Welcome to the school of thinking for yourself
i saw heath ledger on a cornflake packet. 'don't confuse me with my make up,' he said, but i told him his make up was all he had now, so he might as well enjoy it. 'no!' he shouted. at this point i looked for the loudspeaker, as i hadn't previously realised that cereal packets were equipped for public broadcast. there didn't seem to be one. 'there isn't one, you idiot,' scorned the make up. 'now go and tell the daily sport.'
at that moment, jesus appeared on an adjacent honey jar. 'fuck me,' he said, 'i thought i was done with this shithole. only reason i agreed with that whole cross thing.'
the first confirmed sighting of another human being was made today by one dog clapping, who found communication impossible, so he was used to being ignored. he was threatened by the make up, though. so he told the store manager that the cereal packet was faulty, and it was taken off the shelves. he bought the honey, though. he likes honey.
bad taste in your mouth? have a cup of tea
Everyday seems like yesterday
Something disguised as nothing
You spent your life waiting for the future?
And it still hasn’t arrived?
His hands keep buzzing
you can’t measure the talk show host
he’s lost his agenda
he’s wet from seeing his ghost
he just wants to be safe like all of you
he just wants to see his face
like all of you
Words that seem to have content but, in fact, don’t: relevance, dignity, coincidence, justice
The whispering is getting louder, and occurring more often
It’s one thing to get the bit between the teeth
Quite another to spit it back out again
And it tastes so very different next time you bite it
You can’t put the universal (un)consciousness in a laboratory.
This means it isn’t there.
Thoughts on an unfolding crisis part 26: people look at me strangely when I smile to myself, passengers in other vehicles, for example, when I’m a passenger in a vehicle (like what the fuck it has to do with them). Now, this isn’t a new phenomenon (either people looking at me strangely, or me smiling to myself) but then, materialism has been the dominant dogma since before I was born, and it may be that it has taken me these 37 years to realise another thing that it is intolerant of (it’s hard to see when you’re enshrouded in darkness, after all) … you’re only supposed to be made happy by things.
Do you know, I’ve never eaten a full banana in my life.
I would probably be a different person if I had.
Meanwhile, a very under-dressed female stares what passes for seductively out from the front of a newspaper, a porn rag in all but name. is this empowering females, or degrading them? PORNOGRAPHY ISN’T A DEFINITION, IT’S A STATE OF MIND.
Staring at the road if you’re a passenger is a waste of good quality time you can be taking in the world around you, even if it does go by quickly. Of course, drivers don’t have this option, and this may explain why they can be so myopic and given to self righteous anger, they are simply unable to see their place in the world by virtue of concentration on not crashing their car.
Here’s a piece of wisdom I wish someone had told me when I was young: as you travel through life, try to ensure you receive curses from as few people as possible.
I know money is the root of all evil, so why does it bother me when people try to get what little I have away from me?
Words are such shit things, don’t you think?
Your recovery starts here, which is exactly where it always starts.
You’re embarrassing me in front of my luggage.
The same people who resent being told what to do by a big government (fuck the nanny state) probably own many bits of technology which take decision making away from them (I’ve got a satnav)
Dancing to the top step
There’s something incredibly incongruous about using a 4x4 to go on a cycling holiday.
Another thing young children should be taught: saying ‘I told you so’ is simply antagonistic and counter productive. People either realise they got it wrong, in which case they don’t need reminding, or they won’t admit they’re wrong, in which case they’ll make excuses or argue ad futility.
Underneath the flight path
I first kissed my sweetheart
I whispered sweet something
In her waiting ears
May as well have been nothings
Because she couldn’t hear
Does future-proof mean it’s safe from everything in the future?
Weird ass mother junction
I gave up my krypton factor
For an urban tractor
Smelling of bus take as long as you want
Herbal canopy bring it on
When arses make passes
Then we will know
The land of the free
Is the land of the me
If I keep on falling
Then it’s got me thinking
That I’m just static
Instead of sinking
But the air seems rushing
Past my head I’m feeling
But it’s just static
I should be smiling
And I keep removing
All these false afflictions
I keep on seeking
Me some benediction
But it seems too easy
Where are all the problems
Am I really just static?
