Butty

 “I cannot honestly believe it is in fact not congealing milk fats!”

Hiding Quietly in the Night

One can see time as comparable to space. It surrounds everything, it affects everything, it is, in essence, everything. We may see it linearly or as a wheel, but it is most accurately described as an endless expanse, reaching out in all directions simultaneously but leaving us on steel tracks, tracks that drag us along, like a rickety cart through a haunted house.

Time may be infinite, a layer under or around space, but it gives us just one single direction and with just the slightest push it sets us off along the road. Sometimes we might be able to make out the endless plain with its empty stretches reaching out all around, filled with the paths untaken. But we quickly hide them again and carry on, out into the unknown stretches in front of us and along the new paths that we hope one day to choose for ourselves.

Fear

Fear was the last of those things held to the chest. It is closed close, slowly infiltrating through exposed pores and rooting itself beneath the surface, twisting vines stretch to their limit, wrapping round and round nerve clusters as they slither on tendrils towards the spine.

Fear can seize everything, it can control and run away with a body lost to the mind itself. Now we see the new universe, but the fear still holds on tight, not budging an inch. The universe calls me over and asks for my phone number but I have left it buried under layers of constant pulsating flesh. It was dark then, the universe looking at me expectantly and I don’t know what to do

I walk backwards as the universe reaches out to hold me there, moulding into the crowd and leaving a disappointed existence behind. Let’s head of, just me and my fear, off into the wilderness beyond the edge of space, head off and find new country to call our own.

Hidden

Living within the hidden forms and raised walls is a recipe for disaster. These hidden layers often reach up in unexpected ways, curling around feet and loose clothing before yanking hard, pulling you to the ground. Navigating between the forms was my life’s work, navigating my way towards the centre, slipping between walls and beneath falling fronds dripping with a temporal dew to find the place psyche.

I found myself often trapped in ways unknown to myself, locked between reality, one wall forming a house, another an overgrown garden hedge. Despite being locked in place, the tightness left me feeling safe, secure in my inability, unability, to move a single muscle. And now the walls closed in.

The sky above was a deep flickering orange broken only by the purple hole of the sun. I stare into it as it grows slowly smaller, like someone slowly drawing curtains across an open doorway, and smile. The ground under me flickers with the same staccato orange hue and seems to fall endlessly down beneath the soles of my feet.

Looking back along the closing gap I saw a new set of in-between spaces, hidden world spaces that held the psychology of the city. With the last of my will I squeezed and slithered, wiggling my way through the closing hole and into new pathways, fresh under the moonlight.

Song Whilst Writing

·         Live 1977-1979 – Teenage Jesus and the Jerks

Dark Star

The nations of the world find themselves shaken to their cores when the Dark Star rises above them. We, their citizens, find the nations wanting in such a way that fires now rage in the streets and cities topple under the weight of thousands. We fight on, the nation’s hold out but we fight on. Soon, however, they fall, coming crashing down with a smash into the world skin and we stand triumphant.

Now, the Dark Star descends.

Medical

The helpful woman directed Chanel to the doctor’s office and now she stood in front of its door. She took a deep breath in… then pushed it open.

Good

Well and good the world was then (when?), now it’s gone to bad again, the climate crashes down around us, the air grows hotter and hotter, water is deeper than it was before, rivers reach the doors and windows, bloated beech trees roll with the current.

The danger of losing oneself in the deep darkness of Nazi esotericism is a harder than one might think. I found their arguments baffling, Hitler as Vishnu, reincarnations of the Aryan unconsciousness, the dawning of a new Hitlerite deity, all unreal but true in the mind.

We fought harder against the tide, but in come the swarms of godlings to remove the traces of a dangerous quality, making way for the new being, the lord of war and hate, HTLR.

And so, we see him go, into this new world of false purity.

Songs whilst Writing

·         Hong Kong Garden – Siouxsie and the Banshees

·         Dark Entries - Bauhaus

·         DC-10 – Kleenex

Markx

So is it alright to commit genocide in the name of Marx, if not in his spirit?

Rush

We wandered far and wide for the ruby lands of the stories, further than any mortal had ever gone. I laughed a little with each failure, every time we lost our way to the city in the sky and the darkness of noon on crowned the clouds above. Thank you for the opportunity, this chance of some sort of redemption, I will find you this ruby land, and you will be proud again.

Hound

Water flows down he rockface and into the pool below, where it carves a bowl of clean stone, then speeds away down the valley behind me. I watch the fish jump from rockpool to rockpool, making their way downward, and twist my hands together in repeating patterns.

