Inside Joke ( an unsung song )

Unwording and
unravelling
unstarting is unstartling

Slithering through withering
requires much unfiguring

The spook I speak is so bespoke
an all-inclusive inside joke
disjointedness too harsh to smoke
because of pieces I unbroke

Unloving and
unveloping
ungiftwrapping the unshed skin

erasing but unemptying
unmade the bed I’m lying in

The entropy is prearranged
disorder neatly rearranged
a twist of fate though, unmaintained
enpuddled me when it unrained

Undoing and
unthinking things
unpromising the things I’d bring

( to refill the rehollowing
don’t sing a song worth swallowing )

Under, over, afternoon
my unheld hands unhold a tune
wax; unwax the apple moon
under, standing, I unswoon

sobering
unseens unsway
dawn unlocks our blooming grey

my store of stares so blank today
that even I might look away

*

Explanation for those who need it: You don’t need to “get it”. There’s nothing to “get” here. It’s just elastic-y wordfun. Don’t panic. Of course, there are certain themes hidden within, but if I explained them to you that would defeat the point.

Anyway, I wrote this 3 years ago. Posting it here feels quite exposing and awkward. But over the last few days, something has shifted- or snapped; I can’t tell. I’ve realised that I’ve wasted too much time caring about what people might think of my art; my thoughts; my anything and everything ( apart from my clothing choices and style, of course! I embrace my eccentricity in its superficial form. Why wouldn’t I? My body is clingwrap over my soul, and my clothing is giftwrap over the clingwrap. That will likely sound a tad conceited, but it’s not meant to. You could giftwrap anything- it doesn’t mean there is any “gift” within. I’m hoping that will make some sort of sense.)

I know what you’re thinking: “is she high or something?”. No. I wish! Alas, I just didn’t get much ( ie. any) sleep. What you need to know about me is that I have 2 modes: OVERDRIVE and OFF. The switch has just been flicked from the latter to the former, so I’ll be “making hay while the sun shines” , so to speak. Apologies in advance if a sudden influx of blog posts by me bombards your reader-feeder. I will try to space them out somewhat by having them queued up for even dispersion into the wide field of the internettles ( ouch!) .

That’s all for now.

When life gives you lemons…../ Fruity Friday ( Saturday Version )

Citreum Malitiae aka Mocking Lemon. They seem friendly at first, but this is just a ploy to lure you in. Once they have your attention they will set about ridiculing your clothing choices/ hairstyle ( or lack thereof if you are a bald man) and generally make rude comments about your physical appearance ( and that of your Mother) . They also bite.

When life gives you these lemons, BURN THEM. ( Yes, with fire. I mean…what else would you use? Although in this case, the high moisture content of the fruit might make burning difficult). Or you could punch them in the face as hard as you can, then juice them while they’re still unconscious. Alternatively, as a less violent option I guess you could also feed them some fish ‘n’ chips just to see what happens?

Something I used to enjoy doing in my spare moments was coming up with creative “When life gives you lemons..” quotes. The best one I ever came up with was: ” When life gives you lemons, shove them down your jeans and pretend to be Robert Plant”, which is admittedly a bit rude ( Sorry; I’m quite juvenile when it gets down to it). But it’s a joke that Led Zep fans will instantly get. (Well, if not instantly….Eventually) . If you can think of something much better/ weirder, don’t hold back.

Just dicking around…

This is my new anthem/ motivational song for mornings.

For a top quality synth you can’t go past a RONALD

What endearingly silly yet mindbendingly talented humans. I’d dick around with them.

“I don’t care what you do- dick around- I will too/ I don’t care what you do, I’ll dick around next to you” might just be the most romantic song lyrics I’ve ever heard.

Anyway, just needed to ensure that people understood the importance of this brilliant piece of music.

As you were.

Hitting the books

Or, rather, making the books. Yep- I’ve been learning various bookbinding techniques and doing some experimenting. Here are some pictures to prove it:

Yeah, I know. The background is badly “fixed”. I just wanted to blur out the distractingly ugly cushion in the background so as to draw attention to the booksies. It’ll do. These are softcover journals ( which I used to dislike, but am now finding rather charming and rustic). They’re small and cute and a lot of fun to make. They’re also a great way to utilise lovely leftovers of the vintage fabric and leather scrap variety.

Behold- some more photatoes!

Some contain plain white pages, and others feature a variety of paper colours, weights, and textures. Some feature heavy duty watercolour paper ( my favourite) . This means they can be used to write in, draw in, and even to paint in.

