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the hours

On the summer solstice a lonely wordster trying to dream his way out of a dire situation using cut ups of an old novel, other poetry books and assorted media.


Holed up in eternity’s shed

Another weary night of blue soul in the old town

An indelible thread of fugitive originality embedded in my appearance

I wrap the time worn sheet around myself ready for the hours ahead

This cloak I am now wearing is homemade from various found materials

The cloaks ingredients include painkillers, iodine, lighter fluid and industrial cleaning agents

The chemical make-up of my cloak makes things highly dangerous

Causing the writer to lose all sense of self-control during the time he or she is under the influence


This is my doorway to the underworld and it is growing

This melting permafrost that has revealed freakish holes in the earth

This resemblance to hell’s mouth that makes us dream of a coming apocalypse

This surely must be the most beautiful frontline in the world

This isn’t propaganda you are witnessing: it is the reinvention of reality 

This is my doorway to the underworld and it is growing


From space race…

To psychedelic awakening…

To street reportage…

Incorporating communications, architecture design and photomontage…

It’s the hope that kills you.


It’s a cheap marketing trip

An old product but it’s a new package with a refined price label

Hostile states, organised crime gangs, lone hackers

Ideological “hacktivist” groups or script kiddies looking for kudos among peers

Fragments are scattered all over between a great many channels

Contagious ideas are spreading between different animals and even different species

There are messy cups everywhere

It’s a cheap marketing trip.


The world is a disfiguring tropical disease…

The world is a parasite in its own blood stream…

The world is horrible open sores

The world is disfiguring skin lesions, nodules or papules

There must be other ghosts here

The world is a disfiguring tropical disease…


I am busy cutting all this up.


Out of this cut up

A scenario emerges

As if, just in time

The new cut scenario enables me to dream my way out of this room

The new cut scenario places me out on a sea front breathing in hot morning air

Dreams all lucid and high as high can be

Quite the funambulist now I look down at the vision before me

Waves lap sugar rush addictions

Sugared junky on the pebbled shore

As toxic lovers make out high and oblivious

Already a blood red sun hanging a dark brooding light over the horizon

A scenario is emerging

A new form taking shape out of this cut up.


I ease my vehicle out of the town heading east along the coast

The Butthole Surfers dominating the musical playlist

A bottle of La Occidental Cuban Spirit at hand

Bottled dreams like dirty spirit trapped in voodoo matter

Voodoo matter looking mucky good by the hoodoo water

Thoughts all driven by the will

Transcendent spirit and matter at the cross

Crucifixion binds

Transformation sets free

To die and be reborn

A divine ray that comes from nothing

I ease my vehicle out of the town heading east along the coast

Who am I?


I am a dipsomaniac ex-waiter who once dabbled on the fringes of the porn industry…

I now work in security information’s communications and security

I have become a sad ghost of my former glory at the cutting edge of computing technology

And deep digging is interesting to a degree

But lately I have come to this conclusion …

The thought of me being a user not found terrifies me

Going back to the serving of food to the rich or debasing myself on screen… shit

At this moment in my life though…

What courage or ability to change do I possess?

Even the weakest romantic thriller writer would surely look at my plot and dismiss me as absurd

The limit that confronts me here is the great void between our-selves and the stars

I am a dipsomaniac ex-waiter who once dabbled on the fringes of the porn industry…


I arrive at a shabby Travelodge in the port

Salted distempered walls draw me in

The dark interior of a space that serves way beyond any semblance of perceived time

I stare across the abyss

This is my own liminality

My own move to make

I arrive at a shabby Travelodge in the port.


This is all I have to hand

Bottle of La Occidental Cuban Spirit on the side table

Battered paperback copy of The Magical Universe on the bed

Outside is decisions and freedom, virus and chance

Here inside: splendid isolation default /indefinite

Let me name my materials



A bird’s egg

An overhead aircraft

This is all I have to hand


A homemade altar is set up

A slab of grey Formica

Flimsy poundshop candles

Plastic doll effigy

Cardinal points marked

Bread for earth:

Feathers for fire:

Overhead aircraft: starry firmaments above

Birds Egg for water: pearls hidden deep below

Street graffiti on discarded cardboard for other elements

Nail the graffiti cardboard to the west wall

A homemade altar is set up.


I place on the altar

All materials


A metal bowl

Fill it with L’occidental Cuban Spirit

Feathers to burn

Bread to ingest

Egg to wonder

Strip down

Flesh to bone

Eyes wide open

Breath hard

Clench fist

Stir soul

Guide spirit

Visualise path

A circle drawn

Step in, step in

Intone translation

Rite for change

Sigil list





All materials are here on the altar.


