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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Excavations in Substation, This Home Stands on Ancient Bones, Erosion of the Monolith, Live in Vienna 9th June 2023, From Solstice to Equinox, The Pre-War Noise Encryption Standard, Minimal Works 7, Minimal Works 6, and 75 more.
1. |
The Fever Beat
03:58
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The Fever Beat
Well, it isn't really so,
and if it is,
it's like the fever beat.
I've unscrambled it
It gave out a faint high pitch squeal,
it oooohed and ohhhhhed.
I could hear the odd doof!
then crack!, then prooh!
A pffft - whack, whack whack -
the thudding boop, boop, boop
a doo, doo, doo, doo,
boop, boop, boop, boop.
He went, 'Urrhh, yeah, yeah,'
And then he went,' Urrrhhh! hurrh!.
The little man twitched at the sound
and not worrying about the scrunching noise,
jumped the machine
to different tracks on the disc.
What they'd recorded before
had been a great deal of static.
They hired the very best technicians,
just to be certain that it sounded right.
It was too neat, but who the hell cares?
It was quiet again,
in the centre of the town,
on the ground face down.
With a liquid foam,
the clothes, the shoes, the skin,
and the boneheaded.
Sag from the sky
leak through cracks in the floors
above the length and the width.
Never heavy enough,
A coat of paint absorbed the light,
which never seemed to get brighter
and inch-thick sheets.
A stupid place to fall asleep.
Now with a stiff upper drip,
I checked the slow insidious rain
could be heard or felt
by someone on a layer of pasteboard trailers,
shacks, sheds, and lean-tos,
A hundred thousand fibreglass people
topped with tarpaulin,
strung end to end
block after block of sheds
lighted windows glowed,
littering the insulate,
epitomised the English,
that sort of cold, wet rain.
Suddenly he saw the motorcyclist,
a hurtling beacon or something
blinded him for a moment,
his eyes misted over.
And then he had to ram it with his bus,
sending the Jeep back
across onto the opposite pavement.
The wind cut through his bulky clothing
as he crossed in front of the car,
away from the headlights and the front wheels,
lifting his bus to140 kilometres per hour
and completely off the ground
before flipping and rolling
and spinning off the road.
At the same time as the car screeched and ripped
the door slammed.
And he saw the passenger hurtle
on a diagonal course for the opposite ditch
and the car accelerated towards them
skidding, then righting itself
in a perfectly replicating sequence.
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2. |
Anodised Mud
04:18
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Anodised Mud
Nodding, Kate said,
'At first we thought the stones used in ley lines
can carry the subliminal television programmes,
several tons of water, dust, newsprint, and oil
to print below the recognition threshold
for hundreds of miles....
But the electromagnetic energy resists analysis.'
The hesitation was repeated three times
as was the uncertainty of the printout
produced by the instruments therein.
It takes about a year
of rising and falling telluric current
to write each audio imaging voice on the dust screen,
a simple series of jagged spikes and troughs
print out on the microwave band.
Yes, the first one of them was filled
with tightly kinked hair fibres in 1957.
That's right, the noise of a rotating light
could be used to build an enhanced image
from the mirrors embedded on the columns of brown hair.
We finally settled on a system of stacked dark hair
covered in sand and glue.
But in order to fuse the printouts
to coat composite photos
were 25 fistfuls of slimy anodised mud.
There were two TV sets
that flashed an array of synthetic hair images.
Elegant coloured lines about 60 feet long,
partially obscured by the aqua green mist
of the lights from the underground
with more than enough material
for the first several lines of sweating,
chilled, shaking, dazed, realistic,
and indifferent dream images,
crackling in a rhythmic alternating current.
Old cigarette packets, sweet wrappers and discarded toys
overflowed down his chin
dripped into his shirt front
the way lager still foamed out of the public house.
All the serious drinkers who had arrived at twelve
were into lager and lime in double quick time.
I remember the pub didn't have stools.