Am I tall and thin
Or short and round
Wobbling and big
Or sticky head down
The hall of mirrors is not just to be found in circuses (circi?)
If idealism equates with naivety, does realism equate with selling your soul? Does maturity equate to giving up and letting the bastards win?
My sylph will save me even when it isn’t there
What’s the point of missing the point
When there is no point?
I can’t stay on-message
Because there is no message
Everybody love their light
Reflections of a misplaced Wurlitzer, part 7: I could have seen it coming, but chose not to. A wisp came through my door, when, it was open so anytime then. If I knew where to house it, I should build one too many. Come what may, the hills are alive, the vibrations are rolling, and I’m getting set to feel it again.
Hose me down
I’m feeling dirty!
Lucifer was driving down the M5 in his Chevrolet convertible (reg no.: PAN 666 E) when he was caught short. Conveniently, there was a services on hand.
Things must be modernised! Otherwise we might realise that the old stuff, and the way things were, was just as good.
Good news for bad people: the world will remain essentially unchanged.
Being deranged is fun. You should try it sometime.
I think I’ve just seen the ultimate proof that road madness has crossed the line into uber-insanity. A lorry was carrying a train carriage on the M42. why the fuck is a train carriage not going by rail?
The universe being a vibration, we therefore live in a tune-iverse!
I’m floating on the ground again
To increase my paranoia
If the question is framed in a limited language (such as the English one) then the answer may very well be equally limited, leading to a confusion, and a sense that it isn’t an answer at all. The problem was, it wasn’t a question in the first place.
A good curse will always find its target.
All stepping stones are just stones when isolated
Paths to truth should be continuous
Take one unused slogan
Trim the edges
Marinate in bullshit
Remove all honesty
Squeeze until empty
Prepare in groups of three
Test or subjugate
Serve first at nightfall
Use shadows as waiters
Diluted with daylight
Nigh on perfection
For groups, repeat the dose
If necessary, use the transcription
Doctor the transmission
Save for terminal use
The mind is always in a state of peril, at any moment it could collapse into a mass of warring factions, each with a supposedly legitimate claim to hold the most practical and workable understanding of reality. If, as the uber-reductionists would have us believe, the mind is merely the brain, then do the individual cells ‘vote’ in ‘elections’ so as to determine things at times of choice? If so, are these elections free and fair? And if this is an unworkable notion, then how does the will manifest and from where does it originate?
Could this straw get any shorter?
Got it wrong
Instead of parroting the words
Parroted the meaning
Was a pretty toy
The houses of parliament
Will never have a problem with central heating in the coming energy crisis: they are powered by the fires of hell.
Think of each unique genetic fingerprint as instead representing a note on a universal stave, not limited to scales (not limited to anything, in fact) but one which acknowledges every possible tone, pitch, timbre, phase and place, and therefore puts each ‘individual’ within the cosmic harmony. By all means dismiss me as a freak.
I sentence you to death by halo.
Breathe with me baby
We can gasp together
I chose a gift carefully – you received it recklessly – blame is inversely proportionate to the gulf between intention and result – or at least, should be – in practicality we tend to find the opposite – you want proof? – economists
I forgot to leave a notice on the mess
Watch out for the elastic bandit!
There’s a new ride everybody! It’s called the whirlfool.
Truth doesn’t need an editor.
Cloning the aftermath, setting up shop
Tony Blair, George Bush (I & II) and all the other unseen GICs have their own hell. They will live together in a shanty village, a dustbowl where it never rains except in buckets, they will seek shelter under rusty pieces of corrugated metal which creak incessantly despite the non-wind (when the wind does come, it’s Hurricane Katrina). Herds and hordes of dogs and cats, big nasty ones, will be forever circling their encampment, and they will fear their whiskers, even in the cloud shapes being of the cat. They will barely find anywhere to piss and shit. Their nourishment will come from scraps of khaki and poisonous wet mushrooms. They will be forever intrigued by a strange object, which is a Qassam rocket, and consequently useless, but nevertheless, they will think there must be some use they can put it to. And all the while, in the distance is a scene of uber-opulence, and verdant valley with nice houses and happy, well fed people, with optimum weather and an agreeable everything. It is an ever receding vision, however, as every time they walk that way, it never gets closer. And then, every so often, a tannoy will annmounce “you are a terrorist state. You have weapons of mass destruction. We will not negotiate with you. We are here to liberate you from your pathetic lives.” And they will be blasted by white napalm™ only to wake up again to their incessant groundhog day.
