FlashFlood

Nobody understood this could be a thing, until they saw jumpers at a certain height, five hundred eleven feet, tumble upward. Unlike faller...

I’m not lover of art. I don’t know how to react to a splurge of colours on canvas. Or appreciate fine brush strokes on paper. And yet, this...

I’m sick of being good, of being straight, of being staid and serious. I want to be trashy, have lots of sex with unsuitable men, get d...