I’ll be trying to flog a few at the local markets, anyway.

I also made a hardcover journal for my kiddo. Both she and I have an acute fascination in the Victorian era, so this journal was made in the theme of Weird Victoriana. It comes complete with storage pockets for weird ephemera ( eg. creepy photographs of circus freaks; hilarious ads for terrible, deadly medicines etc.) .

The lace is elastic and is there to help keep the book closed. To open, just pull the lace up over the top of the book and to the side.

Yes, those ads are for “SAFE ARSENIC WAFERS” ( to help one look young, of course), and cigarettes which apparently “cure asthma, wheezing, and Winter cough”. Fantastic!

The pages within are made of various tea-stained and dyed papers ( which I did myself- it was a labour of love. Totally worth it for my darling goth daughter), and interspersed with darque, gothy, Victorian illustrations and imagery:

So there you have it! My little foray into bookbinding. It’s early days yet- I’m making a lot of mistakes ( an unavoidable and dare I say crucial part of the learning process) but therefore learning a lot.

Thanks for kindly lending me your eyes. You can have them back, now, as this is the end of this post. Adios!

A brief unmusical interlude ( with apples)

Being caught up in my nostalgic mood of late, I took a dive into old files on my ‘puter, and rediscovered some things I’d forgotten about. One of those things was a folder full of music ideas that I’d jotted down and had obviously planned to expand upon at some stage…but never did. ( What?! Me beginning something and never finishing it??? Never!!).

What can I say? Well, first off, the recording quality of these musical sketches leaves a lot to be desired. My tech prowess has always been on par with that of a boiled potato, so this is not surprising. They sound as though they were recorded underwater. In a soup can. (I’m not just trying to be humble here, either. The sound quality is genuinely atrocious). However, as compositions-in-the-making/ compositions-which-almost-were go, I do think that some of them had potential. It’s hard to be objective about things you’ve made yourself, of course, and listening back to these experiments, I see that the ones I obviously felt good about at the time did not warrant the good feelings, and the ones that were abandoned shouldn’t have been. I’m probably still incapable of objectivity, so who knows? And more importantly- who cares? I might just have to get over it. At any rate, my present self thinks my past self should have been less of a flaky, noncommittal shit and finished one or two of them. (Or at least tried to learn how to use recording equipment properly! It can’t be that hard, can it?)

So…. here you go- here’s one of the little snippets that I think I could have turned into something. Listen… or don’t. I ain’t ya mum. But should you choose to be brave, turn the volume down a bit on the.. volume thingy… there ( it’s set to full volume by default, which is a bad idea here). Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the sound quality! All I can do is ask your forgiveness ( especially if you’re a person who knows how recording works) if you experience any visual disturbances, indigestion, or OBE’s whilst listening. Headphones will be safer than speakers, but I still can’t promise anything. After all that, I know you’re dying to listen to this old unfinished composition!

(Note: apart from the terrible sound quality, there’s an obvious bum note at about the 50 second mark- but it’s over pretty quickly. Also: don’t worry- this is the first and last time I publicly share any of these rough plastic diamantes of the audio variety. So enjoy the indigestion while it lasts!)

Those who chose not to listen ( I won’t take offence; I didn’t exactly sell it..) can stare at the following photograph for as long as they like:

A prize of 200 magic apples* will be sent to the person who invents the best caption for the image. ( Please, nothing about one of them farting; that’s too obvious).

I made this image- and several others- a month or so back when I was insomniacal and miserable. Strangely enough, photoshopping facial features onto fruit didn’t really help with that, but you have to try these things. For better or worse I now have a collection of Freaky Fruit Foters, so maybe I’ll have to do a series of “Fruity Fridays”……in which case I’ll have to give it a few days before I can do that properly.

Ok, that’s this post done. If I can get some actual decent photos of my latest craftings, my next offering will contain more visuals and less rambling.

Thanks for visiting my blawg.

Laters, crocagators.

*by ‘magic’ I mean invisible. And nonexistent. Shipping costs may still apply.

For what it’s worth…

It’s been a while since I last posted here. Mostly because I just haven’t had anything interesting to say or share. I’ve not been well; it’s been one mystery illness after another, with a good dollop of mild depression mixed in, and a sprinkling of existential crisis to garnish. For the sake of my health I’ve had to give up coffee, cane sugar, dairy, wheat, and alcohol. Basically, all the things I enjoy consuming and which bring me comfort when I otherwise feel like curling up into a ball and disappearing. On the upside, being deprived of these things has made my skin look great. Maybe that will make up for the all pervading self loathing somehow? We’ll see.

