Don’t go back to the Chinese restaurant. You’ve been there three times and every time it’s a close call. Three times you’ve sat there and watched people run up with guns, shooting and killing people. And yet you’ve gone back. You’ve crouched down in a booth, shitting yourself while death surrounds you. Misses you. You’ve... Continue Reading →
Getting Wasted in 1912 (Pantera and Ladislav Klíma)
Imagine having a terrible hangover in 8 AD. How would you make sense of the pain, sickness and waves of anxiety? Probably feeling worse than Ovid writing his Black Sea Letters: the exile from the world of your people, your life; feeling as though you're on the brink of death and clinging to the hope... Continue Reading →