“This is my story. This is my story. All persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. All mistakes are intentional, except for those that aren’t” —Lucy
Stuff is a story about stuff, and about Stuff. Told from the increasingly fragmented perspective of Lucy, a writer hopelessly adrift in her early twenties, it’s a story about confusion, loneliness, love and weird substances. About trying to choose your own adventure, and coming to terms with the possibility that you can’t. You think navigating life, love, sex, jobs, frustrated creativity, middle-class guilt, indifferent cities and the anticlimax of university graduation is hard? Try doing it while under the influence of a mysterious drug called Stuff, which may have psychic qualities and steadily blends the minds of you and your friends until you literally can’t tell where their thoughts end and yours begin. Then add social media and enjoy your very own personal apocalypse.
Information overload; existential paranoia; telepathic love triangles; trying to find some sort of meaning in Britain in 2014. You know. Usual stuff.