Stupid Into Overdrive…

photography rhodes

Stupid Into Overdrive

The trick is to keep breathing. It should be a simple world. Only the stupid make it complicated. In fact there should be only one rule of self-reign and that is the Law of Stupid. Only stupid people fight wild horses. Only stupid people fly to the moon. Only stupid people seek salvation in Vegas and only stupid people think they’re god. The rest is just vanity.

You can grow old in an armchair if there’s nothing else to do. You can grow old in SoHo or Sarajevo, in a submarine or in a rocket ship. Because we’re never really alone. It’s now easier than ever to log on and drop out. It’s almost compulsory. Except that we know it’s all bullshit. We didn’t really mean to click on everybody’s underwhelming photographs of the super-moon or their lazy-eyed progeny. It was just an involuntary mouse-twitch. A mwitch. We actually meant to start a revolution. But, hey, tick-fucking-tock and all that. Tomorrow. It’s definitely gonna happen tomorrow.   Read More

Mossad Sharks & The Unkindly Invasion:

rhodes photography

Mossad Sharks & The Unkindly Invasion

It’s difficult to imagine a more neo-brutalist concept than the all-inclusive package holiday. It’s a simple concept based on the old mantra that cash is confusing. Pre-paying for an entire holiday before you even step onto a plane is designed to alienate the traveller from the hassle of commerce. Which is a bit like admitting that you’d rather be back in kindergarten.  So hats off to Mossad then, who – according to the Daily Telegraph back in 2010 – trained a school of sharks to attack all-inclusive swimmers off the coast of Sharm El Sheikh in a bid to de-stabilise Egypt’s tourist economy. Secret agent sharks? Obviously.  Personally I don’t think Mossad tried hard enough. Killer sharks could easily have been dropped into the hotel swimming pools and water parks.   Read More

Sunshine & Scrabble…The X-Pat Files.

The Ex-Pat Files

To believe I could escape undetected and see out my days wandering the beach wearing a crumpled white linen suit and sneakers would undoubtedly be a massive vanity. There are, after all, fourteen bodies buried up in the mountains. Six, eight, ten… I can’t quite remember. I just know it was very important at the time to have an even tally. That’s why I stopped. I’m not an addict or anything. Addicts can’t stop. It’s just that I have always been unsettled by odd numbers. I like my numbers to be complete. Odd numbers just look unfinished. I was born in 1963 and look at how that year panned out for mankind.

It was a whole different world up there in the mountains. The villages never sold out. There were no water parks or cocktail bars, no bungee cranes or rental cars. Crazy old folk lived in crumbling white cottages with lame dogs and shotguns. Toothless old men drove toothless old machinery to the markets and festivals. The mountain villages were both devout and godless. Ornate shrines for the dead dotted the roadside. Candles in these shrines were constantly kept alive by old women wearing the black of the bereaved. There were bandit laws for bandit souls and those were seldom broken. At night it was so black that you could drive by starlight. Log fires burned in every taverna. Faded photographs hung from every wall. It was a dark and enchanting never-land for the foolish and fearless alike. Only a fool would choose to live in the mountains. Only the fearless survived. A part of me had always wanted to rent a cabin up there for the winter. Just to see what would happen.   Read More