Another lost rockstar…

With so many deaths

I am starting to grow bored.

I remember when rock stars did heroin

And died gracefully, in their sleep.


Now everyone has to make a noise

To cut through to the evening news

Where stiff white men in ties

Will remember what the music meant to them

When they wore ripped jeans

And stayed up all night.


There is one I follow,

Without a shelf of Grammys

And amidst the stream of

Repeated memories, he writes

“All my friends are dying”

And for him,

I worry.


Perhaps it’s the curse of a twenty-four hour news cycle and exposure to all stories via social media but in the wake of Chester Bennington’s suicide, I don’t feel sad. I feel empty. I know there is lose but I think it’s one I knew would come.

With Chris Cornell, he seemed like he had defeated his demons and so, that shook me. With Chester, I never thought he was finished fighting, so when the news broke that he had committed suicide, all I could feel was a sense of bitterness.

In the wake of Chris Cornell’s death, I read the feed from Richard Patrick of Filter as he shared Chris’s impact on his journey to sobriety. In that, I knew the humanity and I was saddened. Again, Richard loses another friend and he shares five words that cut deep: “all my friends are dying.”

Maybe right now, all I can do is repost the same message about how Hybrid Theory was one of the first albums I owned. Maybe I could be angry. Maybe I could be sad. Maybe I don’t care anymore, as I watch another teenage hero of mine pass away at their own hand. Maybe I’m angry at the legions of people who have nothing to say except that they owned an album of his and that grants them a ticket to take part in the grieving.

I know people are entitled to their own sadness. I won’t chase them down to tell them they own no part of this. I just wish people did more. I hate the statues of “my door is always open” or the same old suicide hotlines that are shared in the wake of these tragedies. Suicidal people don’t need open doors, they need long-term support, not drama hungry platitudes. One day, I may call these out but for now, I suppose I am angry and this is my grieving.

I Am Not A Well Person


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Mental health is an odd thing. For some time I ignored it unti leventually that wasn’t an option anymore.

“I Am Not A Well Person” is a collection of short stories inspired by my exploration of my mind. From tales created from my paranoia to the nighttime journey through a galery and conversing with a living statue, everything in this collection comes straight from the heart.

Also included is my debut novella “The Valley of Death”, the story of a man who deserves his fate.

Austin Osman Spare: Painting the Veil


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Austin Osman Spare led his life in stark defiance. Not to anything inparticular, just definance. He refused to comprise his art nor his occult practice.

In recent years, he’s been heralded as a proto-surrealist and one of the ancestors of the Pop Art movement but in his lifetime he went from a boy wonder to a pariah, forced to sell his work in pubs and from his flat, never charging much more than £5.

As an occultist, Spare is often discussed as one of the forefathers of Chaos Magick but his actual work is left from the conversation. Without Spare, sigil magick wouldn’t exist, perhaps the most powerful occult tool at the modern magickian’s disposal.

In this brief volume, I track Spare’s life throughout London, covering his relationship with Crowley, his marriage and his final days conversing with Kenneth grant.


In the age of the 24/7 news cycle, the value of cultural icons is defined as those that generate the most headlines, and amongst celebrity culture there exists one man who understands this better than anyone else. Kanye West.
Kanye knows that in order to keep being “relevant” in the eyes of the media, there always needs to be a story linked to him, whether that be his fashion work, a new single, or some fluff piece with his wife, he has to keep his face in the media.
But Kanye is more than that, Kanye is more than just a celebrity, he is also one of the most influential rapper/producers since Puff Daddy, with artists like Childish Gambino and Chance the Rapper citing Kanye as the biggest reason they’re doing what they do. The Children of Kanye are the growing musical underground, offering an artistic counterpoint to years of materialism in hip-hop. Continue reading “PRAISE YEEZUS! A DEFENSE OF THE GREATEST POP ARTIST OF THE 21ST CENTURY!”

The Weeknd: Id in The Age of Ego

It’s no deep observation to say our media landscape is drenched in excess. The very notion of celebrity comes with a lifestyle of indulgence and decadence that few can dream of.

Pop music is a testament to the appeal of base desire, offering up young starlets purring tones of lost innocence, rappers elaborately extolling the many hedonistic benefits of their successes and R&B promising seduction. But it’s all very surface, nothing explores the actual reality of depravity, instead we have a PG, glossed up and photoshopped model of the dirty, this is except for Abel Tesfaye, better known by his moniker, The Weeknd. Continue reading “The Weeknd: Id in The Age of Ego”

#365daysof Haiku – February

Wow this is late. When I wrote the post for January I marvelled at how much time I can spend on poetry. Now it seems I spend too much time on it, while my editing works piles on.

By the time march approached, I couldn’t find the time to get writing every day. I also moved house which didn’t help, that month without internet killed me. So, it seems I failed, 2 months in. I’m toying if I want to try it every year and see where I go. It’s a lot of discipline to reel off poetry on any kind of consistent basis. Continue reading “#365daysof Haiku – February”

What Big Poppa E Means To Me

I can remember finding Saul Williams, king of slam poetry, through his collaboration with Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust. I was blown away by the lyricism. It wasn’t long after I’d found Sage Francis and Scroobius Pip and my love of hip-hop returned. Saul Williams was a part of my great tapestry of rap lyricism. The common thread to me seemed to be slam poetry.

Slam poetry seemed to breed these wonderful talents so I embarked to check out as many of the big names that I could find and study them. That never really happened. I opened the category for slam poets on Wikipedia and clicked the first name that seemed appealing to me: Big Poppa E. Continue reading “What Big Poppa E Means To Me”