment



'How to be a Mad Scientist' by Dr SkuLL


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When I was a girl we had an angel candle at Christmas. Each year she came out of the box a little more depleted than the last. She had three wicks, one through the centre of her halo, which I don't recall ever seeing lit. Tiny flames flew from the tips of each wing. We would light them for mere minutes a day, sometimes only seconds. Each breath of light cost her something, a softening or drip. After the burning she was always less than before.

The lesson we learned from the angel was the same one that other children learn about having and eating their cake. You can't have your wax wings and burn them. This was a lesson about light, but so too with flight. No-one flies with wax wings. At least...not for long.

by LauraRobs - click here to leave a comment



'Flight Paths' by dompitot


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Regeneration by Crescent - click here to leave a comment



Airplane sounds - Click here to leave a comment

Download Airplane01
Download Airplane02
Download Airplane03
Download Hydepark06
by LG @ Freesound


Download PassingAirplaneHigh
by Pingel @ Freesound


Download Airplane at 30,000 feet
by SFindigo @ Freesound



Supermarket sounds - Click here to leave a comment

Download Cheapmachines_cm_checkout by Cheapmachines @ Freesound



I have finished my weekly supermarket shop, stocking up on provisions for my three kids, my husband, our dog and our cat. I push the loaded trolley across the car park, battling to keep its wonky wheels on track. I pop open the boot of my car and then for some reason, I have no idea why, I look up, into the clear blue autumnal sky. And I see him. It takes me a long moment to figure out what I am looking at. He is falling from the sky. A dark mass, growing larger quickly. I let go of the trolley and am dimly aware that it is getting away from me but I can’t move, I am stuck there in the middle of the supermarket car park, watching, as he hurtles toward the earth. I have no idea how long it takes – a few seconds, an entire lifetime – but I stand there holding my breath as the city goes about its business around me until…

He crashes into the roof of my car.

by Kate. Click here to leave a comment.