Curious minds will always wander, the lure of the unknown draws many types. My own story is typical, common. School was easy,
university
was boring. The working life is spiritually unfilling. Punching a 9-5 ticket five days a week so that when I retire
I can take beach vacations and slurp down crushed ice alcoholic beverages at the expense of living now doesn't
make sense to me. When I realised my daydreams could materialise beyond
such vivid escapism the choice wasn't one. The boundaries between the two world blur and overlap
more often than they're distinct.
It's a selfish pursuit and one which thumbs its nose at authority, the petty and small-minded, those saturated by
fear of liability or simply those consumed by the sheer jealousy of others having more fun than themselves. OMG crazy kids breaking
the law and enjoying themselves, hurting nobody.
Perhaps the photos and stories will inspire others to tear free of
the shackles of mindless tv, inconsequential celebrity bullshit, the warbling of terrified bureaucrats and ridiculous warning signs.
All these things distract one from really living. Anything other than pushing your boundaries and feeling around the edges with your
fingers is merely pedestrian. A life lived on the straight and narrow, the safe, without the constant flux of success and failure is a
life not lived. Shed
your bubblewrap suits and live a little. You'll hurt, you'll bleed, you may find yourself crouched
in an tunnel alcove nose to the third rail as a train whistles past wondering how the fuck you
ended up here. For what? Knowing you had the balls to take life by the balls and fucking live it.
Perhaps that's not important to you. Some like the comfort and stability afforded to those who choose the 9-5, 2.4 kids, nights with
the lads, a bag of golf clubs and shoes with leather tassles. Stepping into the unknown isn't for everyone and we all have our definitions
of living. I understand that waking up to cityworkers busting up your front door isn't
for everyone, not all will take kicks in dressing like a sewer worker and cranking open a manhole in central London just to see
what lies beneath. When I'm old and grey, kicking back in the retirement home and pissing into a bag I'll be proud to know I was
impulsive, spontaneous and bold. I'll have lived not in fear of taking chances, of throwing those dice. The images and stories recounted here
were sometimes fearful in their making, that cannot be denied. Certainly though to me being born, living then dying with
nothing but mediocrity inbetween is scarier still.
