..., .

~He didn't think it was fun, it wouldn't be fun, lazily resenting the prompting of this apparent fun, it was stock dialogue, it didn't believe in itself. But it was all just distant cynicism and his arms were scratched up from branches and nettles. Which had gently flooded him with an earthy belonging.

Having a bath was something people enjoyed, used to relax. He wondered if he had ever relaxed, somewhere he panicked in a tiny way then felt absent again. Sweat moved through his brow, he breathed methodically through one nostril, becoming aware of both.

The bath was hot, maybe too hot, that is something men are meant to worry about or at least be careful of, he affected worry, but didn't in fact worry. His leg hair swayed like alveoli, if alveoli do indeed sway. He would probably never see inside his own body, this was probably good. He once drew an old woman who was dead, then was told to draw over her eyes, you weren't allowed to draw the eyes, that was illegal. Death smelt like sweets and formaldehyde, omnipresent and rich. Or at least that death did.

He imagined deep bottomless kelp fields, silently drowning things due to their very structure, a toy car forever sinking. A dolphin swimming by but not helping, to prove a point about long worn stereotypes. It was as self absorbed as everyone and was distracted with thoughts about whether it had said the right thing earlier, whilst simultaneously wondering if his friends eyes were smaller, but not really caring either way.

He remembered plunging a raw finger in dirty cold water, it throbbed, it had been squashed with a hammer, forming a ruby blood blister.

Pulling the plug, the hot mass began to eek away imperceptibly, he couldn't really conceive of its reduction in relation to time, but then it was gone. A small watery tornado formed and began singing in tongues like some great dying fish in a foot of water. Everyone in Australia was essentially upside down, from his point of view at that moment. The world is spinning through space at 65,000 miles an hour, or something like that. His pubic hair swayed as the liquid receded. The water was illustrating immutable laws and forces. Gravity pulling substances together and through, illustrating their elemental properties, gently referencing oxidisation and friction. Earlier he had thought hard about surface tension and boundaries, confident and constant, he was not.

Once the water had drained away he began to really enjoy the bath, sitting warm and naked still charged with latent heat, looking around aimlessly. This was the only relaxing part, or part that in anyway resembled his idea of relaxation. The empty turquoise bath warm and wet, looking at his feet...

ORACLE EMULSION;

FIG.3.2 Mr Arka Noah

so one day everyone woke up, feeling like their minds were made of ginger ale and gold leaf, full of tiny crystal pavilions constantly sinking and rising and fizzing. then they all reciprocally agreed to boycott verbal language, but without saying it, obviously... but then they were lost. they could deal with not expressing annoyance, jealousy or disgust, for sadness, their would always be tears, but happiness, mild or extreme, they new they needed something. a symbol that was not only universal, but one that could transcend time, space and infinity. they formed a silent council to form a gesticulation worthy of the cause, it took them seven years. all they could form was a high five, but decided it was too reliant on physical contact and needed something more singular, more ephemeral.

One member of the council was pretty unhappy about their combined failure and slipped into a heady melancholica, partly because there was a tax on smiles, but mainly because he couldnt express his hapiness, due to the lack of said universal gesture. he cried for three days straight. he resorted to turning the heating on full in his one room appartment to try and evaporate his tears, eating only salt in the hope of drying out his tear glands, but all that happenned was that the steam soaked his linnen, and photographs, and the wall paper started to peel.

in impotent, melodramatic desperation he tore the paper from the walls and weeped on his knees. what fresh hell is this. through the salt and steam and sparkling lashes he raised his head and saw something scrawled on the plaster beneath. half hyroglyphs half childs pictogram. it was it. the thing they had been searching for for so long, a tryptch diagram displaying the inspirational all encompassing gesture of happiness, and one long word in a large childish font...

AIRGRABELBOWDAGGER

skinthroughair;

running, on all fours, through air thick as treacle, slow and fluid. gliding past houses and streets, saoked in a half light. clawing at the grass with my fingers and toes, diving for metres through open air, naked. momentum being the all consuming force, gravity lost. to be feral and free without direction, whilst constantly moving forward.

