Fuck The Youth!

Photography on rhodes

Everybody under the age of 32 is basically useless. In fact you could remove the Youth from the planet entirely and not many people would either notice or care. Admittedly some parents might wake up to discover they have more food in the fridge and a spare bedroom they can now rent out on Airbnb. Some might inhale deeply and marvel at the sudden surplus of oxygen. And the Youth? The Youth can stay frozen and dispossessed in deep space until the rest of us can think of something better to do with them.

Undoubtedly we’re getting older. We’re getting crankier and shorter of fuse – less tolerant and less interested in the self-centred bullshit spouted by Generation Dolt. Sometimes it feels as if sharkinfestedwaters has become less of a photographic collective and more of an underfunded drop-in centre for the needy and the vacuous. I think I’ve become allergic to Youth.   Read More

Culture Vultures…

I first met Elvis Presley back in 1934. He’d sit on his mother’s porch with a cheap guitar and pick out all those hillbilly Bluegrass tunes that he would later pass off as original compositions and in the process make Tom Parker a very rich man. Naturally when he later died on the toilet in a Vegas hotel suite, I felt compelled to articulate my grief in the time honoured fashion. I ran to my typewriter and wrote something truly eloquent:  “R.I.P Elvis – Gone But Never Forgotten.”  I didn’t actually mean it.  I just couldn’t think of anything better to write. After the Alabama Gazette forgot to publish my heartfelt eulogy, however, I had the idea to gather together all the letters of condolences throughout the world and condense them into my first, soon-to-be-published book entitled Mourn A Celebrity…Pretend You Care. Of course social media makes this public display of tuppenny anguish so much easier to disseminate but you can’t roll a cigarette on the back of a smart phone. Read More

We know who you are…

portrait photography greece

… and we know where you live. That’s because you made it too easy for us to find you living under that rock near the reservoir which backs onto the prison which should have been your natural habitat for the foreseeable future. We know what you did last night. We know what you ate for breakfast. We know what you’re wearing. You’re waiting at the bus stop on Hackney Mare Street and we know it’s raining. We know who you’re meeting later today and we know where you’re going to be tonight. You’re going to be in a comedy pub watching a one-man Rock Opera based on the life of Heinrich Himmler. Should be a laugh. Nothing serious. You’ll let us know all about it in the morning.   Read More