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"


Leave a comment

The Past’s Future

Open | Sun | Shimmer | Movement

Slips between channels,

our experience, energy

moves from

place

to

focus. You, the heavy weight,

tall hoof of the past’s

future, you burning neck,

soul inside my heart,

trapped and

breaking

Out, weak point

must be strong to hold

space for you.

The largest

form

an everything

for endless expanse,

still tracking under !Xu’s wide sky,

while these layers of

Power struggles

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

to Britain

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

horror had

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

death

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,

Integral structures

against

and hopscotch

Imagination games, playing out

Beautiful mergers, our

learning, playing

music, dancing

our attempts to make some sense

of belonging

Together

Apart

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

brutal

Interruption, a vision of a home to make

somewhere. That

somewhere.

It continues, perhaps on purpose

the layers have kept

Pouring in the same patterns in the

mould.

Mold may grow in

Different shapes. We weaponize mold

to grow new forms. If fungus can eat

plastic

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

and slavery.

Advertisements


Leave a comment

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.


Leave a comment

Owold’s 11 no.?

Owold beach

The kind of home splace invasion sectored out by instinct and your words cutting through ice like butter,

                                              fantasy space, fantasy animals

we know and the questioning reality is exactly why we followed this path,

but what is the path itself?

                   Get back on it. Get back on it.

It bleeds and suckers to//read accounts that are all too human and

one knows their closeness, sensed in physical space of mind,

in physical space of body

 

Does exist out~~

side# of?

 

Where reality is made and….

 

Tell ourself a bundle of kindling tails, get lost in the undergrowth,

singing,

humming,

screed to (distant)screaming.

 

You also told me this would not hurt me

Or at times stayed quiet on the subject

You also implied its usefulness

in process in

the clarity of seeming accounted

The clarity of experience

merged selves, create

connections beyond

 

Twelve years

in….

…….best one

…..

in

process break force stretch to

pleasant necessary sunset, to pastel fade out, to ocean vapor, to an innerspace bigger than ourselves as, to not be as we know it, to not be, to


Leave a comment

Karoo Invocation

18195008_1666432273663234_9135668202142400948_n.jpg

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.


Leave a comment

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


Leave a comment

Ticket #1

Sunset, Western Australia

A ticket to the Void.

Inhale,

Exhale.

Everybody,

Nowhere.

Home is a flicker of light on the horizon of vision,

Is a disjointed question, awkward stacks of suitcases,

Is the yearning I have to communicate to you its lack,

 

because you already know.

 

A still sad everything

in slowly emerging morning.

uncertainty in how we dovetail joint

these flickering wing shudders

life and

words that seem to resonate like

murmuration.

Joy when it occurs,

as obvious the rain is when climbing

and skidding down mossy paths

to Cybi’s Well.


Leave a comment

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.