Contact Us

Use the form on the right to contact us.

You can edit the text in this area, and change where the contact form on the right submits to, by entering edit mode using the modes on the bottom right. 

#103 1013 vancouver st.
Victoria, BC
Canada

ineffable is a literature & arts magazine that seeks to rouse and relish in the “unspeakable”: the erotic voice, the spiritual fever, the fiercely beautiful. We seek to provide established and up-and-coming artists with a medium for representation, displaying earnest work and creativity while withholding nothing. ineffable is an experiment in open identity and self-expression.

Kate Juniper

I picked it up delicately. I dropped it. Ham-fisted exasperation of a sleeping imbecile, no matter how adept I find myself in waking hours. Fearing it dead, I picked it up again, relieved to find I had not yet killed it.

 

Preservation: An Attempt

I picked it up delicately. I dropped it. Ham-fisted exasperation of a sleeping imbecile, no matter how adept I find myself in waking hours. Fearing it dead, I picked it up again, relieved to find I had not yet killed it.

Cupping it in my hands, I transported it to a small box which, trembling, I furnished with green tissue paper, the kind salvaged from market boxes and in which have nestled soft puffy clementines. I went to fetch water and seed.

Returning, I held the thing to me again, and with a damp cloth, I gently wiped its eyes. As I wiped them free of film they slowly opened, and I was startled to find the bright wide green eyes and sharp irises of a cat.

As I wiped and wiped its face a feline head emerged. Still in its infancy, but a very different creature! Beautiful, and, as I thought of it, far more fitting—I knew better what to do with a cat!

I fetched a saucer of milk, warm, and brought it back to the box to rub on the mewling creature’s lips and gums. I longed to stroke its damp sticky head, and feel the fur dry and soften under my warm thumb.

Returning to the little thing, sweet upon the image of its chocolate brown nose melting into clotted cream colour cheeks, my breath caught: it was changed, again.

This time, a mouse. All ears and tail. Eyes open, yes, and blinking slowly into wakefulness.

Fuck. What now? Is cheese a cliché? An answer learnt from childhood, in those animated hours when we sat giggling at nemeses that chased and trapped one another in circles upon the television screen?

Each time the creature changed its life depleted. Each time the creature altered, my hands, full of sustenance, reached out but could offer it nothing. The pulse of the tiny thing kept slowing. Its fluttering heartbeat, weaker than a bee, beat loudly in my ears.

I dashed away again. Desperately I sought for a crumb of bread, a sprig of green—a life source universally nourishing. As I searched I left its side and still I felt the tiny life sapping like water from a broken vessel, out and away, to drip from the bottom of the box upon the table, from the lip of the table to the floor, through the gaps in the floorboards and away into dark empty spaces.

I scrambled and scuffled and strew things, arms far above my head in sightless search, and awoke as I realized that among the dishcloths and dry rice, I had nothing…  just nothing left.

 
kateheadshot

Kate Juniper is an editor, art writer and curatorial advisor originally from the UK. She has an MA in English literature and has lived in Victoria, BC, for three years. 

Words  © Kate Juniper, reproduced with permission.