Lazy Gramophones Journals

"A Handsomely produced Book (The Book of Apertures).” - Philip Pullman "I love Lazy Gramophone, you're doing terrific work.” - Terri Windling "In a time when publishers are taking fewer and fewer risks on unknown writers, Lazy Gramophone are to be applauded for giving their collective a chance to shine.”... read more

Lazy Gramophone Press is a strong supporter of independent bookshops and has made many valuable links with stores both inside and outside of London. If you want to find a Lazy Gramophone Press Publication, we encourage you to explore your local bookshop. Approximately 121,000 new book titles were published in the UK in 2008, and with only a small percentage of those books being stocked by... read more

Opening up all around above below me clear blue beautiful memories are finally being set free, at last released from the questioning violence the threatening self pity so cynical. Free to float peacefully amongst the slowly dancing leaves of trees amongst the heavy raindrops that occasionally paint lazily over our sunny days. Free now without any perception of possibility to be,... read more

Nothing profound sounds this polite and wiry. No cures allowed; They're all around everybody but nobody's telling Selling instead. Could live off this stuff Snort it when lost for words, When feelings pour towards the exit forgetting Resigned from upsetting only pretending to talk, Our intentions are falling; Lethargic from throats dry and sore From too much nothing. Resonant with... read more

That moment of confluence past, only a diligent reflection of the stars upon our clear skin contrasts these currents of feeling creeping between us. A voice drifts in the dark, cold as the moon quiet as the arch of a fin callous as the cracks appearing from within the beds of our lips; a sun-dried apathy. Stagnant puddles litter the fall of each balding crest the dissolution of... read more

Abby Stokes blinked her sleep-swollen eyes and looked at the man-shaped object where her dressing gown hung. Squinting in the half-light, she made out that the man-shaped object was indeed a man and immediately she was wide awake. "I've come for you Abigail," said the man. "It is time." Abby fixed the man in her gaze. Her fingers grasped around on her bedside table, searching for anything that... read more

And so it continued after that night. The Blobs were here to stay; he had long accepted that. Despite the occasional moments of frustration, the intense bouts of confusion, The Blobs also brought an all consuming feeling of focus and peace to his senses: The Blobs found him, the lost-and-long-wandering Boy, they collected his scattered thoughts and cradled his troubled head; they soothed... read more

Her blonde pours from the great doors and from the windows, falls from the lamps hung like my head at this hour, carves a path straight through the absence of light. Not a single car nor even a voice, only my shadows sow time tonight. The air rakes at my feet as I drag them through the invisible scores of braced eyes all been planted deep within our history. A mutany of mind.... read more

Once upon a time there was a young boy named Sompop. He liked to play in the woods near his home and would always run to his mother with tales of the interesting new creatures he 'd seen. The first time he saw a stoat his mother heard the story a hundred times. One day, he was climbing up a thick tree searching for birds' nests, when a big crow startled him and he fell to the floor and bumped his... read more

Melvin never made any friends. Not only was he extraordinarily shy, he was small for his age, had unusual hair (which felt and looked a little like a rusty cheese-grater), he blushed at the slightest thing, and, to make matters worse, there were paving slabs that were more athletic than Melvin. He was an easy target, so preoccupied was he with his ruminations that he rarely noticed his classmates.... read more

Melvin never made any friends. Not only was he extraordinarily shy, he was small for his age, had unusual hair (which felt and looked a little like a rusty cheese-grater), he blushed at the slightest thing, and, to make matters worse, there were paving slabs that were more athletic than Melvin. He was an easy target, so preoccupied was he with his ruminations that he rarely noticed his classmates.... read more

I will not bend, and so, does that mean I should be broken? Because to me bending is more painful than breaking, is an endurance I am not prepared for. Too often, the only attempt at making sense from death is suffering. Too often, we believe that anything less in life is a blessing, is a gift. Therefore, as we try to hold on to our perceptions, of the expected, of what it is to be... read more

A yellow puddle adrift the persistence, lock of hair, of refuge accorded the blinking sky. My light of air. Town of teeth and darkness, another haunted morning, echoes of a thousand feet, black eyes and perfect manes, the sound of our pause, the sound of change. My weight a damn of silence against the roar of space. She stands with balanced lips, our seesaw aches. My... read more

Shouldn't we speak a little more softly afloat the breeze, in case words like memories conspire to break this, reclaim our hearts. Locks of chaos fall, dance upon her neck, arc of chin and that quick inhalation of breath; a labyrinth of limbs. Shouldn't we pay a little more attention cling a little tighter to this skimming stone's mast, for thoughts perchance to kiss, so often surpassed... read more

Over the past few years we have organised quite a few events in various places. I've bought some of the promotional flyers together from these events for your perusal.... read more