I punch a clock and then I punch out
When heels were higher than hopes, and the young and modern among us welcomed every breeze block that brought change. Ballard wrote about it. Bowie too. Then came Morrissey: ‘Amid concrete and clay and general decay, nature must still find a way’
Go big or fuck off, right?
There is no real progress in English writing; our writers return to the location of the original sources of inspiration
When are these artists going to take the gloves off? Stop holding back and just fucking go for it
You must be wondering how / The boy next door turned out / Have a care, but don’t stare / Because he’s still there
Some people got a chip on their shoulder; and some would say that was me
Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now.
All i have is all i need
Irony and context are overlooked by offended onlookers
