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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Flicker between worlds

fantasy-island-wallpaper

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,

overlay elements,

myth potential.

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,

friendships,

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)

matter.

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,

                        maybe, recently,

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,

communing,

communicating,

space.

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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.


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Luna Hoof Heart

The moon afloat a perfect pitted sphere

 

Yearning, a / this yearning indescribable

          constantly contracting/releasing       

 

and you, us, adventure, it is

and this amorphous cabal, our hearts pulsating joy

pain

 

new life, new life

 

Indifferent, indescribable, imaginal

 

liminal fantasy, not spell,

 

told a game, we spun, spin, outwards, we

Nuclear fusion reactors, we

strange meat adaptors

we suffering, growing, growing, shrinking…

To ~

To just for once find a way to

tell you

but what? My notion that

this work, this

hurt us?

This

a process, which is Love

If you trust it it can happen

It can

flow, better

you with it

If you trust it hurts less, like still a heavy flutter sting…

Do I trust it?

 

Who are these beings? Is it a bet?

That stupid? That funny?

 

Are you ?

 

What is the dimensionality of imaginary space?

Does the moon hold specific indifference for Kesh?

Does he know how I love him?

Energy, energy

particle flitters between hands

It’s all

 

An explosion of hearts, stars, an explosion in US.

 

I want you to know it is still dragging on me, but love is the thing that heals it.

 

The giraffe is the moon. You are liminal starlight

 

I know you when you

Wings like rooks,

Hanging amorphous nothing space

Gentle light, endless power ripped from me, shaking

all over

simple words, trust, guiding hand in the dark.

 

I hate to see my friends suffer.

Were we ready for this? It happened.

 

still just broken winged birds learning to fly, forever

Interdimensional space travel

is our game, the Hove Space Programme

is our name.

Make a weapon, use it.

 

We grow, we love, we be

Love is a many splendid thing

 

The process is twists and turns

It lies, it has to…

it does not exist

Can there be such a thing

as cosmic friendzoning?

 

Sure can feel like it sometimes

 

(, softly, softly) I don’t suspect so...

 

I remembered what a world without love was like

I didn’t like it

Love, the web

Love, the mycelium

chatter, pulses, courses

Love the rip cord: yearning, being, tugging,

tidal

Love, the everything, the nothing of it all

Love


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youth of a thousand summers

The intersection has been experienced as all encompassing

and before I knew where to turn

on first glance – so much of it laid itself ahead

and

all around scatter – a spiral formation in a million shooting stars

starts and spit colour light

threads, to be woven into patterns by us.

 

A dance, the dance, THAT dance

to come of age, to come, to see you in her

sparkling eyes, to hear your voice all simple

to talk me through each

inflection, “hey, hey, a sip of water, a

leap over the

 

precipice, hey, hey… NOW….” To open wide mind

like bish bosh you young gay boy,

you paragon of womanhood !

You, lover, you

 

As a kid I never wanted to be queer

I feared my strange sex, I

found it shameful in myself

where I NEVER did in others. I watched

Frank-N-Furter and did not even.

All love and

empty of blame, I YEARNED

And yet I told myself again and again:

no, no someone to keep me sane

a sensible and

well no, I mean, a boy but ANY boy. I mean a boy

but only the BEST boy. I mean only one who

would never love me. I mean LOVE

ALL LOVED

and I mean only YOU (I mean you…)

and TITS and I mean to be a boy.

 

It was a confusing time, looking back.

 

But never known was

Always known was

I mean music, and a lost self in

Ecstasy. I mean that that was

always the thing. And that

you were, are, always. I mean that in a

golden freedom, in a light

touch, in a madness, in a screaming down the street

there are truths on

that dancefloor,

in those mountains. There is peace.

There are eternal moments

Outside.


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Summer Summary So?

So many stories to tell. Community, play, old friends in strengthening in new friends. A summer, all Brighton, all travel, all small space make own culture (especially at Supernormal Festival). All more than could be expected. Release play, learning, being ok, some vital: “right path sonny jim, carry on moar!” Laffing. Such new / old companions, comrades, compatriots.

To learn that the purpose isn’t always the purpose it seems to be. To create things that change, that facilitate this beautiful tribe and the folk in it to grow and change and sweep about, without doing what we thought or imagined (yet). To be happy for it.

This bubble afloat. We’re from the future. Gender mess gay children. A summer in Owold ASStral, reconnect through science. New dimensions (as if it isn’t big enough!), new colours, new life. We make it. Thumbs up.

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Their unfeasible reality that continues, biting at heals – a terror – even to us – to our bright-arse inventive friends and their brilliant children. Dismantle of better rules of play continues alarmingly. People suffer. Sometimes we scream and hide.

Our new life is action, is a work against this work, is a work for ***^^^**** Universe/ourselves/itself. No need to have this work as punishment – it is in their interests. We’re from the future. I a mess of hopes and dreams, as ever, ever, all those forces on my side give messages of carry on, and I will. I do. Despair is a terror. Breaks happen, and we move. I stand with everyone in times of horror. Yes, and dive about on my own escapade. I just wrote this thinking of Lou Reed. (Although the formatting is not right, no matter). As I write this a beautiful tangle strand appears adrift in friends, their messages, the same message:

Here we are.