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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Karoo Invocation

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Home desert gives free flow to

twisting genetic

freeze frame in strange pattern space.

Bring up processing tension weight release…

Guess I came here to do this. Forgets how spikey old memories that never

happened, to you,

looping trauma patterns.

Shared together, held alone

in empty expanse,

Wider scale than eyes can, tiny details,

perfect flowers at miniaturised, shrub plant, thorns, focus.

Desire to weep, unknown difficulty, but I know I will and invoke safety in it. With all its vaguely teeming with snakey mambas, stacks of bones, its endless vast potential to be lost, this place is safe. I feel it’s gentle hum deep always, and although I am filled with age old chasmic sadness, tears lurking,

it holds firm, steady soul, parental hand in rattle boom storm.

All the stories here, although weighty and familiar, are still stories.

Karoo continues, ta ta ta, ta ta ta, train – hosho rhythm.

Silence. Wind in howls. Wide winged beings taking flight.

Depths in dust.

Connections as they are: loving, strong, essential

will come through.


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Untitled (spells on that mountain)

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A hearty mystery

to stand barefoot

on that ancient rock mountain.

10 million years, back to sand.

Vista on rolling potential

mapped on wand, found

Body Map

Sky above

Feet

Dirt

Space

No need for sense.

Senseless shift.

To trust in grounded

home space,

to wide open heartfelt greetings

Energy zoom to space,

flow smooth and strong

on this big rock,

on this bigger rock.

The tugs are tides I accept not to understand

And every Will the ocean.


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and yet not

Doubt, holy force

centre spiral, this life with

central point in all directions, all

directions doubt. To stop

and read, encounter

words, feel

strange

strands,

never

had to

read entire

ancestry through

               colonising other’s

eyes, eyes of my forefathers

             saturated in unimaginable

disconnection grab grab

                                                             grab crab better like my family,

                                                                  like I just learned

                                                                           Gandhi did

also, in

chain

of

like Do Things Our Way but

not too much, know

place, fuck off //

territory not

all over 100 years ago

how we have shifted,

flourished, grown

and yet not,

chasm

       failure perception

Where the road

had taken us

every moment

                                                                             still

                                                                                 here.

and say No.

and remember

                                   transmutation

Hope,

Love’s wells

spring

in

 step

 we are new

  Children

     Weeping

       in the blood and

curses

of our ancestors,

we take foot

and make new

Our own methods,

Will learn

(depths, games

Nothing) from

Everywhere,

Still

acknowledge, respect, dance

only way to play with

gentle footsteps

although

                                                   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


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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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untitled mirror box

Sing a tilt mirror box

in unspecified definition

we

sense, another realm –

explore / create without holding back

this tangible endless shift terrain,

this mass of effect,

this prescription of non space.

 

Always refused to doctors those

moments of blinded

inability

that this being at all

that this stricture of others,

of my creation. These tender

Suffocate knots, unpickable, deep,

moulded together like

bundles, tumour growth of

horror impossibility. Those flashes, breakthroughs,

spaces. Those howling agonies,

tortures, senseless.

Those humans, those creatures, lives.

The impossibility of existence

is something I got onto early.

The only freedom from it, ever

is realising its truth.

I still have a giraffe

in my chest. Sometimes it kicks. It still wants to get out.

 

There is a peace and a vast

expanse in the connections we

make. When the desert isn’t

physical

I find the desert there.

Definitions seem to slow

down the process, are weighty.

It is easier to travel light

and while I transmute

these centuries, these millennia

weigh heavy already, spin around my

frame, a tiny mop haired desert boy,

a tall pretty prince,

a spark, a Kali-Ma,

a forest warrior girl,

a frail light footed ~ ,

they weave and spit around me,

all colours, and memories

this point of perception never made,

They plunge out

purges, and years of weeping into

single minutes. They remain, some

of them,

for now.

 

Definition would be too much on top of that.

Diagnosis would only get in the way.

Understanding is essential,

allows shifting sands,

allows lightness.

In echo of this work,

understanding

is a mutating story.

It gathers threads into

Potential. Disperses.

Allows peace.