SWON

so they floated, sometimes on the same plane, other times in different rooms with others. moving from point to point, looking at things and what people project of themselves, talking, thinking and saying things quietly in their heads and eyes. sucking in air and looking through holes into places they were currently not. urinating from time to time.
from what point should they proceed, what stance was stable enough to gain distance, to view the multifacited strata of their faces and feelings, ideas and beliefs, for how long. longing to migrate, to be in transit. Listless and iluminated. tearing air with the edges of their bodies. They were sad and complicated. I guess thats why they broke my arms. i cant blame them,

they were beautiful and whole.

wanted; small thing, preferably not bad

so all this stuff happened, and refracted and started to grow and recede, followed by more growth. so i poured petrol and pineapple juice on it and it blinked and glowed.
a small sharp sun burned a whole in the pocket I had been building.
my cheeks were warm and when I stood in the dark at the top of my stairs my heart beat through me and I felt warm and alone.

so then these other things happened, in succession, seemingly chronologically, inside and perpendicular to triangles and I felt things and looked at them and felt them.
this was followed by a chase and retreat of something I don’t really know, that has a face.
then with my eyes wide open but not seeing very well someone put something dense in my overly open hands.

i turned it over and over, it was complicated and unfamiliar.

i didnt want it, but wanted to accept it was or wasnt something.

then I washed a coffee cup with salt, on my own and sat on the floor in a bar, when no one was there, my legs were very straight.
later I was confused, because things are different, different to me and I had forgotten that.
earlier i built a house in a small valley i dug and stood on top of it looking at things that I imagined could be there, but then later I fell off and was sat on by a thing with no face.
then I remembered I had enjoyed building the house, but it wasn’t mine.

then something exciting happened and I thought of all the things I could do with everything.
then I talked to people, people are good at talking, some people.
then I poured lemonade on the snow. earlier i ate snow shapes with a girl and it tasted like perfume because i carried her bag.

then I thought about the future and what I should do.
at the start I smoked a cigarette and looked at things I hadn’t seen before.

then richard looked at me.

when i leave i will smoke a cigarette.

TXT

Total zen bro. I
am sitting in bed
thinking about
dolphins but my
legs are sore
from working a
lot.

MRALDS

They poured largers one after another into plastic pint glasses, teased into a static induced frenzy, foaming to produce 4 inch heads, hopelessly guilty, it made the staff feel bad. Your totally that guy who makes a fuss about stuff like this, yep. Buy me some vegan cake, no you owe me 56 pounds. OK. Just buy me some vegan cake, no. people are sitting and standing around, red light floods from beneath the temporary aluminium stage. Lots of beards. The first band arrive wearing normal clothes and shamanic masks cobbled together out of rubber gloves and cardboard, quite minimal masks. The lead guitarist slowly fucks the air with his guitar, demon clad face lolling back and licking the sky, over and over. This lasts quite a long time, rolls of static and drone, guitar and echoes settle and fizz like sediment in water. It is difficult to sit like this. upright on the hard floor. Another guy from japan enters the stage, slim with a large volume of wavy black her down to his chest, he proceeds to make some noises, loud noises, static and noise, jerking around and twisting a disk attached to some kind of home made techno junk disk keyboard. It wasn’t so good. But three guys from America were. Making sounds like millions of tiny sinking galleons in a pool filled with cheap lemonade wired up with magnetism and electricity, objects and layers flowed through the now predominantly horizontal spectators. some people zoned out, others nodded to there own perception of a rhythm, slow tunnel vision. i wish it had been in a pine forrest, resin and needles. soaked in emerald green moss. dew drops popping from the noise.

The Old Forge And Below

A ROAD LESS TRAVELLED

FREE MONEY

I have a new email address!

