Spill Writing

Spill Geist: An Ode to (the) Others

by Natalie Raven


Wandering through corridors hung with sparkling chandeliers. Plush carpets cushion grubby boots as soft lighting makes hair gleam and glisten. Altogether, an-other world.


Clientele chatter, pitter [sales]patter, popping corks and sniffing


“Coke, just a coke please.”


Ascending a marble staircase, slowly, very slowly, allowing hands to caress the carved stone, feeling its cold, soft, sleek, surface. In a candle lit room, imagined séances call to those suspended souls who walk amongst us tonight, on All Hallows Eve.


Thinking… On Spirit.


Boots and bags stripped away, sage settling the stomach,








Walking through suburban streets, fog licks and curls around lampposts as neon signs flash selling all-you-can-eat-meat.  A hundred clattering bicycles line up in a row, silent, surreal, stationary as smells of freshly ground coffee waft under noses. In the distance, shrill echoes of childhood laughter pierce the night’s sky, against the low, low hum of the hum-drum-death-drivers. Wrong turns lead to dead ends, and awaken flashes of memories formed in a very bad dream.


“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania”.


Tip-toing through bland, brown doors, a vast, sacred space opens itself up, revealing what was concealed. Industrial. Agricultural. Strip lights bleed artificial brightness. Materials laid, lying in wait.










It hits, punches, squarely on the chest. Hard.

Gasping for air. Gasp to take it all in.


Absorb this moment.

Imprint it on to the ephemeral traceless maps of the mind, stamp it, vividly, memorably, so that it is, again, graspable, so that it is, again, reached, so that it is, again, re-lived, this moment, this feeling, this present, present-ed, again.

Absorb this moment, into, in to the body, consume, all of it, everything, here, now, this,






Objectifying with devouring devastation, in awe of a moving, muscular, fleshy form, a treat for widened, wandering eyes. Lustful for the monstrous, the gruellingly grotesque.

An emergent being, a body created in their own image: other. The Others. The Artist as Divine Creator. At once giving birth to them-selves, transcending Mother, Father, binary. A limitless, boundless, beautiful, breathing, body.


Standing quietly, close. Watching, looking, gazing… We’re all gaze.

At the end of the day, attempting to trans-send-gen-der.







She stands before me. Arms, bound; bells. Tied. Feathers flutter, sway.

A swan


drip, drip, dripping



Time melts


Sinking back into our communal death.




He stands before me. Pushing and smoothing, impressing himself, and, us.

A swan, lake






Time melts


Sinking back into our communal death.





It’s rising.

Feeling it.

Feeling it coursing through veins, pushing itself upwards and outwards.

Eyes well. Everything swirls, blurs, glassy. Look down, exposed and vulnerable. Tears trickle down salty, shimmering, ruddy, faces.



Take it all in.

Take it all in and keep it in, forever.

Don’t let this end.

Don’t take this away.

Happily lost, forever,