The bar was lined with little detectives,
hooked to a brass rail that ran along the bottom.
That was the only way to avoid trouble.
The room seemed dark,
the landlord, a blurred figure,
polishing glasses behind the bar,
a task which appeared to demand intense concentration.
The latecomer toasted himself,
gulping the lager so fast
that the frothy head overflowed
into a small puddle on a record player.
The damn thing switched.
from 33 RPM to 45
vibrated on his brains.
Some of the beer fell into his watch.
A cheese roll was suddenly flushed
out of the interior of his shirtsleeve
it slid onto the bench next to him,
uncomfortably close.
At one o'clock he unfolded a sheet of paper
and put it on the bar.
I need somebody to help me.
I'd only take up five or ten minutes of your time.
The man behind the bar, nodded
reached behind a couple of glasses
and put a heavy manilla envelope on the bar.
The walls were covered with heavy eyebrows.
That's the way it had been since 1954,
some old brass key fobs hanging from the beams,
bearing the date.
The barman's making sure
none of the others in the other room look relaxed,
a glass in one hand, dish cloth paused
in an atmosphere of meaningless jumble.
Someone, maybe even one of the office workers,
bowed a cassette player from the elongated space.
The rain continued to pour for almost an hour.
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3. |
Rucksack Dreams
04:35
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Rucksack Dreams
And this then hits the high spots,
such as tors that had been moved in and out
Now, they changed all the roads,
worse and worse
scuffed and splintered
trails flow like sands and fall from a sky turned white
Digital land masses,
terraforming twenty feet wide,
created from elements in the planet's crust
where chemical leaching computers
intersect it five times
and align the fancy water points
from St. Michael's Mount to the Avebury Stones
so we'll have to retrace our steps with divining rods.
So, I suppose, you know,
that the elevator was still there,
where it had left me in the old days.
When I first learned to hunt for ley lines
and memorize all sixty-four characters.
Yeah, in these rucksack dreams,
the symbol card catalogue system.
I swung away from the mic
and looked at that literate gorilla
while he sent down for whole buckets
of fiery red angels.
Oh no, no.
They were not marked or damaged,
but they might have been,
he probably radioed the discharge
of radiation-like energy through card files.
I didn't find out any more.
A layer of sixty-four bit zero point noise music
dissolved into a crashing solid blare.
The volume built up like a wave.
Yeah.
In a sequence that jigsawed haphazardly
together across a bare, tiled interior,
Everybody stood still for a moment
caught in it
they swayed back and forth.
Each person murmuring in Greek Sanskrit, Celtic,
dozens of men and women everywhere
talked crap about the printed word.
And in a few seconds,
the force was growing larger
as the rumble grew.
Rose up everywhere into the darkness.
And sometime later
wailed a slight background sound
a faint rumble before the last reverberations
ricocheted off
back into the large tunnel and stopped.
Silence!
There was a pool of vomit under the window
and more vomit crusting
on a mass of telex equipment,
phones and electronic calculators.
The whole setup in there, actually.
All the devices and a hundred others.
All those poncy rich kids.
Computers won't work.
It was a man next door
with a gust of something stale,
networked to a recycling timer
of exactly once every ninety minutes,
this one was a minimum setup
to rid the place of ghosts.
The old agent got a geological survey map.
The ley line hunter, looking for cutaways
that would put the event firmly into place,
needed mirrors of the present
and grease and sand to throw on it.
He stopped, he hesitated a moment
then shrugged and his eyes shut
a couple of feet from the geological survey map,
naked, surrounded with empty mugs,
fumbling along,
stepped back
towards the hi-fi stack in the corner,
the wooden desk,
the pair of chairs and the coat rack,
his fist opening.
He seemed to be looking for markers.
It was very delicate work,
a tap dripped, a
nd there was a low whirring from the fridge.
The telex machine typed out a message.
He took a step backwards.
He rapped at the door.