You can now email me at: assan_assan000@yahoo.in

- DEAREST PARTNER, I MAKE THIS APPEAL WITH THE UNDERSTANDING THAT ANY FACTS OR OPINION EXPRESSED BY ME ARE GIVING IN CONAFIDENCE AND SOLELY FOR YOUR PERSONALINFORMATION AND USE. I AM MR.ASSAN IBRAHIM.THE MANAGER OF BILL AND EXCHANGE AT THE FOREIGN REMITTANCE DEPARTMENT OF MY BANK. IN MY DEPARTMENT I DISCOVERED AN ABANDONED SUM OF ($22.MILLION USD) WITH ACCOUNT NUMBER 142558-5976 THAT BELONGS TO ONE OF OUR FOREIGN CUSTOMERS WHO DIED ALONG WITH HIS WIFE AND ONLY DAUGHTER IN A PLANE CRASH OF ALASKA AIRLINES FLIGHT NUMBER 261 WHICH CRASHED ON 31 JANUARY, 2000. YOU SHALL READ MORE ABOUT THE CRASH ON VISITING BELLOW WEB SITE . THE OWNER OF THIS ACCOUNT IS MR. MORRIS THOMSON. AN AMERICAN AND GREAT INDUSTRIALIST AND A RESIDENT OF ALASKA.IT IS THEREFORE UPON THIS DISCOVERY THAT I NOW DECIDED TO MAKE THIS BUSINESS PROPOSAL TO YOU AND FOR OUR BANK TO RELEASE THE MONEY TO YOU. YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTION WHICH I WILL BE SEND TO YOU AS THE NEXT OF KIN OR RELATION TO THE DECEASED FOR SAFETY AND SUBSEQUENT DISBURSEMENT SINCE NOBODY IS COMING FOR IT AND I DON'T WANT THIS MONEY TO GO INTO OUR BANK TREASURY AS UNCLAIMED BILL. THE BANKING LAW AND GUIDELINES HERE STIPULATES THAT IF SUCH MONEY REMAINED UNCLAIMED AFTER THREE YEARS, THE MONEY WILL BE TRANSFERED INTO THE BANK TREASURY AS UNCLAIMED FUND. THE MONEY HAS NOW STAYED MORE THAN THREE YEARS AND I AM PREPARING DOCUMENTAION TO PROVE THAT THIS MONEY HAS BEEN TRANSFERED TO OUR BANK TREASURY. THIS REQUEST OF FOREIGNER AS NEXT OF KIN IN THIS TRANSACTION IS OCCASIONED BY THE FACT THAT THE CUSTOMER WAS A FOREIGNER AND A BURKINABÊÂCANNOT STAND AS NEXT OF KIN TO A FOREIGNER.IN APPRECIATION OF YOUR ASSISTANCE, I AM OFFERING YOU 35% OF THE TOTAL SUM. 5% FOR CONTINGENCIES (COST OF TRANSFER/OTHER CHARGES) LIKELY TO BE INCURRED DURING THE COURSE OF TRANSACTION, WHILE THE REMAINING 60% IS FOR ME.UPON RECEIPT OF YOUR REPLY. MR;MORRIS THOMSONI WILL NOT FAIL TO BRING TO YOUR NOTICE THAT THIS TRANSACTION IS HITCHFREE AND THAT YOU SHOULD NOT ENTERTAIN ANY FEAR AS ALL REQUIRED ARRANGEMENTS HAVE BEEN MADE FOR THE TRANSFER MR.ASSAN IBRAHIM

ARTHUR RUSSELL

SORTOFREALLYINNAPRPOPRIATEAPROPRIATION;

ACRONYM GLOSSARY:

swtg: smile with tongue

dk: dead kitten

stb: shit the bed

ort: over raught

dm: distant melodies

cwt: cry with tears

fiss: fuck I'm so sad

igtc: I'm going to cry

ifsa: i feel so alive

etc: more of the same

KITTEN GIVETH LIFE;

This is the result of a google image search for the word god, I'm pretty convinced. Richard I'm pretty sure were creating our own cultural oeuvre. Sorry for posting that video, it eclipsed the whole blog with its brilliance... cwt

BLUE HONEY

last night i pulled the leather cushions off my sofas, it's hard to describe what sort of green they are but if you take into effect how ridiculously much they align with the aesthetic of the walls of the lounge and the pillars around the fireplace with it's plastic coals and golden animal legs and bars, but the cushions are this green, it kind of feels like the feeling of when you accidentally saw some photos of her on my digital camera, they were of her in my kitchen in which you and i had cooked rice and cherry tomatoes and garlic and also mackerel, which i later regretted using my hands to place into the dish because for the rest of the evening and the next day up until around two my hands and body and house smelt like mackerel and man that smell would just not quit, it sat in my room because the windows have been double glazed over, leaving them unopenable, and it went through the zip of the borrowed sleeping bag that i slept in on the green leather cushions, laid out in three, because you couldn't sleep on three leather couch cushions of that greeness and shininess, so i gave you my bed and heard you talk really really fast in your sleep in a low and partially coherent voice, and then the mackerel smell, it sat on my mustache, lips, chin, dry fingers, macbook, nostrils, wrists, up until i got on the bus the next day.

