top of page

[ BONES ] - Epic Cafe

I has ta ask in this rhyme, as its kinda troublin mah mind, jus 'wha' is gwaanin arn in these mad, totally messed up raated times??


As y'all've turned a blind eye, an don't seem ta mind when places dat used ta provide mental wellbeing, dat helped people achieve a better standard a livin, is pon d decline, an kinda keeps pon goin piggin missin king??


I's got 'serious' flippin misgivings, as, I's beginnin ta realise, seh, ain't they needed even 'more', world-friggin-wide, especially in these troublin raated times??


As now there's bare empty buildings, how come we no longer seem ta care bout d men, d women, or indeed d lil children??


And can we seriously still call 'this' livin, as don't it really seem dat everyting's jus illin, nutten seems fulfillin, an peoples blinkin mental skills jus keep pon dwindlin, shrivelin along wid these rundown abandoned buildings??!!


As cuz, I's chattin, specifically, bout d Wolverhampton and Wellbeing community hub, yet another charity dat got raated snubbed.......


But people, as a community, I's jus gotta ask, 'WHERE', is d love, an why's we gwaanin arn all dumb, an, is d care in d communities all, well'ly, and, 'truly', all frickin done???


There's no more support anymore, an, wha's wuss is, it was a 'worthwhile' CAUSE, dat's now jus a eyesore, because it hadta close its doors, an cyaah bring no help, at all, ta d hordes dat used ta pass through its doors, an dat was mainly made up a d mentally ill, or d terminally flippin poor.


Before they used ta offer mental recovery programs, pon dat piece a land, and now d buildings sagged, jus bland fam, of no use ta anyone dat needs a raated helpin hand man!!


Its like nobody among us really gives a damn anymore, we's gotta 'start' plannin and 'stop' ignorin all d warnings, cause it ain't dawnin seh even more tings're gaan go wrong.....


As we's been doin 'dat' hahready fa far too long, from mornin, an look how people's mental problem's keeps pon comin on....... and on, and......... !!!


So, shouldn't we still be all bout restorin, d worn decor, and more, ta still be usin these types a buildings, ta stop dem wiltin, an be willin ta step in an fix dem up, and brightenin dem up cuz!!


Ta gi somebody a roof above their heads, or a nice, comfy, warm bed, a place ta get fed, more dan jus bread, a safe homestead, especially when it could 'still' be a aide for someone, dat we know or raated love.


Heavens above, blood, it should still be used for easin peoples problems, depression and stress, instead a leavin it ta face certain destruction, cause now it looks like such a mess, as these kinda buildings go up fa let, an den's left ta get so raated bruckdown and derelict??!!!


Fa progressions sake, never mind d recession mate, it should be under construction, chattin reproduction, reconstruction, freshenin it up, as jus how can we allow it to get inta dat condition cuz!!


Because it can 'still' be a useful function, be it somewhere you can jus go ta chill an hah sumert ta nyam, sumert cheap, or sweet ta eat, used ta be pon 11-13 Lichfield Street, I's chattin consumption, or jus fa some daily luncheon fam.


And now it jus favors a dungeon, jus gloomy and glum son, so's let's get some gumption, an do was 'has' ta be done son!!  


Could you imagine if we begun livin in a world dat actually cares, where people's problems were aired, and people were treated fairly B, treated properly??


As, are d powers dat be, piggin mockin we, cuz, this AIN'T no game a frickin monopoly, we's not a piece a friggin property, we's not sposed ta be rundown and dilapidated along wid these disused buildings G, as I's chattin bout 'true' equality, liberty and 'care' in d COMMUNITY!!!


True unity, where there was truly opportunity, collaboration, commonality, communally, instead a diss travesty, buffoonery, tomfoolery, dat is based pon diss cesspit, diss narcissistic, ......pit, diss capitalistic society, diss lunacy.


