Otwituaries : Andy Jackson's tweet-length poetic elegies for the departed

Met a guy at the Electric Banana who offered me a part in his movie; maybe waiting tables, an extra in a courtroom scene, a lonely novelis...

We are all middlebrow now, in thrall to he said she said , the touchable worlds of love, whether imagined or illicit, or sometimes even true...

Welcome to the extravaganza; Hollywood in a Glasgow studio, a man with a thousand voices, none of them his own, and yet all of them. Parlia...

A book is the best way to travel; a paperback is a seat in First Class,  a gold card. Live a life you could never afford, where nothing ...

Wind lifts the tin roof on a forgotten cantina down by the border. A couple dance by the jukebox. A voice like añejo carries over the des...

What if we could make our buildings dance, screw them up like rejected blueprints, fold their planes into curves and corrugations? It might...

They put a band together for you - guitar, bass, drums, keys - tight, and sharp, all the right moves, like thunder, lightning, all new licks...

There is a factory by the Thames where men are wrought from iron, a number branded into their back, a dream of Saturday beaten into a breas...

There is nothing as dramatic as an idea; who will speak it? Who will speak against it? Who will be changed by it? The idea sleeps in the pe...

This season we’re all in catsuits, stitched from skins of dead punks and supermodels, bought from a boutique on a dead-end street. We know s...

Sit tight and listen keenly; a sweet sound from the yard, neither dread nor dancehall, the sound of the flowing river we all must cross so...

You lived at ground zero, where the sound of a city drowned out every other song in the world, where a bassline could crumble suburbs to du...

Science is a poem without rules, a solution to a twisted conundrum. Inside this poem are the molecules which make up every other poem, writ...

Take this role as a gift in two acts, your audience willing you to risk what they never could. Leave them with your lines ringing: why do w...

I saw you rouged in a dead man’s gore. I saw you work the diner. I saw the silence in your eyes fueling that barbed kindness, and though you...

I am the prince of melancholy, my face an unchanging moon, my voice like low tide. There is drama in my stillness. You think you know what ...

The content of this Otwituary has been judged to be too horrifying for social media; no firestorms burning through Home Counties, no fallou...

I hear a laugh from another room, the sound of Medusa cross-bred with a hyena. To see her up close is to step closer to death; death by st...

I saw Mephistopheles checking out of the semi-derelict motel just off the Kings Oak bypass; moustache, and sta-prest suit, already on his ...

Life is a non-stop cabaret, and this is the sound of the house band, pitched somewhere between bliss and blitz, songs to dance to, songs of ...