you. yeah you.

whats all this?
why is blogspot deleting and rearranging my posts?
could you stop it please?
thankyou.

THERE ARE WAYS OF MY I

On the cusp of the dredges of time, I awoke lamp lit, blue faced and starved of oxygen, I remember, gasping and newborn that I was to be taken away. In the recesses of my memory, I can see surgeons, and the outside view of an abandoned hospital where I can hear muffled footsteps walking across a car park. I also recall a conversation with another newborn child, using facial expressions and eye movements. I have never found out if this was true, but for some reason I have always felt that it shouldn't concern me and I should never know this.

There are ways of my I, the pale vertices of my '86 form which move onward, outward into bare space.

The illegible bronze and gold jagged vehicles of my dreams move lightly over the surface of my day, calling me up, or knocking on my front door.

“Hello, It's the skeletal remains of leaves buried neatly in graves with their names on.” ...

… “Oh, yeah, and you've met the scent of metal haven't you?”

Places I have visited in my dreams often recur, sometimes old dreams get loaded up and played and I wander about in them more lucidly, picking stuff up and kicking dusty bits and bobs around. Maybe I'll sit down in an armchair or something. Depends where I am, I guess.

A sound. Louder. LOUDER quiet again. click and the tape ends.

The guy across the table (unfortunately a fairly generic detective) quietly flips over his notepad and puts his pencil behind his ear, he turns his back to me and looks at something on the wall.

I get up and walk out of the interrogation room. A large fan spins heavily, high above me, giving it a momentum which you could almost be certain would snap it off and would come whirling down onto some innocent person.

I briefly try to spin with it at the same speed so it looks motionless, then walk outside.

The breeze is strong but warm, dying down occasionally and the sun sporadically pokes it's head round the hurrying clouds. I put my hands into my pockets and head back home thinking it will probably be cold later.

Some kids are loitering around a stack of large wooden crates, they are wearing Hessian sacks printed with dark green writing and are embroidered with thick orange rope. They have big black boots on and are smoking coloured cigarettes. As I approach them I hear the crackling of fire gradually getting louder and the smell of motor oil gets stronger.

Suddenly, an arc of molten metal comes spurting out of a hole in the wall on my right and is quickly channeled into a series of clear pipes which are half embedded into the floor, the pipes seem to run down to the sea. Some liquid metal splashes out of the hole and lands on my shoe. I just start to feel the heat on my toe, before I panic and press down on the back of my shoe with my other foot to prize it off, then accidentally kick my shoe down the pipe.

Earlier I mentioned I was going home. This was not technically true.

The asphalt road under my one bare foot was dusted with bits of gravel which made it slightly painful to walk, but I kept going, onto my unnamed destination.

Visions of bX-v0laof

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num lock fucks.
opening the crust to reveal a numerical egg.
a purposeless value, presented in a less than salubrious manner.
dull eyed dustmen lift their fragile arms to double click it away
but fall apart decrepit, as is their day long nature.

swept away in the sandiest dune. heaven deep.

chlorine burns and hydrogen breaks off like viscose biscuit, fizzing victorious in it's own personal battle to become something other than the number of it's weight in the world. doomed by humans to be 1 alone. a laughable figure?
deleted my cache of play doh and jelliver ice creems.

it's good to speak to adverse side effects.

cod's wallop way better when they wear boxing gloves or a don a solid brass knuckleduster

various other bits.

white horse bending down facing left makes a letter M which num locked is 0
so if M is 0
06therf4c2er!

The " Otherfacer" O_O

THE NAME " Otherfacer" and "The Otherfacer"

YOU ARE SUSCEPTIBLE TO PRECURSOR
AN ENIGMATIC GRAY WITH AN A
CHOP CHOP REPLACE THE RED PLACENTA
OF HASHES AND SEMICOLON SOMETHING ELSE.

lame small print i like it
arsecone. arsecube. arsepyramid.

hole.

The emotional world of Major Tom

does anyone know what they are doing?, even the finer figures have no sense of self. step into my sphere and we'll begin. I am a unique blend of life. I am not part of the struggle, i am part of the found. Detail gets left undone, away from preset mind maps. And I have renounced the evils of this world. The music is boring me to death. BUSINESS DIE BUSINESS DIE

All i ever see is logic feel, logic feel,
oh all i ever feel is logic see, logic see,
CHANT MONEY CHANT MONEY
repeated for effect effect repeated for
AD _ VERT
GREEN FOR POST HOC
the purest thing about you. use of , real, imperfect syllabic beeps.
washing machine psyche, trained in the company of beggars.
self assured blood out poured from draining holes in bleeding veins.
tonight's flourishes and almond,

almond frederic Significance.

