top of page


'A few weeks later I look again for the octopus, still hoping what I saw last time was not my first­‐sighted octopus, dead. I eventually find the original pool, find the same little crevice in the rock. I stare and stare, crouch down looking...a tentacle moves, feeling across the rock, a blink of its eyes, a glimpse of its breathing tubes...just like the rest of the surrounds, sand is scattered across the octopus’ head, glittering, clever."

Hunt, K. 2009, 'The Death of the Author: So much Mourning and Melancholia, so much Horror', Long Paddock section of Southerly, Vol 69, No 1.

bottom of page