Which 'clearly' doesn't gi a damn bout you, nor me, as shouldn't it be fixin up these kinda properties, fa free, freein up d money, ta gi us some much 'needed' help, relief, safety and security G.


Never mind d friggin economy, can ya jus, fa 'once', treat us, and d properties, properly B!!!


D case is, this is d basis, to date, can we reclaim these lost spaces, these estates, these kinds a places, dat's been defaced, and put dem ta some good uses, as helpful bases, post-haste, instead a dem jus rottin in stasis, indeed wha a waste kid


All it takes is a aim, like creatin some useful mandates, acts, dictates, a campaign, dat focuses on more love, and less hate, plus some hard work, some elbow grease, people willin ta roll up their sleeves, and some paint, so why wait, fa all a our sakes, d 'key' word here is REGENERATE mate!!

[ EMMA PURSHOUSE ] - WhiteHart

Within these walls
I’m a 1920s space
a between the wars
new space,
a gas lamp lit, fire in a grate space
a swift pint after work
been grafting up a ladder all day space
working on the rebuild of Beatties space
a brush off the brick dust before you sit down, space
a tamp of tobacco, a flat cap
cloche hat space
a shake of a wet umbrella space
a powder of a nose
a her eyes meet his space
I’m a readying for war space
a 1939 space
a roll out the barrel,
pack up your troubles
uniform sort of a space
women bus drivers
after a shift space
a peaked cap set
to a jaunty angle space
a loosening of ties space
a kicking off sensible shoes
under the table space
I’m a rolled up football programme in a pocket space
a drowning your sorrows space
a 4 – 1 cup final loss
single goal from Dicky Dorsett not enough space
I’m a put that light out space
I’m a VE day, bunting
and victory ahead sort of a space
a what’s he done to his leg? space
he fell of the man on the oss space
I’m a conga out the door
a get that bleedin’ flag out my pint space
I’m a Don and Joyce Sinclair behind the bar space
a take the weight
off your feet,
a rest up with your shopping
to inspect your cuts of meat space
I’m a that’s a decent cabbage

anyone for cribbage?
I’m a Brylcreamed 50s space
a be bop a lula
you’re my baby kind of a space
an amazed jus bin up to see that giant whale? space
a late space
a sorry, pole come off the trolley bus
again space
I’m a dancing shoes, heading to the Scala
doh want your sort in there space.
I’m the Indian Workers and students
together on a pub crawl space
I’m a 60s space, a short skirt space, a space race space
I’m on my way to see the Beatles at the Gaumont space
I’m a mop top, mopped floor sort of a space
I’m a kid on the doorstep with a vimto
waiting for mi mom space
a Saturday girls after work in the 70s space
I’m a change out your Woolworths togs in the bogs
quick curry at the Ko I Nor
mek mine a Babycham,
wot no cherry space.
A mustn’t miss the last bus home
cuz me dad’ll kill me sort of space.
I’m a market traders’ space,
serves in the afternoon
later than the Tavern space
An 80s space. An edgy space. A tattooed face space
an empty your pockets, look the other way
nail your colours to the bar stool space.
A lousy prospects, and recession
women best avoid space.
I’m a 90s space
a coming out tonight space.
a d’ya fancy one back up the Greyhound space
I’m a glitter and sparkle
millennium sort of a space.
I’m a you cor smoke that in here no more, bab space
A Tilly’s on tomorrow, Gale Force tonight space.
A DJ Shawn, Karlsbergs in a bucket space
A Free pool on Mondays

a Sammii’s Karaoke space
an I will survive space
a treat you like family space,
I’m a To Let sign, a broken window, broken Britain space
a 2020 space, pressed face to the glass peering in space
an echoy space, damp space, a keep your distance
what’s to become of me space
I’m a transitioning space, a 2022 fluid space
a look what I could be space
a re-imagine me space
A future space
2023 space, a hundred years of history space
an upstairs downstairs space
a carrying the best bits forward space
a good food space,
an exhibition space,
I’m a have a go at this space
I’ll teach you what I know space
a d’you wanna play a game space
a someone to talk to space
a kind space
an I’ve reformed my ways space
a safe space, a communal space
a hubbub of a hub - a busy space
a chatter, natter, laughter space
A space to come in out of the rain
Hart at the heart of a city space
an ever open door space
a warm welcome for one and all space.