The thing about blogging is that- unless you’re famous or otherwise deemed “important” by some segment of society ( whatever the fuck that even is anymore) you know it’s really just a funny word for: “talking to yourself on the internet”. I’m at the stage where I’m not sure what feels worse- pouring my heart out into the void- knowing full well that nobody anywhere is going to care or notice, or not pouring my heart out into the void- because I know full well that nobody anywhere is going to care or notice. If I want to feel invisible, irrelevant, and generally surplus to requirements I sure as fuck don’t need to go online to do it. Taking that extra effort to photograph creations, upload them, then share/ talk about them feels increasingly like an act of desperation; like begging for attention. I resent the shit out of it. ( I didn’t grow up with the internet, so all of this online stuff does feel forced and unnatural). But then, if I don’t do those things; if I just let my creations gather dust here at home and never attempt to share them in any way, my creations ( which are- to me, at least- a form of communication; a question- specifically the question: “Do you understand?” ) are a complete waste of time, energy, and resources anyway.

On a more positive note, I tried two things over the last few weeks that I’d been wanting to try for some time. Those two things are- in alphabetical order: DMT ( Dimethyltryptamine) aaaaaaand…. Remote Viewing. Just to be clear, I didn’t do those two things simultaneously. Both activities were separated by several weeks of timey-wimey stuff ( A.K.A…time..) . The Remote Viewing came first, and I may talk about that in more detail at some later stage, but- without sounding too cocky, it does seem that I have a natural talent for it. The 4 experiments I participated in yielded much better results than I was expecting. At first this discovery seemed exciting; I thought to myself “Here’s something I should explore more!” but then I realised it’s a talent that has no real practical application ( as with my other so-called talents ). But hey, it’s a fun exercise, and maybe- if nothing else- it may prove a good distraction from the gloom and feelings of impending doom that have plagued me with increasing intensity for the past few years.

( if you don’t know what Remote Viewing is, just look it up. Be surprised/ amused/ weirded out according to your personal preferences).

As for the DMT, I didn’t “break through”, but I do feel as though I was right on the cusp of doing so. I saw the impossible geometry; I heard some sort of crackling sound- or more accurately, what sounded like nervous electronic birds chirping a misremembered joke, or rusting sentient toffee windmills whirring wonkily in a silent breeze breathed by asthmatic monks, or dark blue staccato pixie giggles being broadcast over a distant yet impossibly close radio. I didn’t see an entity…but I felt one. I distinctly sensed a presence; felt someone/ something standing over me and silently observing. I didn’t sense any malice, just curiosity. Apart from all that, I simply felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, wonder, comfort, and love. If only it could have lasted longer! At any rate, a pretty lovely experience, with some possibly related weirdness later on in the night….but that’s another story for another day…if I can be bothered.

( if you don’t know what DMT is, just look it up. Be surprised/ disapproving/ interested/ cynical/ bored according to your personal preferences).

I’m not quite sure how to say what I want to say, but in simple terms, I guess I could say that I’m becoming more and more preoccupied with the subject of Death lately. Not in a particularly negative way, just in the sense that I’m becoming increasingly aware of my mortality. Maybe this is a natural byproduct of getting older ( I am in my 40’s after all…sigh..), but it’s more than just that. As I hinted at earlier in this post, I’ve been feeling that my time on this planet will be coming to a close sometime soon. I feel it more and more every day. Don’t ask me how I know- I just do. Without going into all the nitty gritty details, the increasing amount of Death related synchronicities; spooky, unexplainable dreams ( which I’ve had all my life); experiences of an otherwordly, spiritually profound nature are all happening with a regularity that I just cannot ignore anymore. The End is rapidly approaching.

Some days I feel depressed about this. After all, I never amounted to anything. If I’m very honest with myself, I know that at one stage I did have some potential. I could have been a musician; a songwriter perhaps. If I’d have made better choices, perhaps I could have studied something. Perhaps I could have thrown myself into research, or started some sort of business, or created an animated film, or taught music to children, or bought a little farm somewhere. But I didn’t. I couldn’t decide which way to go. So I made no decision…. which meant I remained a nothing and a nobody- with no direction; no real achievements or accomplishments; nothing to show for my time here. Regret consumes me until it chokes on me and I on it.

