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.
What is magic? We used to meet in Owold, and we were in deep, forget-me-not-forever assisting each other, learning to process together in actions and energy sharing. Exploring territories that were unfathomable, discovering where the shared experience began and ended, dreaming together in separate dreams full of intersections. The dimensionality of imaginary space. A time of innocence, another childhood of experience in some ways, a peak experience too. The moment it happened, you said, the world you inhabited was completely destroyed, and all sense of you with it. As you emerged anew you saw how where we live is the universe contained in our own heads. You saw a web of meaning that stretched between us all and out to every being, “It’s freeing because the world isn’t fixed like it was” you told me, “and the world isn’t fixed for other people either. The world is in part a world you have control over building.” You laughed about a comedy show where a person given the chance to make endless virtual realities makes their own neurosis again and again “so.. there is that”. I laughed too, without ever having seen the show I knew the story, only too well. You were with us though, and we were with you, and together we were learning to look at things from new angles, we were playing, and the plasticine was reality itself, well, maybe.
Physical effects occurred too. The shaking, pains, heart bombardment. The shuddering energies that take over us and compel us in strange directions. Something snapped. Although I yearned more than I can say to do so from my space of all this, it was so hard to reach you. In fact I had no idea if that were possible, or how. Although so many of us were on this path before that moment, had experienced related things before… honestly, none of us fully understood what had been unleashed. I was unafraid, most of the time, but the fear was real and was out there, was in you. At times these processes would become cruel and intense. I would shudder and shake for hours, sometimes in agony, sometimes in ecstasy, find myself on spontaneous vision quests, become nothing, nothing, a tunnel of light. I would feel vast electrical energy ripped from me, through me, was ever sensitive to every strange fluctuation in the world as I encountered it, heard wings all around me and rolling through me, dissolving. I had no idea how to integrate some of this with the rest of it or with the other world, the familiar world. While I didn’t understand, I felt fairly able to navigate the space I found myself in, like it was my natural state. I was consistently told by my nearest imagination beings that this was the case. I don’t think it was so with you, and the space you were in. I checked these sensations with you, and with a few others, and some were the same, and some were very different. In my sensitive state when the shift happened the energy shaking off you felt so heavy, so drastic. I understood how, after a time, you seemed to react. For a while we grew distant and you seemed to avoid us. I did spells to help you find a way out of the mires. I tried to be there for you but I also kept my distance.
We took up playing mbira together, I after you. We explored together again. You came back, tentatively. You were, once again, so soft and silly and wise. Things were calmer, and we felt almost like veterans of some crazy battle, aware, underneath, that fighting could erupt again at any moment. Some of the spaces we explored then were so vast, so ultimate, so indescribable. We could come out of them collectively and smile, say “that was a deep one”… humm a little. Giggle. Go back in. It was gentle and simple and amazing that it was available to us. We were gentle with it, as gentle as we could be. It was more than we would ever get to grips with or really know, and we were all very comfortable with that. When the tides turned yet again they turned for us all, but so heavily for you. The help you seeked backfired, it chased you out of this life, and it is so scary to say that because it feels like something one is not supposed to say. But it is so. Seeking help is a wonderful thing, but it is fraught, as everything, all healing is, with danger. Snakes are doctors, and doctors are snakes. Every human being knows that. Nyangara. Up on the mountain. May that snake be gentle with your spirit, heal the process that was you. Send you on your way with love.
Open | Sun | Shimmer | Movement
Slips between channels,
our experience, energy
focus. You, the heavy weight,
tall hoof of the past’s
future, you burning neck,
soul inside my heart,
Out, weak point
must be strong to hold
space for you.
for endless expanse,
still tracking under !Xu’s wide sky,
while these layers of
demand sugar in the cement.
For shudders, kicks,
expulsions, pushing towards
our future, our past
presents itself now in threatening letters,
to loved elders,
whose home is here.