I saw the shape of the great dog rise on the horizon and screamed in my mind for overloading images that fill me surround me and flow down with the fish towards me as the paws pad closer and closer and closer and clo-

I open my eyes to those of a curious fish and it speaks to me. I cannot understand it, I never did bother to learn and so it rolls a glassy eye and swims away down the stream. Then down comes the paw into the pool and suddenly I am soaking and the fish is flying and the water is gone and everything is the sound of growling.

I feel an overpowering rush of air and the smell the stench of rotting meat. I resign myself to fate and look up at the open jaws that leave the tongue lolling closer each and every second.

Songs Whilst Writing

·         Soldiers at the Edge of Time (Michael Moorcock Version) – Hawkwind

·         The Wizard Blew His Horn (Nik Turner Version) – Hawkwind

·         Spiral Galaxy 28948 (Demo) – Hawkwind

·         Soldiers at the Edge of Time (Nik Turner) – Hawkwind

·         Motorhead (bonus) (Lemmy) – Hawkwind

·         Kings of Speed (Moorcock/Brock) – Hawkwind

Psychogeography

A psychogeography loses itself when created in a vacuum. It needs mess to develop, to grow into a fully formed mental mirror of its physical counterpart. It craves a chaos that provides the semblance of free will to its landscapes, a wild murder, a gas main rupturing, love found and lost and found again in the back alleys and side streets.

A psychogeography feeds from this and can be sensed through this. When we study them, we study yourself more so than in any other way. It reveals a sliver of the mind lodged deep in concrete and glass.

New Life

I cannot see you anymore, I cannot feel the wind blowing from your shores and through the sand to my eyes. I feel free, I flew with the wind and now I am free. I can feel the grains under my feet though, the coarseness of them grating away at the dead skin and open sores of my feet. I miss the sand of the shores and the last night of the summer but I am free again, alone in a strange new city rimmed by the light of the rising sun.  I love you, now that you have left, but I find it in in myself to forgive you.  I love you, now that I have left, but I cannot find it in in myself to forgive you. You really left, didn’t you? You know that I left for a reason, right? You know I did not want you to leave. You know you are alone for a reason. Please. This is you’re doing, and I am happy to be free.

Songs Whilst Writing

·         Ba-Benzele – Brian Eno & Jon Hassell

·         Rising Thermal 14 16’ N; 32 28’ E – Brian Eno & Jon Hassell

·         Charm (Over “Burundi Cloud”) – Brian Eno & Jon Hassell

Falling

Make a mental note to conquer the fear of falling. It will benefit you in the long run if a sudden parachute jump presents itself.

P.S. remember to sell more trees to the logging company, its good money.

Throat

If words are formed from the sounds of fleshy chords deep within our throats, why do we listen to them? It is somewhat absurd, unreasonable even, to see twanging folds of meat as having anything of relevance to convey on the world at large. It is even more suspect that we trust that meat is a means through which to learn about the universe.

Sound vibrates through them, forming new noise based on their shape and size and we actually trust that it is a human speaking, that we, as people, have some measure of control over this automatic bodily function? As I said, absurd and yet wonderful, if considered from outside of the body. Of course, I have had no experience of existence outside of my skin and, as far as I am aware, no-one else truly has, but that does not discount the possibility.

Sound vibrates and we trust it… insanity personified in six words; words constructed through the very process of this madness in the first place. First, they’re spoken and then we transcribe them onto paper in thick lines that are meant to convey that same something. And what is it that they convey? Nothing, they are not a reality altering device, not to what exists outside of the mind (a place no one has ever seen). But often we insist that within our minds every action we take must shape its personal reality in some way, meaningful or otherwise. But do these twitching folds? Or are they just uncontrolled spasms of wet flesh lodged deep within the gullet of a body we never made and can never (really) leave.

Songs Whilst Writing

* Banality Chic (Pornographic Version) - Jonathan Sutcliffe

Flux

One is always surprised with the arrival of a temporal paradox. They float into real space on eddies of slight lucidity, accidently breaking through the psychic projections erected around the universe. In they come and everything changes, trees turn from green to sludge, hair becomes a nest of waving tentacles, stars balls of perfect crystalline ice.

A shift is always to be expected, after all the universe is not infinite despite having no end and such scale invites interlopers. So, when one is discovered it is best to just sit back and watch, swooping in to calculate the occasional flux in the flow.

But instead, I watch out from behind my faceplate as one gets ever closer. My ship drifted somewhere in the void behind me, and before me was the invisible pull of the temporal rift. I would scream, but whenever I opened my mouth a fountain of soapy bubbles poured out, coating my visor in a filmy sheen.

And now I drifted in, and all around bent in anticipation.

Maybe Next Time Eh?

Oh shit, ran out of time, oh shit, ran out of time! Ah balls to it, have a biscuit.

 

 

 

 

Was that nice? I certainly hope so.