Pay homage to the four points as I invoke good things

Eat the bread for the body therein the figure that I aspire to

Throw feathers above my head thinking of Icarus all the while

Even as now the world itself

Begins to descend around me

Let the good goddesses possess my willing being

Magical intention projecting momentary orgasm

Visualised in an outpouring of liquid word gold

Engendering wild promises of all the grand things I will do to benefit mankind

I’ll halve poverty

I’ll improve ecological conditions

I’ll double health spending

I’ll improve celebrity status

I’ll extend life expectancy by 1000 years

I’ll increase freedom and democracy

If this spell works

I could really do some good here


But how is good going to help me?

I mean, what good is good?

Good doesn’t make the right dirty loud noise

Only the proper bad ever wakes us up

Only the truly alive ever achieve the big notices

Imagine the damage to be done if I went the other way?

Imagine the impact that could be made

How is good going to help me?


Riots have taken place across France

Many moments have turned violent

Shops, public buildings, parks, targeted

A particular tide has now come in

Global boiling debt forgiveness process

Reverse-engineering of extraterrestrial materials

An explosion in the cooling pond

All ventilation channels blown wide open

Riots have taken place across France.


Only when realising how I could destroy whole swathes of world do I really come alive

And so a fantasy kicks in

Fantasy conspires to devise new inventive ways of killing

Gangs cutting out the eyes and tongues of liberals socialists and conservatives alike

Careless assassins fly into villages extract retribution fly out again

This isn’t propaganda I am promoting

It is the reinvention of reality

Only when realising how I could destroy whole swathes of world do I really come alive.


The bombs begin to rain down

Many bodies trapped under rubble 

Bodies grey with dust

Save for streaks of red blood down their faces and clothes 

Many bodies trapped under rubble

Ugly spirit that stumbles into random towns

Ugly abstract slaughter

Ugly sacred cow

Ugly visions

Ugly propaganda

Ugly disinformation 

And plans

And guns

And mines

And tanks

And drones

The atrocity killing machine

Armament of defence that attack so efficiently

Clearing everything cluttered in their path so easily

The bombs begin to…

The bombs begin to…

The bombs begin to…

Tired, teary, weary to bone

Afraid, afeared, scared, tired

Tired, teary, weary to bone

Afraid, afeared, scared, tired

Tired, teary, weary to bone

Afraid, afeared, scared…

This terrible debilitating nerve shredded fatigue

Do you want to step back from the brink now?

Come on, push on… push on

The bombs begin to rain down

More people die every minute

The war is far from over

Bodies grey with dust

Many bodies trapped under rubble

Is this a death wish?

What on earth have I unleashed?

Cue… tchhhhhheeehhhh


The sun rises and I am picnicking among spangles of wild-flowers and long grasses

Contagious ideas are spreading between different animals and even different species

I am learning to navigate these perilous situations


Routinely stopped and searched often for little or no reason

Compare our minutely controlled and supervised lives with those of the rich and the powerful

Think of a world dominated by inequality, money and its place in society

Then stand up and salute the 99 per cent

Believe in equal love and fair desire, good karma, even chance, open possibilities

Never discredit even the cheapest form of magic

Fly the freedom flag forever.


If required on pain of death to name instantly the most perfect thing in the universe…

I should risk my fate on a bird’s egg

To this day, I do not know how I caused all this destruction

But it is true; my feathers, my bread, and a burned Butthole Surfers CD were found at the site

How it would be that a piece of bread could lay low the world’s mightiest machines?

Authorities denied everything said the incident was one of several small glitches happening across the time-zones

And for the first time in weeks, I afford myself a smile


My obsessions have been worked through these past few hours

I have fallen totally in love with the idea of life again

Now that I am aware of the fear of death


Intact and partially intact alien vehicles

Whose lives depend on accurate identification

Dance and skate all around us

I sometimes have the feeling that some of them…

Are living in the streets of the video games that have intoxicated them

The only surprise is the speed of the change

Artificial Stupidity

It is what it is


When stars run out of fuel and start to die they collapse inwards

It makes them considerably hotter as they boil away enormous quantities of gases

The plane begins to fall

Then it steadies itself

Then the fall hastens

Then look how quickly it rises

Fragments of metal and body parts

My soul is on fire

Our flight is officially hijacked


Holed up again in the eternity-shed

A new star comes firmly into view

The hour is at hand I discard the time worn sheet

The doorway to the future underworld closes once more

Was this really the most beautiful frontline in the world?

Yes, and it remains so

I will publish an official statement now.