50 Shades of Bristol: Woky Ko


Woky Ko

Woky Ko, one of the little worlds housed in a shipping container has a real charm: one of its real draws is that you cannot book, this is not a place to go to in order to impress your friends, save for a Sea Bass Tartare (£6.95) it’s a fairly simple hipster affair of Bao and Noodles.

It’s real strength is reflected in the offerings surrounding Wapping Wharf, you can make these at home, but I challenge you to make a Bao. We began with their Braised Pork, Hoisin Ketchup with Apple and Peanut Powder, a sticky peanut butter bomb of flavour that didn’t disappoint.

I’ve had Bao at the equally impressive Khao and Bao on Baldwin Street,  so I’m not going to deconstruct one with anything other than my teeth. All you need to know is that I’ve had wet dreams about Bao. Dreams which Larkin Cen has made a reality at Woky Ko.

Spiced Apple Scallop and the Tartare may impress some, but give anyone a Bao and they’ll discover something that has yet to become a full blown foodie trend.  The first chef to find a way to make them as popular as hipster hamburgers or import them tastefully into our supermarkets will be burned at the stake for practising magic. Larkin Cen; Please give me the recipe, I’ll dedicate my life to making it happen.

We also had the Crispy Duck Rice Noodle Salad (£7.95) and Braised Pork Chow Mein (£8.95) which were both rich in flavour, particularly after smothering it in Sriracha. Perhaps the simplicity of these dishes is something that would put off those who had designs to eat at Box E Bristol, but for a casual dinner, it’s certainly one of the best on the Wharf.

If you lived nearby, it’s a hipster lifeline: Washed down with a few Korean Beers or something Wilder at Wild Beer, you do leave feeling blessed in a city with many vibrant Asian offerings or faux Asian broth houses such as Cupp 

Wapping Wharf is slowly building itself as an alternative to the usual Harbourside jaunt. As it develops, I look forward to seeing what else can go in Bao, given they serve up a Salted Caramel Ice Cream Bao (£4.25)  which felt like a step too far, I’ve been thinking of new types…Sushi Bao? Ramen Bao? Bao Bao?

Honourable Bristol Mentions: 

The Old Duke


From the colourfully adorned ceiling, to the tribute to one of the locals at the bar, this place has a real 60’s Pub vibe, which is complimented by a regular line up of Jazz. Save for The Canteen, it’s hard to find good music on a Sunday lunchtime, usually places are filled with screaming children; so it’s good to visit somewhere for lonely people.


20th Century Woman


At www.watershed.co.uk/  

20th Century Woman has all the usual traits of an art film, framed around a family drama where the heroine is a chain smoking older mother, dealing with a ramshackle bunch of relatives who just haven’t found their way. It’s difficult to sum up what happens or the characters themselves without resorting to tired stereotypes about Hipsters, but from the Talking Heads soundtrack, to the club scenes, it has the same charm as Marmite; you’ll either love it or hate it.



Manchester Chinese New Year: Musings and Mithering.

As Morrissey woefully sang: ‘Manchester, so much to answer for’


Manchester has a feeling to it: in a particular frame of mind, it could be quite intimidating, but it’s evolved from an area which explores the condition of the working class in England to a cultural and well-meaning city.

From the moment you arrive at Piccadilly, you are greeted by (presumably) the old relics of textile buildings, which now either house Artisan Coffee shops or chic apartments.  The Northern Quarter is also home to a wealth of street art which can soothe the initial ruptures you might have about staying in MCN.

IMG_4833 (1).JPG

We began gagging for a drink at The Font, which from £2 leaves you with enough money left for a bit of dinner. Admittedly, they weren’t the best, but the Camden Beer on Tap is always a safe bet. As we waited for our Airbnb hosts to arrive, it was a good pit stop.

Finally, after unpacking,  we venture out to St Ann’s square to try the Street food for Chinese New Year, one of the biggest events in Manchester. It had been our main aim, it’s a long way to come for a Beijing  Jianbing, but oh so worth it: a crunchy omelettey textual experience, perhaps a bit more spice would do it justice, but still:  the experience was good, we were happy, didn’t need white tablecloths or fine wine,  just a half decent Martini.


Mei Mei’s Street Cart, the only place to get Jianbing in the UK. 

Speaking of Martinis, we then decided to stick to our reservations, going for a quick few drinks at Liquorice. It was all about being seen, but we’ve made a sacred vow to only ever order Martinis from now on. The amount of sugar and ice in cocktails these days is one of the greatest difficulties in Britain, it’s up there with Austerity. 