There are other days when I feel a sense of exhilaration and liberation: I embrace the spirit of ‘YOLO’; grab hedonism by the hand and hit the dancefloor of life before anybody else has even begun feeling drunk. I throw caution to the wind; plan voyages I can’t afford; break all the rules; embrace spontaneity -and outright recklessness…..

….But mostly it’s the first one. I do, after all, have a daughter, and she is my world. Not only is she the one human being on Earth who would care- or indeed notice- if I were no longer here, she would also be genuinely negatively affected by my absence. Truth to be told, this is the one and only reason why I’ve bothered sticking around for as long as I have. Indeed, a few years before she came along, I made a serious attempt to…y’know… leave, but the earlier than anticipated and infuriatingly well-timed return of a holidaying flatmate ruined that plan ( they saw the note; called the ambulance; broke into my barricaded room…and the rest is history), so here I am. Damaged, but alive. I feel exceptionally guilty for bringing a child into an increasingly dysfunctional world that is so clearly falling apart, but I do unconditionally love her with a fierceness that I’ve never loved anybody or anything else with before- and never will again. And this Unconditional Love- which many never get to experience- is a privilege that I’m grateful for. I will nurture my precious sweetheart; hug her; encourage her, and just throw love at her like confetti for as long as I’m able to.

In the bits of life inbetween, I’m not sure what I’ll do. At times I’m seized by an urgency to reconcile with estranged family members, and to reconnect with nature properly; with the old ways. I feel called to grow my own food and make my own clothes- as I used to do. If this impending death is coming not just to me, but to the world as we know it in general ( I think we’d have to be kidding ourselves if we think we’ll be avoiding some sort of calamity for too much longer. Just look around!), I want to go out the way I came: up in the mountains, surrounded by trees, birds, peace, and minimal human bullshit.

As for creativity, I have no idea what to focus on. Part of me wants to ignore my doomy intuition and open the little online shop I’ve been envisioning for a while- and to hell with the futility of it all….while another part of me wants to get off the internet for good and just enjoy creating for the sake of creating, and forget trying to connect with people- both online and off. One silly little voice ignores that and tells me to let all my silly little short stories see the light of day ( although that prospect scares me, as I’ve never been confident in my writing abilities). Yet another little voice tells me to forget that and begin building my dream Tiny House. In the interest of having something to leave my kid, I feel that I need to knuckle down and focus on building up my -as yet meagre- savings. So maybe I’ll have to muster up some extra self discipline ( ugh ) and try to overcome my fear that I might not actually have enough talent to get by at all ( double ugh ) and just get my arse into gear and make, make, make. For better or for worse. Because like it or not, I really have nothing other than creativity to offer at this late stage- whether anybody wants what I’m offering or not.

I don’t really know what else to say for now. If anybody has bothered reading this far, they’re likely shaking their head by now and thinking ” what a complete nutbar this chick is!”. And if that’s the case, oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody wrote me off as a crazy bitch. If I’ve alienated anyone, then so be it. I’m sick of censoring myself. I can’t make anybody care about the things I say or do. Nor can I stop anyone from thinking what they think or feeling what they feel. All I can say is that I’ve been sitting on these feelings for a while now, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a sense of relief for having gotten all this off my chest. Hey- maybe I’m wrong about everything I’m feeling, and this is all just Depression talking. Time will tell, I suppose. But from what I’ve seen and heard on various online platforms lately, I’m not the only one sensing that perhaps the human species and its selfishness, greed, and refusal to learn from the past is fast approaching its use-by date.

Speaking of use-by dates, I’m not sure what to do about this silly blog. None of my many blogs over the years have ever lasted long. I don’t think I’m a natural blogger, or communicator in general. I always worry that anything I say here- or anywhere, for that matter, will be misinterpreted due to my inability to clearly articulate my thoughts and feelings. So I overcompensate; over-explain….and in the process end up coming across as confusing as I tried not to be. I read over the things I’ve written and cringe. In the end it all becomes too much of a headfuck and I throw in the towel. It’s not like the energy couldn’t be redirected into something more useful and practical.

Sigh. I dunno. Maybe I’ll post some visual Art or something soon. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t bother at all and will choose to just quietly fuck off. Some of us just don’t have a niche in this world and truly do not belong. It doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. Life is just a short, weird, confusing, dream. Ultimately it means fuck-all. All I can hope is that some sort of clarity awaits upon waking.