Rules are approximate
Bodies do not ‘obey’ laws of physics, they do what they do because that’s what they do. There is no celestial policeman watching over Saturn, for example, saying “you deviated from your orbit by a micromile, you must be punished!” no celestial parliament has to consider miscreant star systems and whether or not to send in the League of Galaxies to sort it out. The astronomical public are not whipped into a hysterical frenzy by a cosmological media into demanding protection from rogue Blazars. No. we simply characterise all this in that fashion because we swallowed the whole ‘rule of law’ illusion hook, line and blinker.
This sentence contains many lies
You burn your world
And I’ll burn mine
If I’m boring you, tell me. I can move on, and so can you.
If I’m there at the end of the world
I’m going to dance to it
I’m going to dance to it
I’m going to dance like I’m fucking
Dance like a frenzy
Dance like life in an apocalypse
The urban core
Is where the sore
A blessing in demise
There’s no point in standing on the shoulders of giants if all you’re going to do is turn around and look behind you
You only need to be any good at what you do if nobody knows your name
I’d like a deep fried throat please
My shadow is my personal servant
He joined the shadow union
It’s called the Dark Side
They’re fighting for rights
I’ve dared them to strike
A lack of shadow will suit me fine
I can hide my purpose
No shadow no shadow no shadow
No trace no face no place
PR – the profession of replacing truth by blah
Within the mental circle
I stand up
It’s a lot easier to haunt someone when you’re still here
So, seeing as you don’t care whether I live or die
I’ll live, thanks
And I’ll haunt you good
If you don’t rock the boat, how do you know it’s robust?
Is your vision clear enough
To watch the paradigm shift in real time, as it happens?
I want a rotating throne
So I can see approaching backstabbers
Not much use against guns, though
With the devil himself would I sit
If it meant I ate less shit
With the devil himself would I sup
If it put more in my cup
With the devil himself would I play
If people listened to what I say
With the devil himself would I sleep
Is the devil himself?
Arguing with stupidity will always degenerate into a stupid argument
Once upon a time
I had a name I could use
A name I could live in
But it was sold from under me
And now I’m a squatter in my own name
I lost the plot and got away with murder
I stole the spliff cos it was meant for me
1000 eyes wouldn’t make me stumble
But the critic in my brain won’t rest in peace
And you can tell him I think he’s a spacker!
I’m sorry, but I can’t handle biomass. You’ll have to think of something else.
My ego is a logo
My ego is my logo
A logo is my ego
My logo is an ego
You gotta evolve to revolve
You gotta revolve to resolve
To gotta dissolve to revolve
Monsters rock my robots
Welcome to Camp Offal
This is a free world, as long as you think as you’re told
Everybody loves a pageant. Especially the pageant of a false hope.
Have you done your own check on the truth lately?
I’m simply trying to be me without letting my self get in the way
Double sided weasel
There’s only one winner in the battle of the sexes
The universe is not a thing. See the legal argument above. Just because you’re obsessed by things does not mean that things are all there is.
Use your boredom wisely – so you sat at a desk and you supervisor has mean mind and won’t let you while away the boring bits – fine – loosen the mind – let it wander – ignore the clock – some of my best ideas have come from being bored, angry, resentful, tired – not being interested, in other words. Being constantly occupied is a surefire way to ignore the you. Being constantly occupied is overrated. Dis-associate from your body, it’s far more capable than you realise.
