Even at the very end, when it seemed almost hopeless to everyone else, I still believed there was a small chance they’d make it. I fact I’d held onto that belief — stubbornly, I admit, and without logic — since the beginning of their journey. Of course, I’d had no way of knowing who they…

Empty skyscrapers come bellowing the tune of the strike cities – across the railways and slipways, down the random boulevardes and blasted arcades, through the monumental parks and plastic conduits – their emissaries calling, each cubicle mapping the terrain of your capital, the inside of your liberty bell.

The blisters on my feet have begun to weep. My soles, oh my soles, they’re red and inflamed like my sunburnt knees. The zinc cream tastes like acid on my lips. I can’t swallow, and my elbow’s sick of tennis. History can be read in a forehand, a groundstroke. The only mystery is the spin…

Useless, absolutely useless. I thought I could trust you. I thought we were on one wavelength. You said “Wear something glitzy, it’s a Studio 64 party.” Well, thanks. Thanks for pushing my excitement levels so high I had to inhale Ventolin. Thanks for prompting me to spend the next four hours in other peoples’ wardrobes,…

Lost in the city of poets, I tried running down random streets in the hope of finding you. That’s the thing about dreams: just when you’re trying to use your mobile to call someone, you find it’s suddenly been equipped with internet access, and you’ve been registered for some lo-fi mobile phone film festival, and…

No one would have believed in the middle of an already bleak Antipodean winter that cylinders of heat would one day be passed out to individuals as a last refuge against atomic chill. Silver cannisters cold to the touch but containing propellants and gases that, upon contact with the eerie airs, would spontaneously ignite, providing…

Then you came running like a season in reverse. Flowers in your mouth. Standing on a rock. Inside a waterfall. There was a script but we were method-acting. Like Pete Doherty and Carl Barat at their last gig. High on contradictions. Waiting for the bus to leave. Throwing mid-air punches. Stored in a freezer and…