We stood around, taking it in and speaking about cultural differences, random little topics with perhaps a few language barriers. I seem to be able to pronounce Chinese effectively, the trouble is remembering it after a few. This is why writing exists; to give context to the content, though describing a feeling is not the same as feeling it and experiencing is much the same.

Okay so then on to Asian Fusion eatery Cottonopolis, via a Bowie mural and a few cocktail bars we should have visited instead: great cooking was likely going on, drowned out entirely by a cacophony of terrible music and people who just wanted to be seen there.


Cottonopolis leads you in with Bao and breaks your heart with music. 

 Never has the mantra that dining is about more than food been clearer. But still, alone it would have been torture, but in this case; we had the power to realise that better thing were to come…Frankly Cottonopolis is a bit shit really.

Anyway, The Fitzgerald looked after us a little better, a few cocktails before becoming jaded and moving onto Gin. Anywhere screening classic movies with a ‘DJ’ is at least somewhat bearable. There was a drunken dancing couple, the usual hipsters and a few ladies nights.


The Fitzgerald

In good stead, we spoke about everything from Chinese Artists, The Prohibition and onto the etiquette of prostitution. All of which needs to be written down in order to be remembered. At 2am, we are out in the breeze.

Via a few mystical fish, we arrive to see the Chinese New Year parade, dodging Mancunians and trams on a regular basis. Chinatown Manchester is an interesting environment, I couldn’t help wish we could have seen it when it wasn’t as busy, but hey ho, you can’t mither. Dragon Dancing and creepy Buddha heads abound.


Next onto the Warriors, firm and almost neon statues which have graced places like Sydney. We were drawn to a pregnant female Terracotta. Beautifully done standing among the same-same, but different warriors.


After which, we still haven’t learnt that most cocktails have been diluted to appeal to those with less adventurous palates. But what a building, Tattu is like an artwork in itself, it’s just a shame the food can sometimes taste of Condoms or something from Iceland.  Still…mustn’t mither. MUST NOT MITHER.



Despite this, I’d maybe go out for a cocktail and a bit of beef tartare. Sometimes it’s about hiding your carefully refined taste and learning to just enjoy your moments. As such, it wasn’t a total disaster and a good way to spend New Year.

All in all, Manchester we salute you. You aren’t quite Bristol, but you have some charm… Particularly in the foreign districts. 

Now onto Bristol the 25th of February and 4th of March. Thank god there are only 28 days in January.  


Hopefully we can discover more Bowie Artworks in Brizzle…

The Pub Bore Almanac

‘You want old bores, go to the pub’

Thaddeus of Edessa


The Crutch, Charlie Trotman. 

How about an evening amid strewn packets of scampi fries, cheap suits and the occasional dog?  Listening to someone find opportunities to talk about themselves, while you wear the expression of a docile garden gnome? We could have built Buddhist temples, we could have mimicked the bars of Barcelona and put a bit more effort in; but no, the great British invention is The Pub.

No matter how we try, we just don’t seem to be able to shake it off; the general Groundhog Day facades and Wetherspoons carpets. I’m not talking about the kind of boozers full of wasabi peas and tacky shit; Don’t get me started on those ‘smugstitutions’ either.

I’m talking about the places where the owner drinks more than you and the 1960’s never seemed to happen. Where anything that isn’t brown is considered girly and the aged go to die.

Pubs used to be sites of great political power, unfortunately; the biggest thing politically that has happened in a pub is ‘The Beer Hall Putsch’ of 1923, in which somebody called Adolf Hitler decided to mince around to get people to listen to him:

‘When Hitler did return to the main hall, it was in such disarray that he fired a shot from his pistol into the ceiling and threatened to put a machine gun in a gallery if the people in the hall did not settle so that they could hear him.’


Sound familiar?   Hitler, the classical pub bore, wished to install a machine gun to get people to listen to him. Curiously, they soon began to listen and agree. Presumably the same landlord of the Munich Beer Hall went on to open up Wetherspoons and Britain has now thrived with similarly aloof Fascists, armed with a  purple UKIP banner and a copy of the Daily Mail. Easy targets sure, but definitely not as easy to look at.

The second greatest political event to happen to The Pub was the Craft Beer Revolution, which was only slightly less bloated than Stalin himself.  Suddenly, another loathsome creature emerged in the beer bars, this creature didn’t so much have a story, but they did have a tasty beer, this was The Beer Bore.


