The killer arrived just after The Three Wise Men had departed. He slipped in through the barred second floor window with his toolkit and chloroform in hand, stuffed the rag into my mouth, then went to work dismantling my time. I learned later that the killer’s name was Winter, and that he had already visited […]Read more "The Fifth Winter"
With a few more steps into the unknown, you and I and the Electric Holy Road have found ourselves at the beginning of one more journey around the sun. It’s become a bit of a tradition for me to sit down, reflect and scribble out one of these mad-cap capping-off articles at the end of […]Read more "A Third Dangerous Retrospective – 2017"
“Words are air. Writing is forever.” – Fridge magnet The act of putting words onto paper is like bringing something to life. From soil or skin, something blooms and lives in reality. Ink drips slowly, soaks into paper and then forever more the truth is made. The intangibility of the blog is something that keeps […]Read more "On Paper Plains/Planes (Or: Again with the Changes)"
Here they come, stepping in line to a sombre drum beat, the Nazarenos. Their hoods rise to the night sky, penitent cloth and bare feet a symbol, a request. They march through the narrow streets, under rippling velvet banners displaying the colour and symbol of their church. They carry with them staves, candles, crosses and […]Read more "Murcia – Electric Holy Week (and a Half)"
The streets are alive and burning. Explosions ring out around every corner, constantly. Waves of people crash and collide around immovable buildings like frenzied liquid. Quite a few churros are eaten. It’s the Falles (or Fallas in Castellano), one of the biggest, brightest festivals in the world. And all holy hell has broken loose! Two […]Read more "Streets of Fire – Valencia During Falles"
I remember walking around Amsterdam on cold, dreary day in 2015 with two mates by my side and something of a home in Germany waiting for my return. I had been in the Netherlands for three days and had been in Germany for maybe two to three months. We walked past a hip, wood-paneled store, […]Read more "When Do You Stop Being a Tourist? – Bullas, Lorca & Caravaca"
“They come, rosy of skin and short of clothes. They seek our sun, our beaches, our paella, our way of life! Oh god, we’ve sold out of ice-cream… in January! Take to the castle, boys!” Alicante is a strange place. After Paris, I think it’s the most touristic city I’ve visited yet. Like others have […]Read more "A Slow, Pink Invasion – Alicante"