He reached into a rucksack
and pulled out a little screw adjustable magnifier.
With a few slaps and jabs
and hammering and pounding,
a prolonged period of hyperventilation
faces flow through the view finder.
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4. |
Ignition Keys
04:38
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Ignition Keys
Most days like today,
the parking space between the buildings
was visible from the road,
but there appeared to be nobody
at the end of the corridor.
A shot sounded
only a couple of streets away
running feet could be heard
then an attacking force of plate glass windows
seemed to burst open inside my brain.
Instantly discovering
that a skanky songwriter
and an anonymous team of engineers
never liked hearing new material.
But there was something else doing my head in
shrivelling slowly in memory
tumbling to its knees on the ground,
somewhat vexed
where there really isn't such a place left any more ,
where to hear rather than to feel
since whether in fact we were juicy
and fell to the ground
sugaring together weekly lit
by a light from the first floor.
She enabled cryptographers
to leave her their pop anthems.
Oh yes.
That means ciphered the stairs
with over two dozen files.
Having correctly guessed
the difference between many bridges
for a hypothesised model of interaction.
Jack pressed a key on his laptop
and slid his prick up her.
Music filled the room,
the engine immediately turning.
Pushing between them
firing bursts,
not known consciously by the dreamer.
Got up from the sofa
and managed to throw his hands out
to heave the large hockey bag
full of ignition keys
a few inches
With a crash, he slammed his foot
on the video about hardcore drug abuse.
Bloody hell, but I need to escape.
It was beyond cruel, this.
The speaker-phone behind a locked front door,
exploded outwards,
a split second before he fell through
several hundred dermatological orifices,
like hair follicles across the street,
Her titties swung
beneath the row of buttons.
The tape played like the rest of them.
They then understood
that the sheer force of her conviction
had looped and was marked down
into the open doorway
of another chamber,
as well as being held up
by the platforms beneath them
and closed it.
I pointed this out
and proved it
to little goggled-eyed tight buttocks.
No doubt
they've already forgotten
to watch him transform
the last lingering busload
of potentially hard cock
down the romantic lines
of the main vertical shaft beyond it.
The passengers climbed on
to relish the bus's engines
in wild flurries of sexual titillation
and laughter.
We could spread this
into a more bilateral look
at the wide concrete chasm in front
of the ring of bluestones
on the clitoris bundle.
It's all there.
You know, you must join us
to think of something square,
no gimmicks, no time to lose.
The sooner we get moving
before the sprawling engine
directs itself right out of the middle lane
and into the red, white, and blue front entrance.
Reaching under his seat.
The driver pushed,
folded, clicked, adjusted,
humming
using his smile and his eyes
and with his hands straight up
baton-twirled a screwdriver.
Meanwhile, the beaker folk climbed into the vehicle
and threw down buckets of grease.
The engine was reassembled
and the device was levered
from one side and then back
dropped down the vertical shaft on the driver's side
Back inside the cross vent first,
then rocking back and forth
out of the loop to a sudden halt
in the correct position
over the supporting columns
down, up and down
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5. |
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The Pre-War Noise Encryption Standard
The tyres of the other buses punctured loudly
and he heard a dog barking.
Now everything was slow motion,
they fishtailed crazily,
skidding off across the ruts,
mounting the grass verge.
Coming down so slowly,
into an ocean jam-packed with marine life.
There was a brief, strained pause,
a cloud of huge fish-type things
sat on the silty floor,
perfectly still.
A few seconds passed,
he listened to a faint rattling sound
gradually building to a prang, a second prang,
and then a bass drum was tapping ominously,
a slow, steady rhythm thrumming and pounding,
a tighter, off-beat rhythm,
and eventually a few notes thrummed on koto strings
held in and slowly increased,
a noise like a ferocious short circuit
– krrrrrrrk –krrrrrrrk –krrrrrrrk –krrrrrrrk –
and the music suddenly turned mean.
