Stories


Non-Fiction


  1. Woolgathering
  2. Dream in Seaweed, Wake in Plastic
  3. We are the Estuary
  4. Merry Koori Black and Starry White Massive
  5. The Lost Holiday


Fiction


  1. Cold Heart Country
  2. Skeleton Close
  3. The Unicorn


Information


Heath Killen is an Australian writer and researcher who helps people craft and tell their stories through his studio Woolgather.  

In his personal work, he seeks to untangle the history of climate change and understand how it is reshaping our culture.

He is available for writing comissions via studio@heathkillen.com.


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Heath Killen
Writer, Researcher, Publisher

Abstraction & Empirical Illustration

We live our lives made up of a great quantity of isolated instants. So as to be lost at the heart of a multitude of things. (From the Double Dream of Spring, 1970.)



Art by Kiasmin


The Bogong Moth
  1. Gavrilo Princip’s last grocery list written
  2. The time that alligator ate that fish
  3. When the Yongzheng Emperor found that weird dust bunny under his throne
  4. The great earthquake of Alexandria
  5. The invention of expectation in literature
  6. When the heaviest cacao fruit fell in Takalik Abaj
  7. Animesh eats his first Fly Agaric mushroom

Here the sculptor has made no concessions; no attempts to curry favor with curators or collectors — pieces wholly outside discourse. And if pressed for an affiliate movement for these “sculptures” (i.e. Cubism, Mannerism, etc.)… perhaps Monism or Cosmogonism? Definitely not Conceptualism or Pataphysics — Actualism?
        The analog? Well for sure it is 1:1. Weird; yes — a knot to be admired for it’s curves — not for untying. An emergent surface as thick as it’s mass. 
         Were it possible for the instances of our minds or world events to be mapped and dimensionally materialized, something similar to a rock would appear — areas of smoothness yielding to pockmarked particularities, density shifts and feathered explosions. What really is the shape of a boom town? A pilgrim’s journey? A section of jungle mayhem? A boring era? The silhouette of a father’s cold slap? The contours of a brief, intense friendship? Comfortably we perceive all of these things as ready to be integrated into ledgers or novels or timelines; but really they are queer crags and striations of unimaginable idiosyncrasy.
       So yes, the reflective, reasonable yield of our mind has much symmetry (computation, cataloguing, narrativizing, etc.) but it’s actual shape is no shape, but unfolding chaos and singularity visible only to our particular time-scale. Our species-wide symmetries and quantizations are basically improvisations white-labeled onto directionless infinitude attempting the constant creation of navigable Dimension.
        So, look intimately at a rock, walk around it, get up close to it, savor it’s complexion and composition as you would any painting or temple and see it as the faultless mirror that it is — a truly perfect sculpture.