The Beer Bore is typically male, loves Beer and has very little interest in what you have to say,  but god does he know a thing or twelve about Cascade Hops. His girlfriend typically stands like a shiny faced pawn among the spiky, leather handbag types;  They tend to be vegan, but they aren’t adverse to getting pissed and forgetting about it.   

If you buy them some nuts, you’ll undoubtably bought the wrong kind.  Like all young, hip vegans; supporting the suffering caused by the purchase of drugs is perfectly fine, as long as you put a Sweet Potato in,  If you don’t have one in the oven, just pretend you intend to or that you are fasting; it’s the only thing more cool than being a Vegan is deliberately not enjoying yourself.

If you are going to partake in the Pub ; It’s important to know how to match the person you are drinking with,  always look interested, always act like you aren’t there to simply get pissed, be sure to always be on the same level; lest the parasite decide they want to suddenly talk about the Beat Generation;  some people can knock it back; some people are so malnourished that a night out with them is like a William Hogarth’s Gin Lane.


Then they might try and hide their malnourishment with Fascism…again…

They knock back a few dodgy vodkas and then it’s onto the Dive clubs, full of sketchy types who were probably also in the pub. The important thing to remember is that if you aren’t on the same level, you will either be not drunk enough to deal with them; or too drunk to care. Smoking is now a no go zone, even though it shortens your time in the pub; you might get a bit of schtick, but it’s definitely cooler to vape. 

Photographs in the pub are always lame, unless you are commenting specifically on your drinking problem or trying to appear a little out of control, eating in the pub is a sin; beyond a few handfuls of KP peanuts, alcohol is the food on the pub, Fish and Chips might be on the menu, but you have to wait specifically until the end of the night, when all you can taste is Desperados.

Gigs on the other hand, are almost one the saving graces of being in the pub; it’s probably the only thing separating them from an episode of Eastenders. Usually it’s a cover band, sometimes it’s something eclectic, even vaguely listenable that you’ll never find the time to jot down;  eventually the band will be living in the pub with you, so get to know these people, they beat your family; who are essentially evolved out of the pub bore, this is an exact science as nobody would get pregnant without the pub.  Not even the old men drinking Guinness.

If you get bored of the music or playing Sigmund Freud for all your friends, then it’s definitely time to start trying to get on the person you were least likely to have hooked up with that very morning; this requires a certain tenacity and lack of respect for the values of your existing friendship.

Be warned, you’ll definitely come up in a pub quiz if you head down the Sex route;  You’ll ultimately last longer after a few; but be warned you might not get off. If you are ugly, another good thing involving balls is pool; pool is the national sport of one-upmanship;  You could be Oscar Wilde and nobody would find you cutting if you can’t hit in a few reds.

So there we have it; go to the pub and take my advice; you’ll glide through the quiz and you might even enjoy yourself; Remember; this is the good olde nation of Pub Bores; you cannot escape this; it might be written as an almanac; but it’s more of a rule book;  Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair! I think that’s worth about 20 points on the quiz?

beer-largeCheers to that.

The Directionless Generation


Advice and Structure doesn’t just end with school.

I have so many friends who were treated well when they were younger, they all grew up with Tamagotchi’s and the latest Disney movies, they never missed out on a school trip; Their lives were structured. Then they turned eighteen and their parents stopped helping them. 

We spend so many years in the cotton wool world of secondary school,  you turn around and find;  it’s up to you to decide whether to go to College, work for a paltry zero-hours contract or go to India to ‘find yourself’ 

They told you in school that if you didn’t do well, you wouldn’t amount to anything; so you take on a job in a phone shop and find that the structure suits you, okay it means you have to flat share; maybe get in a bit of debt, but nobody ever explained that the same debt incurred by Student Loans is never going to be possible to pay back. So you work and go out on the lash, perhaps fall in love or just sleep around.

Yet, much like the fact nobody ever explained that University Debt is totally invisible; you are left wondering where your life is headed, if you’ll actually grow out of perpetual student mode.

The Christmas shoppers descend upon your phone shop and you want to quit because the manager is practicing his best Donald Trump, day in-day out mithering at you to meet your sales targets. You want to quit your job, but you are already in debt and the older you get, the harder it is to apply for a college or get into a University.

This is happening all around us at the moment; I’m not saying University is the answer to all your problems; I happened to pick at random and ended up in Northampton, which was a vast wasteland in comparison to the city of Swansea in which I lived (and that’s saying something)

 I was taken in by the idea of further education after a difficult secondary school and a frustrating college Education in something called ‘Media’  many of my classmates dropped out to work in call-centers lured in by the certainty of money. 

