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.
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.