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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unpack

SONY DSC

You can feel the focus make it worse

the explanation, definition

repetition. Panicked eyes a

clarion call

to urgent unpacking, but where? No space.

You’d better get a

mat down, open some

time loops. This

could

take

centuries.

 

Hop, skip, jump

tip-toed stardancer, soft

a slow trudge

to the station

won’t save you. She never

shows her face, not

to you, not to anyone.

That isn’t part of the game.

Don’t sweat it, sweaty.

 

It’s Halloween, Samhain, so

many spirals travelled

open-veiled, too many

for such

not to disappear

at these times, a blessed

curse, this year found

many ancestors, too. Last year

you were in the process,

you didn’t dare speak it,

last year was a different thing

entirely, with scope to research,

and you forgot to light the fire.

Throughout life

the repetition intensifies,

so many loops.

You’ve never been here.

 

This time, an o p e n i n g ,

mucky pupped with

ghouls and white noise

blankets. Follow the star, remembering

how to dance light-footed, shed,

discard, unguarded, fearless.

Space can still be made for this,

in these worldly times of gathering

darkness,

and it must.

The transformation exists,

it is underneath. Its time is now.

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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.