Daniel Lovatt

Daniel is a MA Creative Writing student who specialises in prose, although he also has experience as a playwright and screenwriter. Dan self-published his first novel Hollow in 2018 and his first play Toxic has secured a three night residency at the King Arms Theatre as part of GM Fringe Festival 2021.  He is currently working on his next two novels, Deliver Me and Universe(ity)

Commune for Cattle

Flaunting logos not swinging dicks. A homeless man named Max stops me on the street and reassures me that the weather warnings are daunting, but it’s okay because he’s warm in the knowledge that he’s wearing head-to-toe Ted Baker and Diesel underwear.

In work the following morning, the aisles are alive with the sound of browsing. I can’t help but think that with the expansion of the meat-packing industry, we no longer need to kill our food ourselves. So, we kill time instead. Killing time, beyond our means, inevitably costs money. The tribe could never leave one of its own behind. So, I stand and observe the night chancers fall helplessly in love with a Moschino jumper. The students who claim they can’t afford the weekly food shop, parading around in a Tommy Hilfiger jumper, to the applause of the inferior pack. £59.99? that’ll do just fine. It’s a hearty meal, after all.

The conditioning of ‘paradise’, the pervasive, colourful ideology that we can never escape:

Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry

Fred Perry, Yellow Lorry

Red Lorry, Fred Perry

Armani, Yellow Lorry

Fred Perry, Armani

We must feed. We must feed. Feed me. Feed me. Fend for me. Haven’t you heard? Progress is no process. I clock out and passing through the automatic doors, the wind strips the light from my bones. The forecast for this evening claims that temperatures could drop to -2C. I hope Max survives the night. I hope the appetite of the beast is satisfied.
Until next week at least, when the delivery of Karl Lagerfeld T-shirts is due.