We used to do coke, drink pinot noir, talk about punk music and paint all night long. We talked so much and we painted so much and it was such a joy that we didn’t even find time for sex.

Our work:

The moment purpose and brush combined was the moment it started to be art.

While you were applying big blocks of colour to the top right and I was doing something more gestural to the left, at that point it was art.

When it was complete and propped up against the wall in yr bedroom it was STILL art.

But when we broke up and you left it propped against a wheelie bin, then it became trash, instantly. From art to trash in one gesture, and maybe thats more common than we care to admit. Art is trash, museums are cathedrals of trash. Maybe true art can only be found in the gutter.


Labour / Work

The agrarian cycle is all or nothing. Either the work needs to be done or there is no work to be done. It is cyclical. It follows natural seasons. It is meaningful and useful work. No alienation. Productivity is driven by the amount of work there is to be done, not some arbitrary figure dreamed up in a bland office building somewhere. Inactivity (leisure) is just as valid as labour and certainly more valid than prescribed pseudo-activity.

The Industrial cycle is Fordist, mechanised, dehumanising, but involved nonetheless with the business of actual work. Leisure starts to become reified. Alienation begins.

The post-industrial pattern remains regimented but the veneer of productivity has worn thin and work is meaningless, dull, alienating and false. Leisure is totally reified to the point where labour is self-justifying and the our entire lives are subject to the whims of capital. Regulated commodified leisure is the enemy of spontaneity.

The structural nature of relations demands that labour power is bought for less than it is worth, creating a surplus – capital.

What looks like an exchange of equivalence is actually systemic exploitation.

Does the economy work for human beings or do human beings work for the economy?

Industrialisation creates ruthless exploitation but also the tools needed to escape a world of scarcity.

It is down to us to seize the initiative.

debord and tinder

I feel like I am living within a philosophical text

my everyday life is an animation of old ideas

is this reality or is it a simulation? I could be

living inside someone’s logic puzzle

I mean, internet dating is my saviour and

my worst nightmare made totally concrete

I live in a real fiction

seriously, no joke


we have created a society so alienating

so packed with imagery and nonsense

that the population cannot see black from white

morphed around by the spectral hands of capital

all joy, contemplation and rage removed

until we are exhausted and passive, compliant

its fucked, one day we’re just gonna lose our minds

sudden realisations and epiphanous outpourings

or simply



we come in clusters

sharing taxis driven by men who sailed oceans to escape the squallor

but we love the whiff of death and seek an absence of hygiene

because we are sterile and the chemicals on our lettuces make us soft and pale

we are nothing more than subcultural revivalists

replacing self-awareness w/ enthusiasm and narcotics

climbing through the lights

skeletons in the forest

idealistic signage

lost in so many ways

I asked a man for directions

and he stammered in reply

he looked terrified

I think he was Algerian

3 AM

orgasms under canvas

then, days later…

job money

sleep lack

5 AM


while next door’s cat takes a shit in our seed trays

There is something that I am looking for

There is something that I am looking for

And it is Tao, Zen, God and Dada

It is the revolution of everyday life

It is nothing nothing nothing nothing

It is walking out of a London pub in the daytime and lighting a cigarette

It is the opening notes of Blue Train on a hungover Sunday morning

It is doing yr housemate’s washing up, savouring the process and expecting no thanks

It is drizzle on yr neck as the sun rises over Brighton beach

It is Surya Namaskara executed clumsily

It is dancing to Bowie with yr fists in the air

It is an unnoticed moment on the football terrace

It is the open E string on a bass guitar

More than anything else it is knowing that you could fuckfuckfuck but not needing to

Because sometimes falling asleep holding hands with yr best friend is all you actually need

There is something that I am looking for

And Cage would say you can find it by chance

(perhaps that helps for some people)

It helped a little for me

You can find a reflection of it on MDMA

Which I certainly recommend

Providing you don’t get sucked in

Providing you see the reflection for what it is

There is something that I am looking for

And some people drive themselves to death looking for it

Some people drive themselves to insanity looking for it

Some people wade through guts and terror looking for it

I looked so hard I had paranoid delusions and mad hallucinations

I looked so hard I didn’t sleep or eat for five days

I wiped my brain like a dandelion blown

I smashed reality out of the park

And then I stopped looking

If you look you’ll only ever find the reflection

I stopped looking, really I did

And then I promise I found it

You can find it too


Most of this has been published in fragments on my tumblr, the fuckin thing was intended to be read as a collection, so here it is in the way it was intended. Enjoy!

stumbling towards the flames

fragments of love, boredom and decay from everyday life

Stumbling Towards the Flames is a collection of short pieces primarily concerned with attempts to reclaim control over the trivial humiliations of everyday life.

In contrasting the most mundane aspects of post-Fordist existence with surreal dream-like rebellions the work suggests the possibility that (through love and honesty) we can build heaven out of the wreckage of our apathetic agnosticism.

Click below to get the PDF.