[ REBECCA MAYHAY ] - Eye Hospital

Look at what I used to be

but I’m yet to become

physical spaces carry history

but there’s more to follow

the clock tower watches over 

the empty corridors

let’s create something new from something old 

breathe life into this deadly slumber

I was once something 

and I will be again

[ NATHANIEL GRANT ] - Wulfruna's Well

“They do no more than disavow the undeniable itself. a ghost never dies, it remains always to come and to come-back.”

― Jacques Derrida, Spectres of Marx


My sound piece Otolith Encounters seeks to breathe digital life into an area/s of Wolverhampton that are derelict, abandoned, or ‘written off’ by hierarchies of distribution (as places fit for public engagement) by employing the Derridean concept of hauntology.

Given the increasingly popular use of technologies such as voice notes to communicate with each other, our realities are daily subject to a type of retroactive auto-haunting, that is to say that conversations we have had can literally be revisited and had again and again as long as those recordings live on in our digital histories.

Perpetual echo

The idea that conversations and experiences we have had in places of which we no longer inhabit, or frequent are saturated in the very fabric of those spaces we have vacated/been evicted from/ lost track of will be employed to profile the respective location chosen in Wolverhampton in a new and engaging light.


Enfranchising artistic encounter: [speaking, listening, and ‘absent interaction’ as an imaginative, risky, and subversive engagement with the Artist as ‘ghost’.]

  • An exercise for both the artist and the audience member; this commissioned piece is intended to enhance listening skills and conversational flow/flux/by facilitating both speakers’ parts (or role, if you will): but with a pre-recorded conversational initiator [viz. the commissioned artist himself].


The conversation will provide a framework by which sizable gaps are given in order to allow the participants as much time to muse and reflect on their knowledge/or lack of/ the space, what it means to them, and how they would like to see the space utilized ‘if we had this space’.


  • Crucially, in a type of digital séance, the audio recording of at least one of these conversations will then be edited into a template recording so that the ‘side’ of the conversation where the participant is responding to the questions of the Artist are left blank. Participants who then encounter the geotagged recording in the space will be invited to record their own conversational responses about the chosen space with the artist’s pre-recorded voice.

  • Literally ‘a conversation with a ghost’ [much as people talk to their dead relatives at graveyards, they don’t expect a response, but rather talk one way and imagine responses as a form of therapy]




An otolith is a calcium carbonate structure in the saccule or utricle of the inner ear, specifically in the vestibular system of vertebrates. The saccule and utricle, in turn, together make the otolith organs. These organs are what allows an organism, including humans, to perceive linear acceleration, both horizontally and vertically (gravity). It is a key instrument in our body’s navigation of space, balance, and location.


Nathaniel Grant


Pilgrimage to a wishing well at the gates of a city

Upon the reception of the commission, the artist has been allocated the site of a wishing well at the gates of the city of Wolverhampton.

The well will form part of a three-stage pilgrimage representing the same purpose that the well would have officially served in older, perhaps ancient times for the people of Wolverhampton.