Their parents either lacked an awareness of the stresses of the modern world or in some way, decided that supporting their children through the early steps was sufficient. Some teens even end up having to pay their parents rent; as if they should magically know what to do as soon as they turn a certain age. 

Some parents even use money to control their children or fail to recognise the drudgery that a life without any clear guidance can produce. I’m fortunate to be aloof to this kind of challenge, as I’ve always had at least access to money. Therefore, it’s impossible for me to feel entitled to let any personal sniping or emotional problems of any of my family get me down…Makes no difference to me.

Given that Rates of depression and anxiety among teenagers have increased by 70 per cent in the past 25 years.’  This type of neglect is creating further distance between young adults and their parents; they see their job as the caregiver to be over with and never have the privilege to think of their teens as ‘friends’

I’ve seen friends spiral down into drug dependency and unhealthy relationships as a response to lack of guidance. I was lucky enough that one half of my parents was willing to support me financially; until I found a concrete opportunity to work abroad.

I was encouraged to go up to London for interviews for Voluntary Service Overseas, which could be seen cynically as time I should have been putting money into the household.  It’s time to acknowledge that parenthood doesn’t have a sell-by date and that there is so much more obstacles in early adulthood than there ever was in the Tamagotchi days.

I Dreamt I was mugged outside Tesco: It taught me things, I think.

 Last night, I dreamt…


Dali’s ‘Sleep’ (1937)

In a flash, I was mugged for exactly £50, I immediately find out his name from an envelope which he handed to me,I then vow that I was going to report the wastrel. Shortly after, a comet falls and annihilates the entire planet; Death Star style. Rendering the whole affair completely pointless.

Somehow, within this great mysterious, subconscious television show of my dreams, this plot unfolds and seeks to have me questioning things and naval gazing my way towards writing this blog post, which you are now not reading.

Awaking at 5am, staving off the Gin Tremens; it feels powerful, An affirmation that we shouldn’t sweat the small stuff. Does the mugger represent life itself? Death as a cosmic yob? If it functions to remind us of the stride and shuffle of our existence, then it also functions to let us know that the pursuit of money is futile, even if that seems like where all the fun and the power is.

Personally, I think money can buy happiness on some level: but it can’t always keep disease at bay, it can’t stop the tides of decay and only history will memorialize us. Money buys Absinthe, Absinthe was historically thought to have some part to play in these bizarre picture shows of sleep; What possible reason otherwise, would you have to find yourself out at 4am with people you don’t know?


A Lady before dreams of Tesco or more likely;  The Absinthe Drinker by Edgar Degas (1876) 

We use the word ‘Dream’ to sell lifestyles; most notably with The American Dream, which at is not simply about money, it’s about the status, respect and power that money brings;

My favourite commentary on this comes from Arther Miller’s A View From A Bridge, which bankrupts the entire concept. But American society still falls for it, even when the majority don’t actually wish to have ‘nobodies’ even trying climb the ladder of their states.

Heavy stuff, I know, I know: writing about dreams on a blog, if we dig deeper into every aspect, It’s almost as if I was handed an envelope to deliver this message to you, Whether you like it or not. We could even dive deeper in, drag out the really big fish like;

Why did the mugging take place outside Tesco on St.Helen’s Road in Swansea?

Why was the mugger a man?



Enough already…

The nearby presence of the mystical Indonesian eating-house might even hold weight, that Confucianism and all of its systems serve to govern the stinking plate of Rending of life, before the squirts ruin our hopefully well seasoned Ruby Murray?

We can naval gaze, we can speak utter drivel, waffle on until we are worm food, there are all sorts of systems, religions to connect to and all sorts of feelings, some of which; such as fear and anxiety which we arguably should strive to rid ourselves of.

Have you ever had a moment of self-actualisation? Wherein, you suddenly feel a mental or even a physical feeling of being alive? I have been trying to work my way through this and flush out brain fog which sometimes sets in with winter.

I am still full of energy, I am calm. This dream tells me that things are shifting significantly in life, at least in the opinion of quick Google search and years of belligerent research into the ‘Hypnologic State’ as advertised famously by Salvador Dali, that in the moment between being awake and asleep; we are at our best;


Salvador ‘Avida Dollars’ Dali’s worst nightmare was likely to have been to be parted from his money, particularly if the assailant had been a particularly vicious grasshopper.  