The behaviour and misbehaviour of light

Various photo experiments and happy-snaps over the last 6 or 7 years. They’re all fairly self explanatory apart from the 3rd one, perhaps. This was an attempt at using an infrared filter for the first time. Yes, it’s very grainy ( looking at this photo now, I actually enjoy the graininess ), and yes, the colours were added in Photoshop. My kid looks like a ghost, and this was intentional.

I dare not call these images “photography” ( even though I do tag them that way here for the sake of convenience), as that sounds too formal, and implies some level of professionalism. Instead, I prefer to call these little f(lights) of fanciful fun “Experiments in Light Appreciation”. No fancy gear required.

After looking through a bunch of old photos I’d forgotten taking, I’m feeling the need to have some fun with light appreciation again. Mostly to try to re-inspire myself again after the last creative wave crashed and ebbed back into the void.

Been feeling some kind of way about life lately, you see. There’s this feeling of social isolation I’ve had since I was a kid- and it just keeps growing as I get older. It’s more than just a loneliness. It’s a feeling of being homesick for somewhere I’ve never been and missing people I haven’t met. It’s hard to explain…..but it gnaws away at me from the inside. My creative projects and experiments have always been- and always will be- the best way to distract myself from the ache. Some day- maybe in the next life- I’ll find my place.

Secret Sketchbook

My sketchbook is full and I haven’t shown you any of it. Until now, obviously. These are just a few pages…

Sketchbooks are lovely, but they intimidate me. I feel that I’ll ruin them by scribbling all through them. I get around this by layering other drawings/ painting/ collage/ scribbles on top of anything I don’t like the look of. I don’t stop until I do like the look of them ( or until they at least say something vaguely interesting).

At the moment my brain is constipated; there are a LOT of ideas in there, but nothing seems to want to come out. They’re all stuck in a traffic jam at that bottleneck between Ideasville and Expressionville.

Anyway. Click on the images to get a closer lookie.

Booklovin’ ( seasonal edition # 1 / Ayoade lovin’)

As the title of this post implies, today I’ll be talking about books- specifically books that I love. It will by no means be an exhaustive list. I might even go against tradition and actually attempt to make this post short and to the point. (Already I’m seeing that I could’ve just used the word “succint” there. This probably doesn’t bode well for the rest of the post, but hey- you’re already here. Just go with it).

Just as other people do, I love different books for different reasons ( and for different seasons. I’m not just saying that to rhyme, either. My tastes in reading are genuinely influenced by the weather and time of year).

Let’s get on with it then.

SUMMER READS:

NB: Here in Australia, where I currently live, Spring has just sprung. This means Summer is not far away, so I’m just getting myself mentally prepared.

I’m not a fan of Australian Summer. I find hot weather uncomfortable, oppressive and draining. The brightness is blinding for my light sensitive eyes; the pressure is on to be significantly more social ( ugh ) and spendy ( eeek! ) because it’s holiday season; daylight savings is on, so that + no air-con = even less sleep, generally shitty moods and massively reduced creative inspiration. Basically, FUCK OFF, Summer.

As the discomfort increases and I slowly but surely morph into a lady version of Bernard Black ( or perhaps more accurately, Manny in the ‘Fever’ episode) my appetite for reading also increases. It’s the perfect activity for general escapism and avoiding Summer People and their infuriating, perverse joy over melting into a pool of sweat and heat exhaustion for three months straight. At this time I’m generally drawn to the fictional and the funny. Books such as these following ones have helped me through Summers past:

‘Ayoade on Ayoade- a cinematic odyssey’ . Or just anything by Richard Ayoade:

If, like me, you’re a fan of Richard Ayoade, you’ll know that in addition to being handsome, witty, intelligent, creative and obscenely talented, he’s also HILARIOUS. These qualities are usually showcased through his various scriptwriting, directing, and acting endeavours, but over the last few years Mr. Ayoade has formed a habit of writing very funny books. I hope he doesn’t break this habit anytime soon, because these books are proving crucial to my Summertime mental health regimen.

