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You're Nobody's Producer

The glow of the old school CRT monitor cast an almost sacred light on our faces, and later the Philips TV, the screen for a digital aurora in the box-room. I remember the specific thrum of the PlayStation, the click of its disc drive, and the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sequence of button presses as I meticulously layered beats and melodies. This was for his GCSE music project, a task he’d presented with a shrug and an almost imperceptible plea for help. He didn't do or say much; he rarely did. He just sat there, knees pulled up to his chest on the floor, watching me, a silent, still observer as I sculpted a rudimentary track from the limited palette of an early 2000s music creation game. His presence was like a barely perceptible hum in the room, a quiet witness to the genesis of something out of nothing. I remember thinking, in that precise moment, that he was involved. Not creatively, not actively, but his quiet watchfulness, his unblinking gaze, felt like a silent endorsement, ...
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Bare Yarnie and Her Friend

Bare Yarnie, the girl with sun-kissed blonde hair and a penchant for getting naked with yarn, was lounging in her bedroom surrounded by skeins and needles. Her friend, a fellow yarn enthusiast, had just made a joke about "sado-yarnicism" which had them both laughing uproariously.





Despite their shared twisted sense of humour, they were both gentle souls, drawn to the softness and warmth of yarn. They reveled in the act of creating something beautiful and functional out of mere strands of wool.


Garden Yarnie

As she bites off a piece of yarn to tie it off, the girl tastes the faint hint of wool and dust in her mouth.

As a joke, Bare Yarnie's friend hands her a ball of yarn to taste, and it surprisingly tastes like sugary cotton candy.

The girl's lips are stained with the flavours of different dyes used on the yarn. There is a faint taste of sweat and salt from her body, as she uses her teeth to cut and manipulate the yarn.




As they continued to giggle and unwind in the cozy room, Bare Yarnie's friend couldn't help but remark, "We may be a little strange, but we're lightsy at heart."

Bare Yarnie smiled, nodding in agreement. Yes, they were unconventional, but they were happy and at peace in their own unique way. And as she leaned back against a pile of soft blankets, Bare Yarnie couldn't imagine a more perfect moment.



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