Sick of sardine stacked, sad-sack sycophants suffering for subsistence, shuffling, shambling and struggling to serve slavers selfishly slobbering, sapping the squandered strength of a stupified, slumbering society – surviving and swarming and spoiled.
The sides of my head were sore as though articulated hinges.
Hinges attempting to split my skull open so my brain could slide out, book it to a travel agency and get some space between it and my body.
Updated: 12th of November.
Couch surfing out of this world.
Updated: 31st of October.
Working 9 to 5 is like drugging myself every morning. On the way to work I took a photo and decided to practise making shit and here we are with this.
Not particularly great or inspired, but you got to start somewhere I guess.
Life is too short to be sitting amongst a parade of soul-crushing meetings or explaining every articulated action to a stranger in the pursuit of money. I need to get back on the horse and do shit I want to do.
Some 2009 silliness unearthed from the deep depths of Patrick Crosby’s iTunes.
The cover for a radio play I made like 5 years ago with a friend.
The premise is that two humans are lost in a police-space run by intelligent and aggressive dinosaurs. The more shenanigans they get into, the more they are wanted and forced on the run. Eventually culminating in a battle between saurus and sapien.
The dildo is a robotic penis attachment after the two crash land on a planet and Sam’s (pictured) junk is burned off. It was real highbrow stuff.