SIGN THIS

and inhale, you know the connotations, but fuck 'em. they aren't wanted here.
one day i'll refine these crawling macabre innerds
but they need a place to be kept before there arent any more.
the wise shut their traps, or silently open their gobs to produce a whistling when the wind vibrates through their gaping hollow caves.

opal was a girl i knew before i knew.
she has no face just a representation in my head.
i was taken away at birth
i strangled myself with my own umbilical cord
i turned blue
i remember hiding under tables with white cloth
i used to fall asleep with moles and ermine fellows
a rhodedendron was a big flower
the bridge is still there
believe

Memoirs of A Bot

So there i was, backed up against the cold hard wall of a CAPTCHA
i say to Pete, " Man, i wish i could read that shit"
Pete says, "yeah man, images are like some foreign language or some shit"

He lays it on me straight. (He was a bit OCD about these things)

My first picture book.

O / 1 ?

From the Old Lane

I have music in my ears my eys, my evry
coalition ring me up on the
setencz finish
be abailabl for you only hav 1
these text s
serv as forever you look word
i have found words
r is tied up

power is bound.

not to fire.
but words.

In the frenzied calm of the future light will shine down upon you

I M
M U
N E

Cock Clock and the Slowdown Panther

Seeing as business is based on the death of free will, i thought i'd live a little.

The 1941 year old Mcguiness tried to escape and talk with his wife. BUT DIED. (more on this later)

My thoughts drague on and loathing, forsooth! give me a white sheet and a black tip and get me out of here!

i caught myself using my skull a bit, in the midst of personal calamities far beyond my scrying days... and then i found out that maybe, it all will work out after all! i love the sound of my own typing, fuck yeah that feels good. GOOS. goooose. :]

But yes. I was just caroozing around Web 2.0 and ambled about the fetid smell that is http://www.creatiu.com/

which boasts a like totally awesome service that like finds like the coolest websites and designers for you! so you can look at pretty things all the time indulging your natural instinct to fixate on that bright light in front of you, for hours, days, weeks... copy pasting, posting "sharing"

Looks like the social climate is getting cooler, and according to my spirit level is getting frightfully close to evening out into a tepid mulch similar in texture to a bowlful of lukewarm Dickensian gruel blended with a couple of Tesco's finest hand picked Yorkshire Terrier turds.

So much for living your life in 2D my dear Fortescue.

P.S for any of you happy shoppers, this page has been duely shopped for your discretion. Unlikely, one would have the courtesy to say thankyou, but a guy can only hope.

As if you didn't know, I write exposes on the inner ills of the troupe.
I can all but think that we'd be damned to hell for the superior corruption that favours civilised society so, if it wasn't for the shining lights of aversion and creative ignorance, shying (as they do) away from the limelight, not timidly, but like pumice stones floating on a sea of shadows. We would all be brown bread. (maybe best of both)

DIRGE. silt cascades, grey sludges, goo fountains, silica slag heaps.
Vocabulary, Dietician, Haemmorroid (sp?)

cant test this fact. - what is the sole reason, memorabilia, cavernous, recital, words that involuntarily come to the forefront of the brain box.

( SILENCE FOR 5 MINUTES )

There there, nice and quietly now. Three steps back, out the door, up against the wall, thats it... nice and gently.

THE MURDERER DROPS HIS KNIFE THROUGH THE GAPS IN THE THE METAL FIRE EXIT STAIRCASE.
THE BIN BAG OVER THE HEAD OF THE GIRL INFLATES
A TOXIC SHROUD DELIVERS THE MEANS FOR THIRD PARTIES TO ESCAPE.
11PM IS NOT THE REAL WORLD
AS THE APERTURES OF MY EYES ARE LARGER THAN THE LIGHT I CANNOT SEE.

make me feel the way i used to feel, back in the lack of information age, no one needs this much information, why are you reading this, you dont need to know what i think, i'm outside of this, well im an artist but that doesnt make any bit of difference to swarming mouthpiece wasps does it. Caution, the phantom eye is upon you, nice to meet you, this isnt even about you. it's about me. my position.

A self obsessive rambling line of text for mental relaxation and simple joy is nothing to cast stones at, i mean, it's like i'm someone else. Getting all this text and accumulating it in one, clear, characterless landfill of my own design.

<>

C:\run for your life.

\ENDLIFE

Blackness......

Bolt of Light

LIGHT
LIGHT
LIGHT

--------------------
--------------------
--------------------

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SOAREWEWINNING
S o 4 r 3 w 3 w 1 n n 1 n 9 ?

seeing as business is based on the death of free will....

web2.0 entrepeneurs have this advice for you and you alone dear child!

1. You will have at least one catastrophe every three months.
2. Outsource effectively, or be effectively outsourced.
3. Do you thrive on stress and ambiguity? You'd better.
4. The best way to get outside funding is to be successful already. Stupid but true. But you, cheapskate, don't need money, right?
5. People will think your idea sucks. They're even probably right. The only way to prove them wrong is to succeed.
6. A startup will require your complete attention and devotion. Thought your first love in High School was clingy? You can't take out a restraining order on your startup.
7. Being an entrepreneur requires a healthy amount of ignorance. Note I did not say stupidity.
8. Your software sucks. So what. Everyone else's does also, and re-architecting is the kiss of death for a startup. Startups are no place for architecture astronauts.
9. You do have a public API, right?
10. Abject Terror. Overwhelming Joy. Monstrous Greed. Embrace and harness these emotions you must.

... Fuckwits.

CTRL END X