Early in the morning, a man wraps himself in barbed wire, finishing with a garland wrapped tightly around his head.

In the 9th lunar month of the Chinese calendar a festival in Old Town Phuket, far away from the beaches and resorts exists the Phuket Vegetarian Festival. Ten mornings to early afternoons start with early morning chants, then gory body mutilations, processions through the streets with huge explosions of fireworks, and kilograms of firecrackers that concuss and blow shrapnel in all directions. Somehow this feels more like a pain festival at times. It was the most dangerous photo shoot of my life.

6:00am and the piercings begin wrapped in unexplained traditions, chants and drumming meant to pull the participants into trances.

Holy men and women come to bless homes and businesses. They are met with painful explosions of firecrackers that are thrown directly at them. Those around flinch with shock from the concussion, but the holy man is there to brave this.

Carriers of the god effigies are there to shoulder the heavy load during the procession, but also the massive explosions that are part of being in the gods’ orbits.

Holy men accept and distribute gifts along the procession while them and their followers are pelted with rolls of firecrackers that seem to all light at once.

I follow a team of shirtless, brave young lads as they carry their god. They stop occasionally so that those around can load up their burdens with stacks of explosives. The air fills with smoke and unused gunpowder. It begins to choke and cover us with the high-velocity pieces left over.

God carriers are hit with a box of firecrackers, which explode with ferocity and intent.

A processioner surrounded by his first aid and handlers makes some uncomfortable adjustments. Everyone is careful not to make any sudden moves.

God carriers are joined by a pierced processioner who climbs aboard and whips and hollers at his transporters.

A boy concentrates on his trance while a doctor spears him through his cheek with a massive metal spike that gains in width as it enters.

A queen-like ghost makes her way through the crowd, blessing all of us. She locks her eyes on me and continues to move forward. It feels like she is looking into me and then through the back of my head.

More daring and imaginative pierces come as the mornings progress, one seemingly meant to outdo the others, only to be followed by something more atrocious and repulsive.

The discomfort and pain mix with the trance in a battle over the body and mind.

Many agreed this was the most audacious exhibit of overcoming pain seen during the ten days. Not felt in this picture is the horrid laughter by the man that filtered through his new teeth of metal spikes.

An early morning participant is held still as he anticipates the metal entering his cheek. Not seen is the other two-thirds of the spear yet to come.

A surprise blast of colour lightens the mood. This uplifting of the spirit feels out of place and wrong, which makes you laugh more awkwardly.

A unique display of a participant wielding a flag and a heavy Durian fruit on a rope. He has just finished hurling the massive, spiked object high in the air so that he could head-butt it.

Dozens upon dozens of punctured processioners are appearing now. You see cheeks perforated by objects like engine parts, wooden stumps, steering wheels and bike tire rims.

Paper and unexploded pieces of firecrackers jet past our heads with some hot pieces wedging between my own cheek and my glasses. Gunpowder fills the lens. My shirt is soaked in sweat, white now black and brown, littered with holes.

Spikes are inserted by a past participant with wounds still healing.

Now that all the damage has been done, the minutes tick by slower as we await the slow march through the hot streets of Old Phuket.

A girl screams in ecstasy and joy as she experiences the full brunt of the fireworks laid upon her by the crowd.

Shrapnel pieces the skin of a man, and his pals have a good laugh. There is a look in their eyes that doesn’t quite feel human or caring.

The final day is actually a night. This is the culmination of all we have seen, heard and felt in the previous days, all wrapped into an evening of hell. More war. More pain. More terror.

The streets are no longer simply punctuated by explosions. The whole of Old Town feels as if it is all exploding simultaneously. I am not a spectator. I am part of the apocalypse. I am now dressed as they are, head covered, mouth and nose blanketed by a tied cloth. Mandatory white clothes are now shredded, and I have my own wounds as I am also a crowd target due to proximity. We all move through the streets as a sweaty, dirty team.

The zombie-like scenes continue as the night drags on and the tiredness creeps in. The mind and body can only withstand so many blasts and fire eruptions like the one about to engulf my group in this photo.

The air is now fully clogged with smoke, gunpowder and detritus. The night takes on a horrid ochre and mustard colour. Even with all this protection, our ears are ringing, we cough out the filth in our lungs and blink the grit around in our eyes.

I joined a child who looked to be learning from the other boys. We share thumbs up. He marvels at my appearance - ripped, torn and undistinguishable.

A dazed and shirtless man possessed by trance stands surveying destruction. Firecrackers explode all over his body and flare into ball of fire. He is impervious to anything that seeks to derail his frame of mind. There is so much shit in the air now that we all feel alone. I return to my hotel to shower with my clothes on, then throw them in the garbage.