Men and Fucking and a Room of Our Own
After a long time of not seeing him he was there this week and I was sorry I’d already come and was thinking of going home because I would have enjoyed being with him again, as I always do. He was looking well. So well, in fact, that for a moment I thought it might … Read more
Paso Olimpicamente, or Why I Fucking Hate the London Olympics
I don’t blame the Olympic Games (The OGs). I don’t know all the facts, but what I do know came to me while cycling from Islington, along Upper Street, down towards Farringdon, then past Fleet Street, across Blackfriars Bridge and then to visit a friend staying in a hotel in Southwark… and in all that … Read more
Three Men, One Day
1. The Italian Guy, Tate Modern, 11:00 The boy is a faggot, a nothing. He’s bored and small and humiliated by his non-job, this sitting here and handing out tickets to strangers, tourists in the city he thought he was coming to to have a better life in, to fall in love in, to be … Read more
All We Want: Neighbours to the Rescue
We don’t always like ourselves. We don’t always feel good about who we are. We don’t always wake up in the morning and think: Nice. We don’t always look forward to the day. There are times when we would rather not have any more days. Or nights. We are not always fans of existing. We … Read more
