Corona Clay-pital : a survivor’s tale

4 hours. How can a flight be delayed for almost 4 hours? #FuckVolaris and #VolarisdeMierda indeed. Anyways, a late flight became a red-eye flight but after 2 years I finally met again with Janine Doe Jr., who came to this smog cappuccino we call Mexico City to catch Massive Attack and Weezer. On the same late plane was TV’s Alan Tacher. His typical knowing smile, … Continue reading Corona Clay-pital : a survivor’s tale

Rate this:

SXSW Diaries – Monday’s alright for walkin’

SONY DSC

Note/Warning: My proper reviews for SXSW will be on La Pop Life and Gold Flake Paint soon(ish). For Sloucher, I’ll be posting diary-style stuff, mostly unedited (barring a few typos that had to go away, replaced by more typos. Most of these diaries were written late at night and honest to God, this is how they went. No clear cut narrative is intended, just general ramblings. Enjoy this Gonzo-style experiment. Continue reading “SXSW Diaries – Monday’s alright for walkin’”

SXSW Diaries – That Sunday I felt like Russell Crowe before the last fight in Gladiator…

SONY DSC

Note/Warning: My proper reviews for SXSW will be on La Pop Life and Gold Flake Paint soon(ish). For Sloucher, I’ll be posting diary-style stuff, mostly unedited (barring a few typos that had to go away, replaced by more typos. Most of these diaries were written late at night and honest to God, this is how they went. No clear cut narrative is intended, just general ramblings. Enjoy this Gonzo-style experiment. Continue reading “SXSW Diaries – That Sunday I felt like Russell Crowe before the last fight in Gladiator…”

Angry rants of altered suburbia (conclusion)

Part 3: When the world hands you lemons, check that they’re fairtrade…

Read part 1 here.

Read part 2 here.

So after surviving the attack of a particularly mental member of an endangered species of wasps and causing unquantifiable damages to the façade of the Student Union, I embarked on a mad trip to the North, which sadly ended up with me being stranded in a blizzard in Leicester.

Which ain’t that bad because: a) it’s not Liverpool (liiiiiiiiiike) and b) the train station in Leicester has the best bacon butties I’ve had in my life (too bad I was skint…and demoralised).

Continue reading “Angry rants of altered suburbia (conclusion)”

Angry rants of altered suburbia

Read part 1 here

Part 2: A stitch in time

After surviving a summer that included a hectic four day writing marathon (fookin’ thesis) that appeased my sense of guilt, I pretty much found myself directionless.

Those first days of September, how cold were they. I could see most of the days fritter away from the window at the top of my new, cold house.

Yes, it was a stark reminder of my time ahead.

Still, no one likes to be a gloomy Gus and my inherent knack for procrastinating is winning the battle against my inability to actually get off me arse and do summink.

I would delve into that, but I don’t feel like it.

So there I was, another Monday, another pasty from the Union, with something that tasted like Nescafé drained through very smelly socks.

Continue reading “Angry rants of altered suburbia”

Fear and Loathing in Room 7

Part 1: The Ex

It was just another Friday. The trilby was in place, the coffee was exacerbating my arrhythmia and the vodka bottle seemed to evaporate per ACT OF THE GODS.

Everything’s good in Hill City (aka Sheffield). The sun shines through my window, in another one of those FREAK events of God, who decides in HIS glory that 8 pm is a great time to have daylight. But who am I, OH LORD, to question your daylight savings time?

Ah, the demerara sugar + fairtrade bullshit coffee + twinnings instant cocoa mix is doing the trick. No more Writer’s Block. No more fear. I am part of a writing surge. No longer does my body control my fingers nor do they obey The Words in my brain. No. It is them, those Tenacious Ten, who have a creative orgy over the keyboard and it’s up to my brain to think of words, to string them along in strange ways, hoping to hit gold.

Continue reading “Fear and Loathing in Room 7”