Careful, or we’ll feed you to the clarksons – you’ll be brayed to death with moronic yawping
You can’t change the system from the inside, just as you can’t cut down a tree from the top. If you really want to change things, wake people up.
Is there any time that emotional blackmail has ever solved anything?
All their life together had been spent being radical and innovative. He invented the Moochboot, so successful that it was allowed entry into specialised spaces, many of them conceived and designed by she – space was never the same after she’d finished with it. That’s how they met. His space had been changed one day while he was still in it, she found him wandering around confused but admiring. ‘what a space of use!’ which completely bowled her over. Together they were even more radical, a supra-innovative being that tore the world around them asunder, and replaced it with something more innovative, something that they were hoping the universe might find time to remember them by, but then they read a book and remembered there were such things in the world as children, so they set about trying to make one, feeling slightly frustrated that they couldn’t design it, but eventually, a big day came and they had their baby, they was hoping would make them complete. The delivery was successful and completely without trauma, rare in these medicalised days, but worse was to come. The doctor said “Congratulations Mr and Mrs Hotspot, you have a wonderful baby boy, all present and correct.”
Mr Hotspot, with a tinge of desperation in his voice said,” normal baby? Nothing different?”
“Perfectly normal,” replied the doctor.
“Oh,” said Mrs Hotspot. “Just a run of the mill baby, then. Nothing innovative. Nothing radical. All that effort for average results.”
“I don’t suppose we can get it changed can we?” asked Mr Hotspot, with a tinge of hope in his voice. “If we keep the receipt, I mean? You do give receipts, yes?”
“Not here, silly,” replied his wife, “they give them out at the records office, they’re called birth certificates.”
“do you have a name for you baby boy?” asked a cunning nurse, hoping to distract them.
“Yes.” Said Mr Hotspot, proudly. “we’re calling him Logo.”
I’m disguised as a ghost, a vengeful little spirit, but really I’m just playing and all you have to do is learn my rules. I have no rules.
I have sublimated ignorance. It now occurs unconsciously.
If the establishment rubbishes something, it usually means it can’t profit from it.
The numbers that WE have assigned to YOU are unique, utterly individual. Be proud of your individuality!
Comment is pointless. Debate is arguable. Discussion can be fruitful, but only for open minds.
Incoherence – it’s either trivialised or celebrated.
Listening to music on cd or any other recorded format is but a pale imitation of experiencing it as it happens, as it is created and performed by the average artist (i dislike the word artist, as it has been abused so much, but i have no better alternative ). Of course, i can only speak from my own performing experience, but it is very rare that the best performances come out when there is tape rolling. Indeed, for my money, the best of my performances are always at the inception of a piece – this has been true with the itto, and it is true of my own songs as well. This is not to dismiss any merit in any replaying of any songs pre-written (by us or any other, so that i can reign in my blues band here), as all playing, if played for the sheer love of playing, the sheer joy of performance, or the sheer urgency of holistic communication (above and beyond “look at me everybody!!!”) is playing worth listening to. But these things are hardly ever captured on recordings, not in their full extent. Oh, you can get a facsimile, and if it’s someone there’s no chance of you ever actually watching perform, then it’s better than not being exposed to their ideas at all. But music is more than just sound, and performance is more than just visuals. As with everything, reducing everything to what technology can reproduce trivialises the power of the music. “But what about amplifiers and electric guitars and keyboards and computers and all those things which can go towards making a wonderful performance? They’re all technology, no?” yes, they are. I’m not decrying technology per se, after all, language is technology, and so on to everything else that is used by humans. But, as with everything, its about balance.
Chest pains? Let live and live.
He came to help us. He bore food and he bore hope. But we were told not to trust him, that his type were mentally ill, that we must help ourselves, and that the way to do this was to treat life as an eternal competition with all the others of our nature and in our position. Only when we had pulled ourselves out of the pit could we hope to engage on terms with the others on the side, and even them we must compete with, because that is the way of things, or that’s how it seems, though I’ve never looked closely, actually. So our saviour died from ridicule. We spurned the chance he offered us. How dare he try to help. He should remember his place, and never reach below.
