Saturday 10 January 2009

7. Checkoneto

Priestechs, priestechs, how have dey intafaded to blacknest, estars unithought woods o' evershine?

Atlas, countriesons unmapped lie between us, ourparentheticselves.

Thursday 8 January 2009

6. Odometer

My creations already created, as if broadcasting on FM in my sleeping hours through choice and not by haphazard dreamed accident.

Finding myself in an industrial estate on the edge of town, beauty revealed where beauty (it might be thought) would fear to tread. The psychogeography of space remodelled on the fantasies of children. The everlasting beat, tuned into momentarily by percussive heartbeats, vocal chords, and the mechanical detritus of modernity. A willed favela. Battery-powered shopping trolley soundsystems. The dawn of a new age at an arbitrarily defined non-moment keeps the odometer ticking over.

In that non-existent time there was hope. I saw it flash before my eyes, on and off at alpha-wave frequency, inducing hallucinations of fulfillment and prosperity.

I don't want your money; I want my soul.