Fontän – Fontän

The surgeon burst, just as he was getting to the good bit. Damn, he thought, damn, what a waste of a good bit. So he set about finding the bits and sewing them back together, but this was a time ensuing process, so once he was re-established, he found that he was no longer a surgeon as he knew it, and the task facing him now was almost entirely structural, something alien to a worker of shambola which he now knew he was to be. Give me a needle and dread, he asked, give me the needle, but the needle was possessed, it was moving, whirring, spinwatting and slabbing. Nowhere was this more apparent than on the structure, something made for itself, conceived for itself, executed for political reasons. And people say I’m a bit odd. Well, wouldn’t you be? But the surgeon, why do we always forget the surgeon? I can remove that lump, he said, or at least, I could, back when I knew what it was. No need, these things are brought on by anger, don’t you know, anger and frustration, and the removal of these ills often effects a cure, but you need to journey and to see, it’s a very strange experience, you often are not sure whether or not you had it, though the memory is vivid enough. I can dig that, replied the surgeon, I must admit this is all a bit weird for me, have you ever pieced yourself back together using only a memory of a subjective prior being? Yes. Yes. Yes. Every fucking day. Wakefulness is what gives me purpose, but, by god, it comes at a price, and I’m not sure what’s left in the bank. I have to save some for the son, though I, the father, have a somewhat privilege, and I get to use it, more than I did, especially now I’m beginning to know where to find more of it. The thing is sustainability. Yes, I know it’s a trendy buzzword, and for that I apologise, I dislike having to use words too, but have you ever tried communicating concepts without their context? Context is, and I think I may have said this before, everything. Everything is context. So, do I get better, asked the surgeon. Yes. But only if you want to. Find your purpose and you will automatically. Ignore your purpose and it becomes harder.

Free the computer within!

Idiomatic. My style is idiomatic. That does NOT mean I’m automatically an idiot. Probably.

Rusty Souls – Tripnotic

Clarkson sold his soul
and was rewarded with a fast car
gave him such a thrill
that he thought that’s all there was
part of the deal he made
was in treating men with wither
if they happened to point out
that he’d been taken for a ride
but eventually he arrived at the end
of his sordid little pleasuredome
he had to put in concepts
all the scorn he’d sold in words
and he found that they were empty
he found that they were empty
albeit with invective
but it isn’t quite the same
where has your reward gone?
it’s stuck behind in this realm
and you could have taken riches
if you knew just what they were
life is not a lesson
it’s a song
and if you get the meaning wrong
you cannot hear the music
its underneath the engines
but above the darker ground
it could be in the air
try listening to the air
ears are more than just the holes in the side of your head
you need to know your song
its your passport to moving on

 

Fanatism – The Future Past

The universe is a perpetual perceptual feedback loop

I’m preaching to the diverted

You cross the line when you play the game

The shape of things to come? Or the things that shapes become?

Work hard play dead

Make sure the opposing possibility has a crossover point, or it’ll be a waste of saturation

Smile for the countdown

You have a fire inside you? Poor thing! How do you concentrate?

If you must have an obsession, do try to have more than one. It’ll make you so much more interesting at parties.

 

Jjuujjuu – Zionic Mud

Imagine a jigsaw, a round, huge, perhaps even infinite, where all the pieces are unique, and make for a beautiful whole when observed from without, as is quite possible for anyone with the requisite spiritual training. So, then, let us immediately zoom in on a small piece roughly to the left of the hypothetical centre, a bit above and less to the top, capable of movement. It’s sad. It saw something about one of the other pieces over on the right, and it wants to be like the piece on the right, but the piece on the right is different, different shape for a start. So our piece, with a tremendous effort of will, gradually alters his shape, trying to be the same shape as his idol. Unfortunately, he can’t quite get to the right shape, though he keeps trying, because he thinks he just needs to persevere because some idiot wrote that if you persevere, you will get everything you want. The problem was, the effort at remaining in the wrong shape, and the continuous striving to perfect this other shape was an enormous strain, emotionally, and eventually, physically, which took its toll not just on our little piece, but on those around it too, and eventually, on the whole picture. Because those around it suddenly found that they weren’t fitting as comfortably as before, and so they thought there was something missing in what they had begun to think of as themselves. This led to a growing communal sense of dissatisfaction, the solutions to which seemed to be in following the first of the shapeshifters, who, due to a bizarre irony, was now seen as something of a pioneer and so they started trying to imitate him, and then others came up with what seemed like an original take, but was in fact their limitations making it impossible to become an exact copy, so they therefore seemed original enough for others to try and copy, all failing, of course. So the continuing result is a jigsaw of pieces where very few fit – those who have kept their original shape are now regarded as psychologically deficient in some way.

