If you're here to shame someone writing about mental health, exit stage left.



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"Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever," he said. (Cormac McCarthy)



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Born and shaped by a coastal hamlet, Rush ; now a haunted Belfast lad. self-taught photographer and melancholy writer ; generally artistically minded and interested in multiple mediums of expression and creativity. nineties lad at heart.



Interests and favourites include, in no particular order: Oscar Wilde, Jack Kerouac, William Faulkner, Irvine Welsh, black coffee and sedating teas, true crime and forensic profiling, the night sky & space, Aleister Crowley and sacred geometry, grunge / 90s ALT culture, pastel hair colours, writing, gothic culture and music, hedonism, traipsing abandonments and hunting first editions.



"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery." ― Cormac McCarthy