i had to raise the tone of this over rought amatuer photo poetry angst with something truly amazing..

wow, i mean W O W

how does anyone know

catharsis the tugboat

he spent a week carving his head out of sandstone, scuffing his knuckles and quelling the raw peaks with sand. he hired a boat. he dropped the head in the north sea. it sank. it sounded good. he felt good.

the saddest and happiest things

my hands were cold, i took out my gloves folded together, they had been through the wash, you laughed and cried at the same time. it was pretty intense

12" - 5.5" - 4.1"

gliding through soft brittle water; it is a tuesday.
rolling through bending air.

lost.

sucking a lung full of air and opening one eye in time to see a blurred arc of image before the world melts.

trees bleed into the sky, edges relaxing.

it was all they could do to keep going.

beautiful beautiful boxes

a warm affection, boxes, small printed cardboard boxes, boxes for screws and boxes for light bulbs, tessellating patterns, Kodachrome prints, functional, beautiful, empty boxes.

Mr Adam Adams Smith is not my friend or yours

I have a new email address!

You can now email me at: adamssmith54@yahoo.co.nz

- Dear friend, I crave your indulgence for the unsolicited nature of this letter, but it was borne out of desperation and current development. Please bear with me. My name is Mr.Adams an auditor of BOA Bank (B.O.A) I discovered existing dormant account for 5years. I seek your consent to present yourself as the next of kin of the deceased. As an auditor in the bank I will use my position in the bank to help you stand as the next of kin to the deceased, so that the proceeds of this account valued at $15million dollars can be transferred to you, this is the story in a nutshell. Now I want an account over seas where the bank will transfer this fund. Now my questions are:- 1. Can you handle this project?.. 2. Can I give you this trust?..If yes, respond as soon as possible to enable me give you the full details.Mr. Adams Smith

Everybody gets these letters, everybody ignores them, i hope. But there is something about these fluorescent traps with their emotionally loaded content, seemingly innocent questioning and their $15 million dollars that commands my attention.

Dear Mr Adams
Mr Adam Adams i see you are in some kind of a pickle. But I'm in a far deeper emotional hole, someone i may have called family has died, but you have not been kind enough to grace me with the name of this long lost relative. I feel hurt and or confused. The nutshell wasn't really helpful nor summed anything up. Adam i don't think i can really handle this project, emotionally, physically, conceptually the whole thing sounds pretty intense. I'm sorry Adam i just feel, well, I'm 24. Maybe if i was 25 i would be better equipped to handle this kind of thing. Trust me with what Adam? $15 million dollars? Not to shave my hair off when i discover i had a distant Kiwi auntie who has just passed away before she could tell me I'm an OK guy? This has all come as a bit of a shock Adam. Please take my words with humble appreciation as i feel less than sure about this whole thing, nor your appearance in this accompanying body shot, i mean sure this may be documentation of some semi-religious experience, but aren't you, well, over sharing a touch? i think you should probably keep the $15 million dollars for yourself, or give it to some obscure animal charity, or buy some new long johns, i mean that bag on your head could be made of 200 year old elk leather, or plastic, hell you could buy some cattle or something or a diamond baby. Look you can obviously see i wouldn't know where to begin with that kind of money. I'm so sorry Adam. Good luck. Clean yourself up though lad, you look pretty rough. Drink more water.