‘Ayoade on Ayoade- a cinematic odyssey’ was the first book of Mr Ayoade’s to grace my bookshelf. I enjoyed it so much that I read it several times over that particular Summer ( it’s a quick read. Too quick! ). It’s hard to describe the book, but in a nutshell, it mainly consists of Ayoade interviewing himself. His questions are- to steal a line from the book “…cryptic like the caressing breeze of an extractor fan..” and his answers to himself equally so. But additionally, the reader is treated to screenplay ideas ( and scripts ); various email exchanges, and a definitely accurate and comprehensive history of the evolution of film. An example follows:

1818

The Perambulascope. As the name implies, this system produced a ‘moving picture’ effect by the spectator running round a sequential series of images mounted inside an enormous circular drum. Said spectator would have to charge at full speed while looking at the paintings, such that ‘he appear’d like some infernal crab b’seized by satanic scuttl’ry’. The fast motion would blur the images together into one. ‘The Whipped Peasant’, ‘Giraffe in Distress’ and ‘The Grateful Slave’ were the top attractions of the day. However, there were many fatal collisions. ‘Hosing the drum’ was the Georgian precursor to community service. “

Richard Ayoade- ‘AYOADE ON AYOADE- a cinematic odyssey’

As proclaimed by the orange dot on the cover ( it’s yellow on my particular copy. What new devilry is this?!), it is surreal and hilarious.

In the second book, ‘The Grip of Film’, Ayoade takes on the voice of Gordy Lasure, a street-smart, straight talkin’, gun totin’ Schwarzenegger lovin’ man’s man with four ex-wives and a passion for film ( from the 80’s. Starring Arnold Schwarzenegger ). This book is a giant pisstake of the Hollywood film industry ( and its consumers ) and this too produced plenty of laughs when I read it, but not quite as many as the next book:

‘Ayoade on top’, which focuses in on one film specifically: ‘ View from the Top’, starring Gwyneth Paltrow. This book is the definition of “Premium Roast”, and I love it. I have no intention of EVER watching ‘View from the Top’- not even for ironic laughs- but I appreciate the way Mr Ayoade took one for the team in order to bring us this wonderfully entertaining book. I particularly enjoyed the chapter dedicated to Gwyneth Paltrow’s pretentious website, ‘Goop’. From the first page of this chapter, you know you’re in for a good time:

On 5 October 2018, after a lawsuit instigated by California’s consumer protection office, Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle website Goop was ordered to pay $145,000 for making unscientific claims about vaginal eggs. One of the most surprising things about this verdict is that, by logical inference, it must be possible to make scientific claims about vaginal eggs. It is also surprising that someone would want to pretend that there is such a thing as a vaginal egg. Vaginal eggs are the result of taking the name of a body part and placing it next to the name of a breakfast item. Vaginal eggs are no more real to me than penis toast or anal pancakes. As my mother would always say to me, nothing that can hatch belongs in your vagina.”

Richard Ayoade – ‘Ayoade on Top’

All in all, these books are a great laugh, and if you’re still hungry after reading them, they can be followed up by binge-watching Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace ( an 80’s-hospital-drama parody horror comedy, starring and written by Richard Ayoade and Matthew Holness) for dessert. If you want a quick taste of what you’re in for there, here is one of my favourite scenes from the show ( it’s a short one; well worth one minute and 54 seconds of your time) :

More next time. Although I’ve no idea when “next time” will be, given that I’m notoriously, consistently inconsistent. There could be times before- and beyond ( can I make that claim? )- “next time” in which I post things ( then delete them in shame and self loathing after seeing the error of posting anything under the influence of a hypomanic insomnia high ) other than my opinions on books. And given the nature of time, the term “next time” could be misleading- implying that that there are different types of time than the one ongoing present that we’re currently experiencing. Anyway, I might have to back out there, as I’m not knowledgeable enough about the nature of time to get all ‘Fabric of the Cosmos’ on your arse.

Laters*.

*Ha!

Superman ( moments before he was sectioned) / “this shitsiz loose, mon”

To eradicate any swarms of confusion that may be buzzing about your head, let me spray you ( eww..) with an explanation:

Cut-up poetry is fun. But so is messing with old comics. Here I simply made 2 photocopies of an old ( “vintage”, if you want to be classy about it) Superman comic and cut all the words out of the first copy then rearranged them onto the second one into a configuration more to my liking. Voila! A postmodern masterpiece* is born.

The End.

*No responsibility will be taken for any disappointment experienced as a result of me labelling it in this way. Submit any complaints to the colony of dried peas under my fridge ( I can attest to their listening skills and empathy levels) .

ALSO: this was, as with the last post, salvaged from the old blog I killed. I will tag such thingies “deadwords” from here on in. Sending hugs through the ether to all who read.