Christopher Mayhew wrestles Ken Dodd in a burned out, post-apocalyptic landscape. A Valentines Day present from monsters who really should know better. 
for more information, check out my blog: https://scatcandy.wordpress.com/2018/02/11/devil-behind-that-bush-the-cramps/

23 Minutes Over Bootle

From the LP 'the GREY album (going to the chapel and we're going to get buried)', a meditation on the aging process - filtered through the usual 'sense of humour' you'd expect from the bad men who frightened your goats.

Crazy Hearses

I've been staring out of the window for some time before I realise what I'm doing and that I have no idea how long I've been doing it - or what I'm looking at. The street looks the same, like it'd spit me right out if I went there, so I close the curtains, sit back down and watch the shape on the ceiling again. Is it getting bigger? Sometimes I think so, other times I'm not so sure.
Sometimes 'it' happens. It slides under the radar while I'm looking the other way and before I realise what's happening, I'm committing 'it' again. And when it's over, I hate my hand and the wetness and the tissue and the pictures already breaking up inside my skull.
Sometimes being shunned feels no different to choosing apart.
Mostly silent. The edge of darkness, the buildings fading into one another's grey. Occasional crumbs of soft-boiled sound in the distance. Too far away to tell whether fiend, foe or indifferent. I think about leaving the house, taking my want for a walk. Cooped up, lost all track of time, forgetting what it was I wanted in the first place. And so the days blur into one another.

uninhabited

’’There is no such thing as 'climate change'. No, really - there isn’t. Just ask the Leader of the Free World - he’ll tell ya.

It’s a myth, spread by this shadowy elite conspiracy that want to keep the truth to themselves and screw you, Jack. After all, damn near THREE PERCENT of the world’s scientists agree. And that’s a whole lot of white coats, right?

No, the truth of the matter is this. In the six thousand - give or take - years since this planet was created, our world has been leading up to this moment. It’s the whole point of human history, if you will.
As any reputable thinker will tell you, Great R’rarl R’rarl, the Incinerator of Worlds is coming. He is coming, to fill the sky, blot out the sun we’ll no longer need and, with His fiery breath, make wee toasties of us all.

So burn all the so-called ‘fossil fuel’ you can lay your hands on. Burn it as a beacon, shining out into space to direct our Fiery Lord to our whereabouts. And, when the sky turns black and His mighty jaws open, let out a prayer of gratitude as the air turns to fire and we’re all consumed in His massive holy breath.
And we shall all be his smoke together. 

For all of eternity. 

Amen.

Great R'rarl R'rarl

Less chatty, more cooky

DELIBERATE

Bruised mind, slowing down now, like a crystal chandelier, falling, falling in slo-mo. Every frame flicking one to the next.I watched as it dragged, slow as blood congealing up a wall.
Under a dimming streetlight, the once orange failing lower to a stupid pink and close to death.

untitled (from 'They call me Mr Sunshine')

Born in Wales, now resident in Scotland. Influences include violence, psychedelia, humiliation, history and ecomonics. Almost impossible to bruise.

vanilla icke