Yours regretfully
Mr Ben Jeans Houghton

some things are complicated

the golden egg

surrounded by the walls of a golden ceramic egg,
the light inside cannot penetrate the dark that surrounds it.
its form immaculately split in two, it is closing,
unstoppable inevitable separation from all and everyone i love,
never again to see anything.
never closed but forever closing. unbearable. that morning i dream of
my mother,
caring, tolerant, and self sufficient.
in the dream her guard has been left aside.

a rickety bridge spans low and thin across bayou like water,
green, swamped with algae,
we talk, about what i cant remember,
she walks away as if in a foot note to the main dream,
carrying a catherine cookson novel.

glancing over my right shoulder
in time to see her stamp through the knee high water;
it looks and moves like green quick sand.

she has decided to do this
she has assessed the bridge as to damp and slippery,
the water was the safer bet,
especially as she wore her wood and cork clogs,
the ones she loved. she sported a triangle of beige shorts
and an old turquoise t-shirt i had seen from photos
from around the time i was born.

her perm was back.
warm, damp light flooded this scene,
a little too calm.

Adriana Rojas Víquez; word of the week

Main Entry:	pejorative
Part of Speech:	adjective
Definition:	negative, belittling
Synonyms:	debasing, deprecatory, depreciatory, derisive, derogatory, detracting, detractive, detractory, disadvantageous, disparaging, irreverent, rude, slighting, uncomplimentary, unpleasant
Antonyms:	complimentary, positive, praising

you rang me

Tonto had just been in there, cleaning and scrubbing, charging the fabric of the place. Maybe its selfish that Albert never told him what happened after his frenetic cleaning episodes, dancing and cleansing, beckoning a molten black universe, treacle and rainbows to gush out of the shower head. He worried that by telling Tonto of the splendour that he called forth, it might stop, it might never happen again. Albert could not let that happen.

He waited until Tonto left to go to work at the old cinema. Sitting patiently with palms on knees, Albert basked in anticipation. Every movement and motion from this point on was imbued with purpose, the last strawberry in the world. the last kiss before something different, more than likely never to happen again.

The door came level with the plain of the wall with a wet metal click, he gently slid the brass lock into the door frame, and turned to face the shower. The charge building in his stomach, goose pimples and cold air floated invisibly in the damp room. One by one he methodically removed his clothes and folded them up in the corner. Taking the small pink plastic bag from his trouser pocket and placing it by the sink.

The molded fibre glass bath creaked as it took his weight. He was hardly breathing. Slowly twisting the plastic gage to its hottest setting. Switching it on.

gloss black beads began to swell from each pore of the showers head, shining and slick. Eyes watering taking deep slow breath, savouring the smell of Jiff, bleach and petrol. A wet super nova was born all over his face. Every colour that ever lived and a few that had yet to.Tears streamed down his cheeks, he pissed himself and fell to his knees. Closing his eyes at this point, hoping to avoid the complete lack of spacial awareness as the bath filled with warm black fluid. Lying back, still, eyes closed in the inch or so of darkness that was slowly filling the bath. He let the black run through his fingers, viscous and warm. Everywhere around him droplets were sucked from above into the bath bursting and blooming with colours as they became one with the whole. A fruit fly lay beside him on the surface, reached orgasm and disappeared like a pebble. Drip by drop it enveloped him. He didn't know this was the end, if he had he would have been happy.

BATH WALTSZ

this afternoon i listened to albert ayler and got inside my bathroom with some cleaning spray and wipes and a bucket and rolled around the walls in my tracksuit. i went inside the shower with the bucket and rubbed the walls and the plastic glass doors and flicked all the gunk out with of the cracks with my cloth. i put my hand in the toilet and then i went up to the wall with my side and my back and rubbed it with my tracksuit

VOID

hold my milk teeth; PUT YOUR FINGERS INSIDE ME

chewing tongue
teeth turn
Round bone
lolling, swallowing
gaping
relentless
flacidmass

no way back
no visible way forward
upper lip split in perfect symmetry
raw
salted
wet
desperate

I wish i had had the words
just a few

None of those things happenned, everything is going to be ok.

A diary in electricity, bristling wet with static, images and words, i cant sleep, i love my family.


Bones pop and crack
Tiny nitrogen moons halved
Dissipate to once again collate and compact

Bounceflash into DiGi cam lens; < fake HOLGA

I got in this tiny train that looked more like a tram with Oli and Natthalie from Alnwick to Newcastle, lost my phone and camera charger but realised how to do this;














Some people really hate digital cameras.