Joy Division and the Northern Imaginary: A Multimodal Stylistic Analysis of Diagrammatic Iconicity in ‘Disorder’

Introduction During the fin de siècle of the twentieth century, the North of England took on immense significance in global popular culture, with Manchester in particular providing the likes of The Fall, The Smiths, The Durutti Column, Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses and, the focus of this essay, Joy Division. The perceived relationship between Joy …

A Footnote on Freedom: Camus and Fisher in a Paradise Lost

A response to a colleague’s question ‘What is freedom to you?’ It started as a tweet and ended up becoming a rambling engagement with the deserts of freedom in the work of John Milton, Mark Fisher, and Albert Camus.

Montréal 2017

Museums can be nice. I liked the Montréal Museum of Fine Art very much. But I think I miss getting the metro more. It put London Underground to shame. And I suppose I miss poutine. And Christmas spent alone in an equally lonely city, an island of nearly two million missing for a day. And …

Exhaustion

I wish, between the spinal synapses, I could insert a key, the teeth slotting into place like a bird, landing upon a telegraph wire. . And waiting, it would turn, it’s wings would spread, and exhaustion, slowly, would spring. . Outwards, amber exhaustion, melliferous it malingers, before gushing from my pores, a Vesuvian embrace. . …

Antinatalism, or, the Defining Moral Question of the 21st Century

A lengthy, discursive engagement with various works on antinatalism – a little known philosophy I’ve been interested in for the past five years – examining what it is and why people subscribe to it.

‘Lost my shape / Trying to act casual!’: Autism and HE.

I had to develop my own ways of dealing with being different. By the time I had got to university I’d come up with a strategy, and the strategy was really simple: don’t interact with people of your own age, just turn up, get straight As, and I wouldn’t speak to anyone.” Chris Packham in …

This Blog: An Apologia

In penning an apologia, it would appear that I’m on the backfoot before this blog has even begun. And, yet, it feels inexplicably neccessary. Whilst lacking the theological tensions, intentions, and pretensions of John Henry Newman, it feels important – in a veritable ocean of bloggers more articulate than I – to adumbrate what this …