Who That, Don't Know

Recently I’ve been wondering what happened to Penny Piliard. They used to run the planet not to long ago and then, poof! Gone. Did they go off to another planet? Take up a low-profile job with BP? Start a mildly successful laptop repair service? It boggles the brain that someone so famous could just disappear.

They last place they were seen was round the back of the local chippy, nicking the curry sauce off a cooling poke of chips. Turning round they let out a little sigh and then, as I said before, poof! Gone. I think I miss them, all round and chubby with chip fat. Ack well never mind, can always call the jewellers to put her face on some ring or other.

Songs whilst Writing

Blue Monday – Lord Horror/P. J. Proby

Wolf

A wolf is a being lost in its own world. It has no conception outside of the hunt, the pack lifestyle, and the lifecycle of the countryside. Non-linear world-space cannot be conceived in the two-dimensional brain-space of the wolf.

But the wolf that requires a third dimension in the brain is not, in literal terms, a wolf, at least not anymore. We, as human beings, assign our animal brethren, especially those of the mammalian variety, concepts that only truly ascribe to the human themselves (and to us only tenuously).

Essentially, our own mind-space is incomprehensible, why assign what we believe it to be to the wolf, a being of psychically incomparable construction. Thank you.

Endings

Time moved as the arms whirled in their sockets, scattering seed across the fertile fields. Decrepit machinery wired themselves to the earth; liquid pulled through them from beneath the surface. The machines laid back the ground in ways that looked fresh; circuit boards covered by the fresh plastic greenery.

We were somewhat fond then, it must be said, of these wonderous rebuilders, these chromium and gold saviours. They brought back trees and blue water and whales roamed the seas and orangutans swung from the branches up above.

But… maybe we were mistaken, ever so slightly. The doubt came slowly as the machines connected us closer, wrapping our minds tighter to together in winding vines of electric buses and ethernet cables. But why worry, they built us better than nature ever did, revealed to us the world as it really was, a machine’s paradise.

Now we welcome visitors to a ball of regulated sterility, its inhabitants preserved in their billions as members of a long dead race. And these tourists watch and calculate the machines cost, before leaving us to our cold steel.

Songs Whilst Listening

All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace – Richard Brautigan

Blue Mountain – Michael Hurley

Dear Prudence – Siouxsie and the Banshees

Hope Bones – DOPE LEMON

Welp

What a day eh, good to see you! Anyway, what can you do but have a nice one eh?

Lands

I wandered along night-deserted village lanes for a living. I followed their meandering flow, their natural curves and winding rhythm, making my way along them at my own steady pace. I searched for the secret byways, the hidden stretches connecting the disparate fields and glens together in a patchwork facsimile of a single landscape.

With each new way revealed the patchwork grew, a fresh land to walk and catalogue before filing away once another formed behind the next hedgerow. Each world revealed something different… no, not really, more like the same place with a purple tree. But it was devoured all the same, the new lands read about in the papers and goggled at through way of the crank-handled projector.

But I keep on walking and keep an eye out, watching for those hidden ways and silent signs to the new villages and distant corries of hallowed stone, declining under the glow of an empty sky.

Song Whilst Listening

·         Ain’t you – Kleenex

·         106 Beats That – Wire

·         Beri-Beri – Kleenex

·         Room Mate – Lizzie Mercier Descloux

·         Hitch-hike – Kleenex

·         Don’t Know What I Am – Wipers

·         Nighttoad – Kleenex

·         A Miss of You – Dead Moon

Hmmm

What a world eh, climate change, war, famine, poverty. Makes yeh think, eh?

More Spinning

Stuck in the spin, Maya was increasingly certain that she wasn’t going to get away this time, but what did it matter, she was happy here anyway. The spin kept her going, kept her aware of the universe in a way being outside it could never quite do.

Well, almost any way you cut it the world was at least a little more colourful in here, each piece of clothing forming its own unique hue as it whirred on by. She a nice yellow, a pleasant red, a darker shade of pink that she would have liked, all tumbled together in jumbled mass.

 

 

Now, Maya wasn’t a stickler for detail, she could let an unexplained part of the universe wander on by if it was a least a little interesting, but the colours were becoming a little irritating They always seemed to be repeating at the same exact intervals, but why? Stuck in a spin was somewhat disconcerting, sure, but she wasn’t imagining things, not yet (she was not of the opinion that someone’s entire reality was the conception of their own, or someone else’s, imagination).

Ah well, why worry about i-

No, she should worry about it, this is her world now, she should look out for it, balance out the colours and understand the reasons for their spin. Keep it sane, so to speak; or it might just spit her out.

Song's whilst Listening

Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack

Line

We found the world as we left it; alone, but content.