Readings taken from Sir James Frazer’s The Golden Bough particularly the chapter on: the magical control of rain, and Alister Crowley’s The Book of Lies particularly the magick ritual called Dowser based on the finding of water spots , wells, or fountains by the ancient art of dowsing.


when we finally get the keys to our kingdom
– and it will be no easy thing, my brothers, my sisters,
my friends, no quick and easy thing, this will be a story in itself –
when we finally get the keys to our kingdom
turn them in stiff and rusted locks
tumblers and pins re-learning old lessons
falling into place just as they always did
when we force open the doors
to stale air, the smell of dust, damp, abandonment
fast food flyers faded in heaps on the floor
bleached by the passing of the seasons
when we force open the doors
stand in our space, filling it with noise
rattling nineteen to the dozen
about what we will do with this blank canvas
plans spilling out of our open mouths
like diamonds
when we set to work
with mop and bucket and dustpan and brush
sweeping away mouse droppings, cobwebs
busy with plaster and fresh paint
when we set to work
so the history of this place can breathe again
the smudges of art in the corner of our vision
the joy of sight slipping sharply into focus
dresses that slide on like second satin skin
for past generations
when we throw open the windows
to let the world in
the morning sunshine which fills the first floor room
copper gold on fresh-stripped floorboards
when we throw open the windows
let our music – african, latin, classical, dub,
rock, folk, disco, hard house, techno –
tumble to toe-tapping bus queues outside
where post office shoppers are smiling
when we cloak the building
in scaffolding, splendour it in something
about dancing and revolutions in letters nine feet high
reveal every square inch a colourful mural
when we cloak the building
in honeysuckle, jasmine, mile-a-minute
window boxes of lavender on every sill
clematis that covers the rooftops
create an oasis revealed in the heart of our city
when we fill this place
with laughter, and chat, the din of conversation
over coffee and cake, butter melting on fresh baked bread
soup ladled from the vat which steams on the stove along the wall

when we fill this place
with full bellies – full bellies –
when hunger is no more
when we are sated together
united in hope, love, compassion
when out of darkness comes light
and on the roof garden up from the alley
in the moments after the rain stops
and the planet smells reborn anew
you lie on your back, stare into infinity,
the glory of a clear blue sky
know that out of darkness comes light
that anything is possible
that the miracle of bee-buzz and birdsong
was always there, waiting
when night falls, we will watch for shooting stars


Lets take waltz through time 

Tees fade but the spirits still alive 

back to 89

From PWEI to the Sabres Paradise

HMV was fine 

But I get my groove 

on the other side

fresh TDKS were nice

breaking the seal

on our analogue lives


Princes watch from high 

Queens waltz on by  

Flip another 45

lets make a mixtape of our lives 


Once we queued outside 

for the rock stars and the merchandise

Marshall stacks high

before the grease and rain soaked fries

Before the digital rise

spotify and amazon prime

We scoured the aisles

this is what is sounds like

when shops die … 



princes watch from high 

Queens waltz on by

flip another 45

lets make a mixtape of our lives

[ THE CALAMITY] - Chapel Ash Underpass

(First story ends the second one begins, something like this) 

It was a wet Wednesday or maybe a Tuesday - can't quite remember - anyway I was passing through. 

There was a knot of scraggly looking unlikely lads who stank of gin and piss and in their midst was a holy man, raised up on a platform, a prophet and a fighter - half Christ half Ali - he had a fierce left hook.  

He said 'friends we are standing in a stone circle a holy place the centre of the universe. This is a streamlined system of consumer manouever.' 

Then he fell silent and sad, cowed perhaps, bowed by the enormity of the vision presented to him his black eyes gazed towards the floor and he seemed to tremble with fear.  

He said 'do you want more?' 

(and the walls whispered: 'Colonise, brutalise') 

[Harold Wilson – WHITE HEAT] 

And he raised his head to sing something the sticks in my mind. 


(Begin again, begin again, start anew, all my golden children all your golden idols) 

- begin again right from the start back to stone circles back to purity that's what we want we must be pure again. And as they were reduced down they shouted out 'Colonise! Brutalise! We will be born again!' Staring out almost in disbelief, like Midas, surrounded by countless golden children. He made them with just a touch of his hand, created them only with a touch of his hand. In the end how do you repair a ring road once they've built it and it's there? 

bottom of page