Conor Creighton is an Irish writer who lives in Berlin and spends his days researching bodily dysfunctions for brutecore adult novels. His debut should be out in 2009, assuming one of the many publishers realises that the dirty envelope at the bottom of the pile is solid gold. Conor recently spray-painted his mother’s car to look like a giant lollipop. Then he took it out across the continent in search of the European dream. He crashed the car in Belgium and his girlfriend left him, but Conor still maintains the dream is out there. For this issue, Conor worked on a fishing trawler in the Irish Sea. During which time he learned that smoking 30 a day is not so different to 50, and that everything you put in your mouth tastes like fish when you’re at sea.