Selected Work 2003-2010

Helen White

moss alice


the words did not know what we meant so we inched our way along a nerve language, stinging fibres clenched between our teeth, electric shock at every step.


the words hit silence as they left our breath. we spoke with bastard words, grotesques, our grown-up children. we begged them would you speak for us, just a little, just enough to know what we mean?


did we touch? the words do not know what touch means. they told us we were other selves. separated bodies in different skins.