Game

The aim of the game is to catch as many balls as you within the allotted time. Saving yourself for the coming winter is a secondary concern. Now, whenever life gets you in a kerfuffle you might as well count your blessings and summon the will to carry on. What’s the worst that could happen? Dying? It’ll happen one day so you might as well get a little bit of life over with before the end eh? Anyway, get back to your game, it’s got a fair way to go yet and its all still to play for.

Celebrate

Well and truly ready for the celebration of the globe, the endless spin and falling grace of god’s essence, as it enters its first days. Life has risen and fallen again and again, deeper and deeper into the soul of grace. I’ve seen it growing all across its surface, losing itself in the endless joy of existence. What a world eh? A formless creation morphing endless contortions of new forms, new creations built off the old, never-ending in complexity. What a world to see and eat and sleep in. True and deadly in its infinite variety. Lovely and new isn’t it. Wonderfully full and meticulous in its creation. Smiling again, smiling again.

Grind

Grinding the meat to a pulp, an amorphous mass of pink-white paste; keep on grinding down and down. It’s liquid now, bloody and fresh and sloshing around in the bowl, smearing the sides dark red. Welcome to this plastic hell, formed of millennia old flesh and bone, fragments lodged now deep in its throat.

Music whilst writing

Blue Monday – Lord Horror

Rust

The site of horror stories always drip with a little blood afterward, no matter what happened. It leaks from holes in the walls, leaving stains as it runs it way down to saturate the ground a light crimson brown. These small stains give patterns to streets and tree trunks across the world and, removed from context, they are able to trace their own stories.

Following these trails detectives often find themselves fumbling through abandoned buildings, trekking across open fields, and hiking far into age warped forests. And within? New byways for the unwary investigator to follow deep, deep into lost places at the core of the world.

It takes time, and more than a little luck, to find these areas that wriggle inside the world like tapeworms through the gut. But, sometimes, people do stumble on them and find inside only an empty concrete room or a huge faucet dripping congealed blood into a basin. Staying awhile changes nothing, the room stays bare, or the tap continues to splat wetly again and again and again and again onto the porcelain.

These places do exist though, at the end of long trails.

Gumption

The sorcerous waves of their hand always made them look just a little bit stupid as they ponced about in their hat the height of your average dog, their hair sticking out from underneath at wild angles. But, despite that, it seemed to me that they carried a speck of grace, a slight hint of certainty.

Sometimes they chose to stride through the cramped space like a two-legged cat whilst they moved their hands, passing down dictates to those working around them, occasionally pointing their fingers across the entire length of the room at anyone who dared to look away for a second. Then, after a few minutes, they’d fall to the ground, shaking, and we’d gather round to lie them straight, head turned to one side, and watch as grainy yellow-green foam dribbled from between their lips.

Before long however they’d come around, like a little electric shock had run its way through them, snatch up their hat from the ground and go about their day, none the wiser.

They were a slight annoyance to the rest of us, but we had always tolerated them, putting up with their antics for the most part with an awkward smile and a roll of the eyes. Better to have to sit though one of these infrequent lectures than deal with the hassle of sending them off. Why bother to get rid of them when we could keep an eye on them by ourselves? Who really wanted them hidden away like a stray in the doghouse, to yowl and scrape at their cell walls?

So we kept them on, listened to their lectures, nodding in all the right places, attention fixed squarely forward as our work was ‘sorted’, and laughing a little behind our hands when they took a turn and tumbled off a doorstep, or cut a finger on glass.

Songs Whilst Writing

Prophecy Theme - Toto

Forest

We stopped amongst the trees, light shining through their branches, framing the ground below as a cage, bars of black shadow contrasting against the sunlit grass. We spent a long but indefinite amount of time there, buying a dew laughs, a smile, a couple frowns, but in the end we had to make ready to move on.

We left our packs behind, they had grown to heavy anyway, and headed off again into the trees. Some went alone, others together, hand in hand and still others as groups linked arm in arm, off into the trees.

Reality

When a political grudge match hinges on whether your opponent deserves to exist or not it might be time to revaluate.

Rant

The universe has been destroyed by poor writing, what a shame. It’s genuinely wiped out by the failure to explain stakes, a failure to follow up on plots, a seemingly needless number of new plots introduced, a complete inability to construct characters in a believable way, and a superb ability to fuck up other excellent stories previously portrayed.

I honestly cannot believe the intense hatred I feel for this writing, genuine feral hatred. Thank you.

Overheard

When was the last time you ate someone?

I DO NOT KNOW, LAST WEEK?

Well, you should really keep to that, eating people is very, very rude!

I WILL TRY DEARY BUT THEY ARE JUST SOOOOO TASTY!

Yes… You know what, I’ll let you into a little secret, sometimes I have a little nibble of one myself…

WHAT! REA-

Shhhhhhh! Don’t tell the whole room!

SORRY…

Anyway, how was Stalingrad?

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.