This concept that mere day-to-day life is a costume party, a play that we don’t even know we are part of is fascinating, there are those that seek faith in Buddhism, in Transcendental Meditation (Meditation for Dentists) or even the humble Avocado.

There are ‘Hygge’ heads and Hardcore Ravers, Take it from me, as someone who occasionally has Tequila for breakfast; I haven’t found much from substances beyond a few great stories and enhancing the flavour of food. I have tried to seek out new means to explore the mind, finding Travel, Comedy and Photography as the ultimate drugs for me;


One of the most curious incidences was seeing this image in front of me before I’d even taken the shot,  I could see how life worked together in the moment and knew it would make a great picture.

But are we confusing passion with spirituality?

Why is there a curious peace in Buddhist Temples or a satisfaction in the company of somebody else?

Why do a few lyrics move us?

Are these things, along with our dreams; just a chemical mess emanating from the fact we are all a race of ancient lumps of cheese?

Seriously,  this is why they say ‘write what you know’

because now;

we hit a roadblock in our writing,

a roadblock of which dreams are made of.


David Lynch, There Is Nothing Here Please Go, Away, 2012


Politics and #TheFuture (if it’s possible)

Twitter lets us dumb our thoughts down, photography apps, particularly Instagram and Snapchat, let us reveal small visual details of our lives without any meaningful context. Even meditation is blogged about, advertised; without giving the reader the real tools to explore their consciousness. Everything is now self-serving. 

Music used to be important, back in ‘the olden days’  it wasn’t so easy to just Google hundreds of songs weekly. The cult of personality shifted from music to politics as a result, oversharing revealed itself in the carbuncle of Donald Trump, Brexit and the agenda of pretty much everyone in Los Angeles. Our oversharing has made us easy pray for targeted marketing. 

It reads like a high school essay to basically write ‘Internet=Bad’ and therefore we have to acknowledge that it’s given as much as it’s taken, but what it’s taking specifically, seems to be our attention spans, modesty and our ability to talk to another human being in the flesh.  

This type of oversharing was basically the making of Trump, we created a cartoon villain who also fed on the oxygen of negative press, knowing through his advisors how to manipulate everything to an exact social science. The Republican party reptile didn’t just measure every column in inches, he tweeted about it and used it to win.

And now he wants to thank you for it. 

Saturday Night Live and other fairly crude entertainment outlets prayed on our shortened attention span, failing to recognise that Cantaloupe Trump isn’t quite as ignorant as he comes across in speeches. If this had been the case, he would have never ran for president, he would have ran straight to E! Entertainment and become either the next Hugh Hefner or be devoted to giving impassioned speeches to ‘Make Tila Tequila Great Again’

Okay, he once wrestled Vince McMahon, but the point is: he didn’t disappear into his parents money as so many people claim, he used the ignorant perception that he was simply ignorant to win. We are forever in the grasp of these tricksters, they are locking up people like Chelsea Manning and deciding what is ‘right’ for the collective online consciousness to know.   

The newspeak of this era, has got to be the repeated empty slogans repeated ad-nauseam in order to win an argument. ‘Brexit means Brexit’ and ‘Make America Great Again’ are political memes. Slogans that are supposed to drive us to the same fever that was echoed in ‘Dig for Victory’


Any decent idea can’t be expressed in the new mediums of Twitter; everything must be 140 characters, unless you are quoting something from that’s already been said. Issues became simplified and neatly as minimalist as the apartment in American Psycho

A Capitalist Zen emerged, whose main tenants were greed and the chakras were all in the pants has emerged as a result. I know that there is a counter-movement, but isn’t it time to put ourselves on a technology detox and find a way to beat this movement on a different level?

It seems we need a middle ground between the radical far-left and the far-right;  we need to work within the system rather than try to change things as outsiders, but it seems right now; the system is already rigged.


Though they do have some good graphic designers over at occupy…and kale…

There are no easy answers, we’ve had The Occupy movement, we’ve had Street Art protests which surely worked in some Third-world countries; but it has always been on a marginal scale in the US and the UK. People understandably have zero hour contracts to attend to or vaguely comfortable jobs.  Without some kind of chaos,resulting in losses of life to rile up the people; which would be dire;

There isn’t a way to really restore the system or even an idea of what a decent system would look like anymore.

Any ideas?



A Hundred Ideas For Sale.

