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

Me mammy used to tell me there’s a living to be made in buck eejitry. She told me not knowing your left from your right is the beginning ...

Don’t imagine you can trust a Fed, or tell me you’re just Joe Schmoe, takin’ care of business. We both know what a rat smells like, how he ...

In Italia hanno costruito un muro, l'hanno dipinto di rosso e nero. Ecco lo spazio dove un tempo stava la sua piccola sentinella com...

Some are born to ramble, guitar in one hand, sheaf of lustrous stories in the other, busking them from Ballymun to Grafton Street to Bro...

It takes much to create life from cloth; the precise crook of a finger becomes beckoning or refusal, flexing of palm becomes imitation of li...

There are times you must feel there are no roles left to cast, that all the best lines are gone. The director says Back to one; your first l...

By night vision I saw something under my old trandem; a creature, mostly hair, gnawing at a black pudding, a mating call something between w...

This is the story of the heart: of all the territories of the body, whose hills and plains I know, the interior is the province art hesitate...

Some music carries the strangest cargo; bliss and heartbreak, glistening beats, guitar like the strumming of a rainbow, strings like a final...

A season’s lease has too short a date; one moment you’re the miner’s lad, then, weasel in ermine, ball twined to your toe, then a legend on ...

How many times have I switched off as fakes and stooges tell it like it isn’t? The world spins, and nothing feels true, and then a light goe...

Six for the straight drive. Six for one that turns late. Six for one that just clears the rope. Six for one clean over the gasometer. Si...

We are casting from life today, looking for someone who can strain word and action through the sieve of experience, real as rain falling...

Range is the rarest craft, to know doctor and devil, father, husband, monster, and be everything of each, to take us to places where we won...

El temperamento es una expresión propia, emblema del club o nación, y la furia de un hombre es la «cultura del aguante» de otro. El juego e...

We interrupt this programme for a news bulletin; not news in itself, but news of the news, neither politics nor murder sweetened by commerc...

I have been a disciple of the sky, set out my own flight plan, cast my own shadow over the earth, slipped the surly bonds of men and shown t...

Politics is a show dance; a burlesque act where the costume fits more tightly with every season. Rhythm is the first thing to fail; swing to...

On the wind is a shredded voice, someone else’s heartaches sung like an old razor. Sometimes it burns slowly, sometimes it’s an insatiable...

Write me a seedy London: nail-hard blaggers staked out by cops in Jags, sleazy briefs and easy housewives, trouserless pimps, and a dubiou...