Celtic and warrior spirits reside amidst the undergrowth of our shallow and contemporary delusions.
So, let us take stalk of farmers’ fields where crop rotation is subject to the ritualistic attempts of the prophets of Baal.
There is something which is delectably acceptable about Jack the Ripper, where powdered noses spread their orifice of congestion across alleyways of Victorian London.
I love the smell of cobbled streets as they convey an aroma of coconut and damp resilience.
Let us not lament the death of sophistication where contemporary entrails spread their distance across the tank of customised motorcycles.
What are you lookin’ at?