Horizontal meme transfer – the most powerful agent is undoubtedly music, as it is swept up from its origin in spur of the moment performance and has its seed spread to other receptacles within the tuneiverse. More than just music can accomplish this, though.
There are those who say that you need to learn the rules so you know what you’re breaking. I think this rubbish, and is clearly pro-rule propaganda masquerading as free-thinking.
there ain't no satisfaction in doling out justice, and there ain't no pleasure in doling out orgasms. without pleasure, orgasms are merely poetic, but it ain't no poem i'd ever put my name to.
It’s a deal, breaker.
dear mr email monitorer person, safeguarding us all from privacy, i mean, terrorism
i hope you've enjoyed my series of emails to my friends this morning, where i tried to entertain myself at the expense of any form of decorum or entertainment. i had some bad music to send. it is our very own bad music, so there willl be no copyright infringement issues to concern yourself with (though how one brain cell can prevent another brain cell from using information when they're both attached to the same mother-consciousness is a legal nonsense, and you know it). there was one email that got me so excited that i forgot to attach the bad music. i hope very much that you were excited too.
i look forward to my visit from the gangster police in the early hours of an upcoming morning. if you would be so good as to give me advance warning, i'd like to set up some advance recording equipment, as i reckon i could turn it into a pop number one smash, pun intended. my brain works horizontally, you see, and connections that i make might not necessarily be yours to understand. i look forward to defending this statement in court, if it gets that far.
who would you rather trust – a stranger or a machine?
I am unrepentant
A well worn swellerator, bring out the instant sympathy glow. It makes it all worse while the real things keep on happening. The real is incessant. Why do we all seek escapism? You try to tell me you don’t seek escapism? You no got TV? You not buy gadget things with your tokens of crumb usage? you just take all of life in undigested, without putting an interpretation on it? You read nothing at all? Then what are you doing reading this?
An advertisement well spent
Where did you leap last night?
I don’t think much to your godface
be good at being you, and all else will follow
while you're at it, would you purchase me a bellydance? i have a belly, a slightly outsize one, but it don't dance, it merely wobble. i want it to dance like a mean vibration.
don’t be alarmed. The confusion you’re currently feeling is just your tiny mind expanding into previously empty space. Don’t try to stop it, or you will severely inhibit any prospects of future growth.
Not to fall for that whole either/or paradigm that the permanent bullshit blizzard insists is the way to be, but: think. or. react.
You can create something without necessarily being conscious of what exactly it is you’re creating
There is a major difference between differences of interpretation and outright lies.
Plots are limitations. I lost the plot, and I would do it again
People can’t see you smile when it’s dark. They can’t hear you cry when it’s loud. And they can’t steal your soul when you’re honest.
What’s a modern ism?
I want to be a balloon, one of those that nobody notices. Not a hot air balloon, obviously. Just a balloon, floating around, looking down, looking up, looking around, being. Just being. We are all of us at the mercy of the wind. There is more than one type of wind.
The boat must not be rocked. Otherwise people might realise how exhilarating and exciting unpredictability is.
I’m not asking you to agree with me, I’m asking you to wake up. Sleep is for dreams, not stupor.
I’ve just seen an unused lamp post going spare. I’ve now got an academic project underway. It’s called the centre for comparative obituaries. I’ll be following a well worn path, in the academic tradition, although it’s a spin on it I’ve not seen elsewhere. You’re welcome to join me, just remember to deify me as the pioneer.
verbal improvisation in the key of what. didn't run quite to plan. made do with onomatopoeia for words as yet neologised. tried to stop thinking. couldn't. headed for the main meter, though it read full, and i had no spare coins. coins now worthless anyway, i thought, but then found out that most people didn't yet realise so got rid. exchanged for plastic toys, so as to justify the war. couldn't. broke within one month of spending. made do with verses without choruses (it's hard to have a chorus when you sing a lonely song) for heroes as yet eulogised. couldn't. passed the buck, or at least an iou. redemption tomorrow. tried to think of a way to end it. couldn't.
Context is everything.
Don’t worry about who you are. Worry about what you are.