A minuscule while ago, I couldn’t sleep; I started picturing Barbie dolls pressed in glitter on canvas, I thought about buying paint, making things etc… and soon enough I was listing things…So what began life as a list of Art pieces I could attempt, has now developed into a hundred random ideas, some possible, some frankly impossible.

As I was finishing this list, I thought some of the random ideas would even make pretty decent story titles. Writing is a form of exploration. So if there’s any particular title for a story, art piece or project that appeals to you…let me know?

Maybe I’ll do it.

Maybe we could do it.

Maybe not.


  1. Melted Barbie Doll, covered in glitter and pressed into a canvas while warm.
  2. Venus Flytrap, inside a honey lined picture frame. 
  3. Presidential podium on a Segway. 
  4. Painting made using Human tears.
  5. Donald Trump depicted as a liberal, transgender vegan. 
  6. Entire day recorded using a GoPro. 
  7. Nazi Chicken Coop.
  8. Comparison chart of how much dictators sleep/slept. 
  9. List of failed Art pieces. 
  10. Suit made of spaghetti. 
  11. Collection of liver scan videos. 
  12. All the remaining ashes of the photos I burned of myself as a baby. 
  13. Sweetcorn fritter on a wire. 
  14. Clanger in a cage. 
  15. Sausage made of Vegans.
  16. Five-pound note made entirely of meat. 
  17. Aquarium full of sea-monkeys. 
  18. Brain scan of an ice-cream headache. 
  19. January Christmas party. 
  20. Opposite day. 
  21. Trampoline made of crumpets. 
  22. Buddhist bullets. 
  23. Calpol in a syringe. 
  24. Spaghetti hoop swimming pool. 
  25. Whetus fetus. 
  26. Serial killer cereal. 
  27. Coins made of meat.
  28. An office block for hamsters. 
  29. All Cat rap group. 
  30. Kimchi lipgloss. 
  31. Potato band playing Neu!
  32. Eminem made of M&M’s. 
  33. Magnetic sculpture of Jesus. 
  34. Kentucky Fried Barbie (KFB)
  35. Sperm bank statement. 
  36. Celebrity sperm for sale. 
  37. Lawyer for your hair. 
  38. Kurt Cobain action figure. 
  39. Gyoza Bra. 
  40. Prime Ministers questioning time. 
  41. UKIP Hijab. 
  42. Brighton Rock band. 
  43. Sisyphus as a Dung Beetle. 
  44. Case for baskets. 
  45. Heavy words written on balloons.
  46. Drunken Tamagotchis. 
  47. Supine singing competition. 
  48. Cheerleaders of the apocalypse.
  49. Bambi with a gun. 
  50. Acne filled with diamonds. 
  51. Intoxicating holy water. 
  52. Male Geisha.
  53. Nail varnish for truckers. 
  54. Fish with feelings. 
  55. Morning wine. 
  56. Swearwords for the blind. 
  57. Golden cardboard box.
  58. Kimchi Ice Cubes.
  59. The American Dream. 
  60. Vegan Slaughterhouse. 
  61. Assassin Christian Band.
  62. Candles made of blood.
  63. Polaroids of modern dinners. 
  64. Children dressed as old people. 
  65. Candy anti-depressants. 
  66. Cornflakes made of actual gold. 
  67. Flavoured Snot. 
  68. Fluffy Chains
  69. Celebrity Ouija Board. 
  70. A Laptop Turtleneck. 
  71. Blackened Bonsai Trees. 
  72. Photographs of a Night Out: Before/After.
  73. Memories of suffering. 
  74. Anti-Art Exhibitions. 
  75. Aloof Priests. 
  76. An emergency feeling.
  77. Iceland Food Cafe.
  78. Tinder for Sheep.
  79. Fairgrounds for Cats.
  80. New money for new rope.
  81. Bagels made of Bengals. 
  82. Fears of Death in Poetry.
  83. Kentucky Fried Disappointment.
  84. The Benefit of Distance.
  85. Homme Fatale.
  86. A Sober Artist. 
  87. The Excitement of Evil. 
  88. Listless Creativity. 
  89. A Beautiful Motorway. 
  90. Flavoured Wallpaper. 
  91. Celebratory Death 
  92. Classy Vegas. 
  93. Theme songs for everybody. 
  94. Pyramids to commemorate slaves.
  95. Elvis in the building. 
  96. Sycophantic bucket shakers. 
  97. Enjoying silence. 
  98. Somebody modest. 
  99. Experimental Advertising. 
  100. The Bitter End.  


Thank-You for Ignoring This.