An ongoing project based on Croydon, the most watched place in the UK with the most amount of carparks in one place.

Sound pieces created for this project and recorded at the car parks pictured:

Nutsack and crease


Beef stew

Beef patti

Beef pastrami sandwich

That ham sandwich you got between your legs

Beef chops

That Bullsack smell

Sticky smelly sweet

Pestulant Pestulant pussy

Nutsack and crack

Right up your back

And you crease

No beef here

I ain't your mate

Don't hate

Just relate








We. Just. Conversating

You get me

Tea spoiled

Teeth nawed



B side

Small. Child


Strange men

Strange place

Funny taste

The bitter cud

Young thug

Be kind


Find your spine

Bruk off your back

Make it snap

Gurl don't smoke crack

Wild nights

Wild kites

I always wanted to grow away from here

But it always brings you back


Plough that pussy

Plough men

Big Benja men

You'll see hen

Warm nights

Cold hands

Cold Hearts

Love lost

Street cost

Sharp spike

Real. Incline

Don't got the funds

My. G




Hot soup

Hot honey

No money







Gal you got speed





Sons yout

Warm eyes

Warm hearts

Warm men


Helping hand

Your grand

Lifes a bitch

Each your peach

Fuck you

Fuck them

Fuck us




Surveillance state

Were alright mate

White eyes

White skin

Fuck. Nationalism

Hate harbours hate

Do you even relate

Don't b a snake

Goodnight pork pie

Pork hat

Pork scratchings

In that pub that's falling down

Held up by mainly white old men

2 many men

2 many 2 many men

I'm done

Got. To run

Got. The runs




Serve ya sis

Batty crease


Hope this made you

At least crease

Broken lives

Broken minds

Broken men

Broken women

All actually really whole

Thanks very much

All it needs is a light touch 

TEARS- yummy danky smelly south

its the act of putting yourself down

you’ve put yourself in all the situations

in which you can learn

you’ve given yourself

the foundation

in which you needed to fly

but still things don’t feel right

but its those who have taken up space in ur life self obsessed

looking past your own obsessions

which made you feel it wasn’t a real thing

tried to tear down that foundation

they had their dream

they were sure to soar

but by asking you to feed theirs

it in a way ripped out your own

its those moments where you try to put it into words

but can’t really explain it to people

what it is you really want to do here

as you don’t really have the words to explain everything you’ve imagined

its a visual breathing ball of flames

and you want to soar high with that heat

its that look you get when you try to tell people who you grew up with

the people were you came from

your people

and they look at you blankly

its the blank stare

that they cannot place your imagined reality

to their real reality

a lack of connection to reality

your nervous now

you were taking leaps before

but now your nervous to even take one step

it feels like the first step all over again

even your family

think your a dreamer

a loser of sorts

a user

who knows what

but your still holding onto your dream

a dream

like an air balloon thats going to take you away from this space

but then you realise that the balloon first grew in this space

gathered all the air it needed in this space

and however much you try to fly away from it

you’ll be brought back

I’m not different from anyone else here

I’m the same

i don’t know why i feel i can do this

have to do this

its just my obsession

and its always risen from my home

i do this for my home

and my people who can’t do it

don’t want to do it

i’ll do it for us

i don’t know why i think i can do it

i just have the feeling i must


My Description of the work:

We are not one homogenous body, but sometimes it feels like someone's trying to mold us together like plasticine.

The thinker Henri Lefebvre at a certain stage of his career became a taxi driver stating: I plumbed the smelly depths of existence.

Your body as an owned commodity, a question of the liberated female voice, or an incessant highly sexualised one.

Class inferred through imagery of spaces, and who we place here, looking from within.

Words, images and sound try to wrap around a place, break structures down. But can you ever really contain a living breathing space?

Instead I just leave little pellets of information here to mull on.

Living in satellite towns on the edge of London, cheesy chips, drunk nights with your mates, overpasses, underpasses, car parks, cctv, concrete are all things I see everyday as well as suburbia.

Are you a suburban superstar?

What it is to feel inadequate when none of your friends will travel to the end of London to see you?

The divides that strip us of humanity. Can we locate our humanity?

What the body endures, what do we as a collective endure and co-create?

What is this shared reality?

I feel most people want to know the shortcut

but i want to know the longcut.


Sound Dean Blunt's track: Stalker.
Used for creative purposes only, not for profit.
Video my own.
Using Format