outsideinroads

Life games, music, magic and all the rest. Adventures of the fringe of the fringe amongst the.. "People's Republic of Brighton and Hove"


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Fivers and fats

Animal fats in the new fivers feels utterly rough as far as it goes. It would be much better if they didn’t have that in them. But is it a moment to remember that more or less everything manufactured under this current global capitalism is literally tainted with horrors and the deep suffering of living beings, humans and other animals, now, in the past, in the future? There’s no such thing as cruelty free living within this world as it stands. We can’t escape it by the decisions we make, but we can minimise it, and to me that seems vastly worthwhile. We may do so feeling every ache of it intimately. We can sometimes do so whilst being sanctimonious at others who haven’t made the same choices we have in an impossible circumstance, where there are no absolute winners while we live, here. Or we can do so lightly and with an open heart. We can take stands, whatever ones are right for us, that say that we’d rather live differently and will where we can and where seems right in our own process.

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Flash Beams (excerpt)

Such freeing comprehension of  

<          >     space

                                                                    of flow to joint energies our

                                                                    Symbiosis gives strength to

                                                                     Process

is home, is spacious, is love

is empty awareness

is flowing

is pleasure

is new found

                                                   ties, also

is paradox

is

                                                                all I can think about

Is. OK.

and I know not clinging is the thing

or releasing these

          Tugs

               being what we all want, right?

Still you are all so precious, vitally

in my heart right now.

Snowflakes dancing, everything a flash in the pan.

A shared space yearning, ill defined a….

               Broken beam

                                  a

                  wotcha? We’re wrapped, trapped in heavy furs. Did we grow

                         them? Journey through endless heavier depths of

                snow, trudges and light footed ice shoes, falling flakes, heaving darkness, tundra                  dreaming, apocalypse ahora, desolate non-embodied

                                                                  spirits.

Although a flutter with well visioned holidays there is no sense that we entered this space blind to the shadow in us, in our embracing illusion.

I discover the tools and methods I have learnt and their ineffable, indescribable value. A fathoms-worth of leaps and bounds made towards nothing but

                   Nothing.


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Parp (untitled)

The shadow, so enormous.

You know how so, as big as the light, as…

exactly.

It skitters and cuts at every vessel in you.

It tugs at your heart and spits acid in your stomach.

You know it.

The tactile and tacit pleasure

it seems is found

by those ones

in the stamping on, sidelining, eliminating

of the paths of “others”..

of

weaker others. Our complicity.

The rot at the heart of capitalism,

at the heart of these motions in nothing we

call lives.

You’re no good, what’s the use?

We pull out corners, we seethe..

We, those who find ourselves here,

we watch and move and still

we breathe and watch

and watch and breathe

and aim to let it go, we

cover our heads in wing like blankets

and sing “kill the rich! kill the rich!”

We tentacle up our faces with our

hands, we hide in the shadows,

we take refuge in the everynothing,

we yearn and weep and howl,

and the individual stories,

individual deaths

are always so much bigger

or the same, the same

and billions of atoms,

billions of stars…

I want to say “Here we are kids,

this is it.” I want to say

“Chin up, it just happened”

But No, or maybe a bit

a purge

I see you, leaving, I see you,

growing, I retch, I spit. I hear

the sound.

Party til you’re dead lads,

it’s only just begun.

But a puff of smoke,

this phantasm!

A parody of itself.. I..

don’t know how to fight,
I don’t know how to play my part in the

bursting vessels, flowing vessels,

this pipes pipes pipes,

This outwards, inwards deep deep hum,

This arena of such unbridled joy

and such hot hot empty desire,

Violence. I don’t know

How

So

I

call

on

you

again……

and

laugh.

See how we get on with that.

I love you.


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Slipsteam Lookout Post

Broad sweep of singing, wild cloaks, wild weather, not safe

as in a constant watch out for the

time to leave, as in a constant watch out

for, a constant action against

those baddies, those vampires, not just any,

as in…

and how to get across in words

this broad sweep of our cloak, this scoop up into wings,

this skin shedding, meta-morph paracosm,

this illusion, this broad stroke reality.

Head wool on the outside, mutating beasts

learning our responsibility in our reality and

so often playing out our virtual neuroses again

and again, as you said. Or in

a movement to protect from

a thing we all sense

All day,

Every day. We are not always clear about it,

and we sense it in and from the very best things, and ourselves,

as well as in enormity in this fabric, every strand and every space of the game that we must play….

And in the patterns.

The patterns.

And we speed out our activities to be ones of collaboration and

Peace. Love. And we speed out our activities to expand, to fill the

very real, very imaginary

Whole Universe. In final suspension of time,

as in / out, you, your love. NOW.

All power and vulnerability, all lost children,

all dedications, sacrifices to….

all Gods into, all shades of

this heart. Forever, forever, in growing, surviving as long as,

until it’s final. This final, final, final, always changing Never

Forever Love.