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