Who once welcomed
as young folks,
descended from the people
ancestors of this country
stole, sold across oceans as slaves
into the hardest life on
those soft wave shores, the ones who survived
and broke finally free
into a world which has
never yet stopped trampling on those
Bones, those humans, adding
accretion to inheritance
trauma, constant battle ground
to be known
as human, to live in peace,
share in, and hold
wide network of Love and
All, for those ghosts
that haunt the bones, raised each time
Words are spoken or
threats or guns are raised. The Windrush
a n o p e n i n g
of its time, another expectation
of servitude, to previous
powers, now in need. One dressed in
fancy best and invited
for tea, which we drank in your living room
when we were very tiny, so sweet, so
Delicious. My first attempt at a school friend,
I digress. And you know
on a day like this
in 2015 I
wrote about hearing Miriam Makeba
in the sunshine in Brighton,
Our own adventures in community
and amplified political
just begun. Whirlwind creation
of spitting fire between our hands
You kick and sputter, you
Hoof hands, you heart
neck attack, the world,
the life and
oh my. Half a million souls
across the waves to reach these
shores towards attacks, you know the
signs in windows, fists in
faces, words, attitudes,
Imagination games, playing out
Beautiful mergers, our
our attempts to make some sense
to build what we saw,
make magic in the mountains of
our dreams, like, no idea
what the power of stories,
words | breathe | touch
could be. Still. A woven dream of
a moment in the
Interruption, a vision of a home to make
It continues, perhaps on purpose
the layers have kept
Pouring in the same patterns in the
Mold may grow in
Different shapes. We weaponize mold
to grow new forms. If fungus can eat
we Mycelium are the fungus
that can eat these structures, it is not a drill but a
Growing, and the patterns can be moved through,
Can be adapted or SMASHED
We say NO to this
repeat pattern built of slavery. We say it
with real process inside and outside
of ourselves. We say it with care and love and
Setting fire. We say it throwing seeds and spores in all
Directions and ready to water | wait | tend | protect.
We say it with sigils. We say it with alchemy.
We stand together in our home.
We build that astra
Diane spoke of.
We say it with those we love.
We say it looking
at who we are.
We say it clearly. We say it with words.
We say NO to this
repeat pattern built of colonisation
Stop. Breathe. Feel the world
Tumble down in the wail cadence
at the start of Erasure’s Sometimes.
Take a pace forward. You
know that iridesce
is a flicker between worlds,
The ones you work with live
There, perhaps, in between worlds to
here, like this role in reverse.
The lands there appear differentiated too,
a stack of
which flickers, alike, different, to this space
and always has.
Yet things are different there, the same. When
spaces integrate I have
seen entities expanded over entire sky,
encountered beings up close in a
myriad of forms, sung to the dark
and beautiful abstract mask spirits who cluster
around leaves and trees. Been encouraged in
process, shit and vomit by serious,
giggling gnomes. Felt >bzzz< wings against my
legs, learnt strategies, developed relationships,
developed strength, and felt myself give it to them.
The question of reality is a misnomer.
The Otherworld does not exist
on the same plane as this
Space. Is this imagination? Pretend?
Dimensional? It doesn’t matter.
The shifts made through
interaction (between this non matter and)
The potentials created, envisaged,
the layers, those layers of being, life.
It is time to call the worlds together.
This is the
Battle. The only war that matters,
to paraphrase Diane. And yes,
it is the power of our imaginations, and
the power of working with their elements
as whirling, existent, experiencing in their own right,
which brings us to
strengths and possibilities
we did not know we had. The chance
for real change I can perceive
lies in aligning to these realms,
Honouring these spaces,
spirits, energies, that we have always
sensed. Seeing where they take us,
and where we may go with them.
What next? That daoist/BDSM symbol still appearing,
on surprise church windows in Africa,
back in the roundhouse in Wales.
Do you want to come
along? There’s a bridge to build
on this quest
and it’s not made of stones, but
wonderment, curiosity, stories.
Discoveries, energies, balances.
Space, Love, care, observation, listening,
Doubt, holy force
centre spiral, this life with
central point in all directions, all
directions doubt. To stop
and read, encounter
eyes, eyes of my forefathers
saturated in unimaginable
disconnection grab grab
grab crab better like my family,
like I just learned
like Do Things Our Way but
not too much, know
place, fuck off //
all over 100 years ago
how we have shifted,
and yet not,
Where the road
had taken us
and say No.
we are new
in the blood and
of our ancestors,
we take foot
and make new
Our own methods,
acknowledge, respect, dance
only way to play with
loud pumping progeny
rest and grow
Build new queer
Future We Are
from nowhere direction
Meet and find the others
Only when the time and stars
And spells are
The shadow, so enormous.
You know how so, as big as the light, as…
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”..
weaker others. Our complicity.
The rot at the heart of capitalism,
at the heart of these motions in nothing we
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,
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
I see you, leaving, I see you,
growing, I retch, I spit. I hear
Party til you’re dead lads,
it’s only just begun.
But a puff of smoke,
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
See how we get on with that.
I love you.
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,
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
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.
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