low fidelity

I have devised a process which replaces the need for personality with a simple list of LPs. This is what hipsters have been trying to do for decades. I ran myself through the process and I am pleased to present to you my personality as the following albums (in order) –

The Clash – The Clash

The Stooges – Fun House

Public Image Ltd – Metal Box

Bob Marley and the Wailers – Live!

V/A – Ethiopiques #8, Swinging Addis

LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver

Dizzee Rascal – Boy In Da Corner

Wu Tang Clan – 36 Chambers

Burial – Untrue

Steve Reich – Music for 18 Musicians

Godspeed You! Black Emperor – F# Infinity

Ludovico Einaudi and Ballake Sissoko – Diario Mali

If you would like part ownership of these albums please request a ‘book shelf analysis’ form from reception, post it to me and yr application will be considered with great seriousness.


this one doesn’t count

sometimes people ask me to write poems for them and so i’m like

“first you have to be a fucking dreadful human or fuck me or die (preferably young).

Ideally unseen before combinations of the three cocooned in ever more complex and sophisticated webs of organised chaos.

Life under capitalism is based on conflict, aggression, bludgeoning chaos buffeting around yr ears like drones made from radio static. It has no interest in nuance or context. It has no interest in yr cheekbones and jaw. It is only concerned with consuming and destroying. CONSUME AND DESTROY. CONSUME AND DESTROY. CONSUME AND DESTROY.

The system is jerry built out of scrap and its been a work in progress for millenia. Its fucking nuts.

So there are particles colliding at a really furious speed and its only vaguely held in place by a system of inter-relating forces, gestures, power relationships, traditions and conventions of behaviour. But the equilibrium remains fragile because we are all fucking insane bouncing off of one another and fuelling one another’s insanities.

All this clockwork nonsense hinges on pure luck, our shared primary goal – do not die immediately and our shared primary fear (scrambled and barely perceptible but undeniably collective) – the knowledge that all it would take is a gust of wind and it could all come crashing down. Any given one of us could crack or fragment or become paranoid and delusional and go on a horrific killing spree.

a gust of wind could end it all. Breathe. Breathe! Breathe deeply my child!

Fuck art, just go out into the world and be antagonistic. Then, I’ll write a poem about you.”