All Hail the Northern Powerhouse

We all need to make sacrifices, and the road to Hull is paved with goat intestines. Mothers, fathers, small children, all line the A1079 with small animals, sharp blades, and a new-found faith in angry gods. Crops rot in the wrong kind of rain, but blood is thicker than water, and we trust this brief terror to bring forth a bumper harvest in the near-but-unspecified future. Technology can carry us just so far, but when Alexa and Siri commence a discordant chant of Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn, it’s a sign that it’s time for a more atavistic approach to collective blue sky thinking. The North Sea’s calling, but the last train left years ago and the road’s slick with red. Never mind. It only takes a firm decision, a precise incision, and a moment of insight into just how flimsy this notion of Human really is. Together we can co-create. They die that we might live.


Oz Hardwick
Photo Nick Victor









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