Timber Rattle – The Veil Beneath The Mountain Beneath The Veil

I’m sorry, I couldn’t be with you tonight to accept your sycophancy, I’ve sent my body as a substitute; I hope you find it adequate. First of all, I’d like to thank me for doing what I did, the universe for giving me a place in which to do what I did, and everything in it for tolerating my doing what I did. May I continue to say that those who were offended by some or all of the content were offended by intention, primarily their own, and I have no misgivings whatsoever about the nature of what I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. Hindsight is simply an excuse in disguise, and therefore, does not exist, like so much else that doesn’t exist. And finally, I just want to ask why you’re all so keen to kiss my arse? It’s just an arse. Why not create your own stuff? Life isn’t a competition, it’s a festival. So, thank you again, for this award, I will now use it in a sculpture of meaninglessness. No, really, thank you.

Celtefog – A Faded Wisdom

The Knights Under the Round Tabel, version II

The Knights Under the Round Tabel were on a mission to discover the unknown. Like all members of their generation, they went about it with a curiously apathetic zeal, which meant that any ideas put to them may well get absorbed and acted upon, but self generated ideas were curiously lacking. And all the while they stared into the distance. Roughly about approximately a thousand yards into the distance.

They maintained the illusion that frontier pushing was somehow connected to altering states of consciousness, and they were not totally wrong in this regard. However, consciousness altering can occur in a myriad of ways, one of the least significant of which is imbibing synthetic chemicals. Sadly, this path was the one they travelled the most. They sometimes saw previously unseen colours and visionscapes that may have otherwise been denied, but any earth-shattering insights that may have occurred were kept to themselves, and then forgotten.

It is fairly easy to regard the Knights with derision. I do it regularly. But this self appointed sect were actually more representative of their society than they would be pleased to realise.

They were not averse to token mysticism, without really knowing what it was, and there was a certain amount of conventional cultural experimentation. They would psychically swallow much that would have been otherwise unpalatable had it been presented conventionally, but the result of all these outside influences was something of a homogenised mess which gave no discernible sign of having learned anything significant from the experience. They were a fiercely individual collection of sheep who all thought in remarkable similar ways, whilst revelling in the idea that they were amongst the first of their kind to be really ‘pushing it.’

At the age of 18, I graduated. I thought it was an honour, not realising that the Knights were not always choosy about who they admitted.

Some few nuggets of wisdom came about, some even from me. They were usually derided, sometimes loudly, sometimes by me. Yet future conversations would often find the mocker advancing the same view that once they had scorned, as if it had been their own idea all along.

Ultimately, the Knights Under the Round Tabel foundered, being casualties of their own incoherence and lack of determination. They were victims of their own self-hatred, undone by their disrespect for who they were, where they came from, and why they were here. Hence, their name. They became permanent residents under the table, unable to articulate the few coherent thoughts they were able to have.

Now I find I can reside under several different tables. It seems that membership of one clique makes it easier to become a member of others, as long as the table is a broadly similar shape. When I started residing under different shaped tables, however, then I found myself being sought by fewer and fewer knights.

Locean – Object/Disco

Six white pigeons lined on a roof
Re-arranged to give the order of proof
The magus waits until his hands have finished
Then asks them what they did

Six wide angles in a time of doubt
Give way to senses and what’s allowed
The disease waits until his hands are full
Then he asks them what they’re doing

Six meets seven then multiplies
It’s a universe but a smaller size
The maker waits til his hands are empty
And asks them what have they done

 

Nat Birchall – Sounds Almighty

I looked for you
And I found me
What a disappointment that was
I had to try again to become lost
So I looked for me
And I found you

From the perspective of a man hanging from a tree, by any limb, if necessary: the world goes by withall wherewithout, changing only according to the colour and the contour of the eye. A concave statement, when applied to a complex bio-lens instrument, shall be interred by deferment, a symbol of which is your lassitude. I wish you well, the tree is my protector, the tree is my anchor, the tree is my mantra and will put me up, for sale. When all I feel is falling, all is what I’ll be.

A minimalist in all but execution

I took my clothes off
Oh!
You meet so many people