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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To start again

So soft scoop 

spike screaming

skip fandango 

melting fluffy over

this incandescent range

deep emotions bury // unearth themselves,

a waveform fluctuation of sediment. Maybe that

transitory moment(s) that set off 

such ricocheting tremors of 

joy and

rage, only weeping nothing, alone

again or in these cave times,

winners and losers tighten up 

to expend themselves and 

this seems like such a dull 

charade. Surprise! Party, remember

what it was like last May and 

the June before that,

your eyes and the glistening 

drops of liquid in the sunlight

on the glass, concave, perfect,

forming their patterns to be 

sloshed over the tide, and 

the dreaming of so many 

humans, their presence, awareness,

energy just infiltrating all 

space, being one’s surroundings. That

moment on the beach when could 

almost feel it, beautiful and

fearful, tantalising. And all this

time I’ve been playing

hard and refusing work 

and working hard. All this time 

the dreams have been shifting

possibilities beyond. But just now

It looks hopeless and my mind

adrift in where you 

all , where, where 

you you all 

and I don’t remember how 

to take a step out into the 

beyond, put on a face, start here

from the resonance of 

this fractured heart, the endless flow

That spins through the breaks, that

flows in and mends them. I wonder 

how to start again.

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human process


Awareness situates 

  above below

  language, in

vision  of human     animal


    could be

us, play this dream





forest / jungle

mission, clearing 

to process process


             into system


              fan-like leaves





thought breaks in joy, become creatures made of (wo)man




a world

could be simple, (couldn’t it?)gather, dream 


sway, sing, move, 


dances, what words?

 don’t exist and worries

never did, whatever’s needed can be done differently, hold deep dark holes

I/we/they feed through loops, away 

                                        and no need to know what

                                                                                       is there


oh, too big for .

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Mossy mountainside

encounters with squiggle-haired goblin

fairy folk, trace walking lines

of kinship

we were trained

millennia to ignore. Yes

ours travelled,

thousands cross

the ocean, opportunity

dance // take over,

slash and grab


The static motion

of these shores, influx

overcoming waves

of violence and later

strange broken

acceptance, oh sing-song!

oh silence! Our worlds

still hang there

beneath surface. Through

the glassy table. We always

saw, yet never

saw, not just because

of our own ancestral

adventures. Fear

wracks this land. Waves and

waves of conquest to

and from and over the shores,

rolling. People

come with no agenda

but their own safety,

a place for children to

thrive, survive. Yearn

with nothing but welcome and

Love through the

new and old

barriers, hands touch, silence,

strong stories in silence. What

is it reclaiming ….?

Dance! Dance! Dance!

cuckoo, echo,




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Other Albion

exiting, existing – burning fire out bro heel daggers.

We, unknown and known super individual at a moment


       perception shift, a shift of perception

that tailormade skip, a fart and a 

cock shaft – laser pen chases

divine birthright claims,

hyperbole magnification of

business as usual in this racist albion

fractured, forgetting folk

deep, dark tunnel of treasures,

golden portals, light in cross pollination.

Dream a dream of bus drivers and

sailors. A new home, away, on the road.

It was always one for the road

in every phase of love, clinging movement

faster, scream.

This dream comes out of a spiral funnel,

spinning Spinee, are you, escapade? 


Are you?


Are you in my bones and cells and molecules,

are you a way out?

are you in those helix structures,

same yearning drift process of my broken not-yet-ancestors?

we ourselves

dead already, 

ancestors already

telling witch tales, walking people, look away…

A circle which is a process

is a spiral. Call it,

speak it. The voice in the moonlight electricity,

learning at last to be gentle in violent times. Yearning, to

let go of… those spiralling accusations, hurts, 

spat vitriol. You, BJ, you are but 

a projection, symptom of this land.

I’ve never understood it. The rules of 

who is spoken to, how to, who not. I’ve willfully 

misunderstood it. Hoof and horn, baby,

is better.

Don’t sweat it. You can’t claim.

Those inner/outer gods remain 

ever One/Many. Ever

Us. You can’t, your centuries at it,

this war, imagination, art

this war, the deaths, brutality,

oh our stories! It’s a dance. You can’t

claim anything that matters.

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we are starfolk, skip lightly

those trails of dust. Here, now

interstellar scene shifting helpmate reflections, dreamers, weird kids, 

seekers, seers 

steadfast. The shifts 

We create in ourselves, each other

reflections to step into

awakening within, resonate

together deeply 

and giggle, remember it’s ok

this is

absurd, but

do you know it? Sense

it? Look inside, deep heart

space, look back, you

always knew. Follow the patterns,

work, go through process,

trust, speak, be silent

and bide time. Our inner collective

process mission. Wings flap 

in resonance. Feel resonance, allow,

allow it to be, allow it to

dream awake 

Being in eternal Void

Dance (G)Nothing, true

life vision, abundance dance

yes, for all and

space to see, hear,

understand. The way 


itself. It is Love.

Together, always,

no separation, one process

full of eyes, bursting, flowing

Heartspace vision, connect 

to distant Home, always. 

For this here, now transforming


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Home, London

Home, London. That deep grain hometown feeling in this amorphous human expanse. People don’t know the vast galaxies we made in the corners, central supermassive black holes that could pull us the world outside in a moment, translate out our activities everywhere in a neutron flash. Finding your strange style, and ours, in fashion on the west coast of Mexico, before I knew about the patterns life throws up, yes, but still I tend to think that one was our celestial fashion vomit. And the deep vein connection / anonymous comfortability. Our legs sweat against each other, bus seat thighs. Shades of skin and expression. Cosy down into this, shouty silent safety in the shadow of the city suited thieves and their machinations, illumination symbols twisting around the lot. A twilight Thames embankment walk with my work boss teaching me all kinds of meanings to this imagery I grew up with, always surrounding us. Brixton, Dalston, Brick Lane bustle and swirl, a jumble pot of lives, dreams and hurry… bright orange lights and glowing shop fronts at the top of late 80s Crystal Palace Hill, with its tall metal tower characters and Victorian monsters hiding in green trees. Feet out on grassy parks in warm summertime, humbum, people and people for centuries and miles and miles, views out of windows, from hilltops, endless endless habitations, vibrations, perception points. The mysteries made at playtime, breaking out our moves for shifty molecular twists, vibrating resonance in our threads and stories. Oh, dreams, customs, food, festivals, telly soaps, potions, gods, candles, a same but different choose your own adventure yearning, playing, building, oh joyous sore confusion in the gritty caged playspace, digging for an Otherworld in the dry dirt under a lump of concrete, beneath the holly tree.

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In allowing

Working out, feeling out

where to flow


these unrelenting injustices, complex

and desperate human battles, where,

how, to apply the lessons.

Acceptance, as a journey

through process. Be like water.

You don’t have to think,

not all the time, not in the ways

you were taught

…. trust

and act from love. A cog in a wheel

that you surrender, a tipping into,

part of the pattern, flip

in-outwards… act to change, here

butterfly wings, there a trick, a word play,

soft grandmother words. In energetic alchemy,

a piece, a spin. If necessary

violence, too, to feel deep, and still keep

detached perspective

in allowing, work

through me… get out the way!

This is a game we play, but we

are played, danced. And we each dance

the whole dance, and we are

wholly holy, each of

us. Resistance only gravel

don’t sweat it, move, sometimes

the process needs

gravel, doubt and questions

holy holy, and you, you are

made to do this

your way.

Don’t ever doubt it. Those mountains,

those oceans, desert valleys,

motorcycle gangs,

are no obstacle.