It went pwhhhoohhh! mphhhh!
They struck the beams and disrupter pulses,
kicking out blooms of dusky ripples.
The darkness around them intensified,
their trajectories shimmered sharply
to send out long streamers
a hundred metres
directly above the wormhole generator.
His secure priority connection collapsed,
fogged by the dense gases.
External sensors were showing the routing on the link,
which did nothing to relieve the growing ache. I sighed.
Some time later,
in a vain attempt to alleviate the throbbing,
I rubbed a hand across the safety webbing
hat dropped out of a series
of large interlocking hemispheres
that were slipping across the counter.
There are five large storage shelves,
but that is all.
He’d memorised the complete file,
that was a start.
At first, he was worried
about how much evidence
the vacuum had already cleared away.
Russian-made metal fatigue,
with messages from space.
When the screens on the tightly curved,
nearly horseshoe-shaped tabletop came to life
at 7:59:59,
she found herself listening to a thousand minds.
The harsh blue hue
the two dozen computer screens
was now a flood of changing colours
which were the faces and clothes
of everyone in the biosphere
on all levels,
the release of tension was palpable
and seemed to repeat itself once
Twenty-five seconds
we have a medium-sized set of rebounding signatures
from screen to screen.
There’s something down here
hooked to a well-known paperback novel.
They reached the stairway,
and saw the starlight
and the distant glow of street lamps.
These beards and guitars flashed messages
of subliminal behaviour modification
into the open doors of the train,
the subconscious sees
and absorbs the resultant image.
Thankfully, his sunglasses offered some protection.
The phone beeped
a few grains of rust-coloured stuff
that was coming through in gusts
settled into the folds of his sleeve
and started decades of wear and tear,
those clothes would be wrecked.
Two cables ran from a battery-powered radio
clamped to the boiler ledge,
facing the wooden crates in the control room .
He climbed on top of the bed,
and began flicking through the reference pages
until at last he had the full message.
He dropped back onto the bed
his eyes wide,
before he managed to eat through the fabric
that would not come off his bed.
One third was pieces of dry, brittle leaves
littered not only with coal dust
but with loosely packed sand and gravel.
Yellow grains were pages,
composed of two types of sand.
He jotted down words,
torn wrappings that could be decrypted
from the abrasive sand
with smudges of numerical oil
and unravelling decades of soot
to get something they could use
from the coded communication.
The pre-War noise encryption standard
had a rusting main rod,
with a blackening connecting rod,
and a leaky rheostat
turned all the way down.
When it is projected on a screen,
the screen appears to shake and grind
for a few seconds.
But it will not take long to compose the message.
Finally, the algorithm was firmly implanted into his brain.
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6. |
Line Noise
06:17
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Line Noise
Warm and softly lit,
the big room smelled of defiance
and black leather trousers.
There was an old man on a bench
at the far end,
he was just sitting there,
in baggy jeans and a sweater,
holding sawdust
carbon dioxide
faint sounds of tape-recorded jazz mutter
tensed his body,
shuffling the muscles together.
His hands his feet
large and broad,
she recognised the tension
his ridiculous jealousy.
But she relished the sweaty rock gigs,
and the thrill of being
amongst a number of individuals
who would soon merge
into one heart and mind,
fused by the crowd’s lust for pleasure,
But this was no ordinary rock band.
They had aged with breath-taking swiftness,
growing jowls,
turning grey and then white,
they could have been a single body
but for the protruding awkwardness of their legs.
Years later,
Mike tried to remember his first emotions,
the prominence of her nipples,
jumping up and down
with stamping feet and loud whistling.
That press of bodies all around,
the screams through the thin mist of night.
I grabbed the flash-light from the glove compartment.
A raucous rhythm rattled out.
Beneath my fingers
curves and crevices of her body
were spasmodically pressing against me
in a plain language of desire.
She hardened, her body twitching
“This is dragsville, man,”
she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.
Outside the afternoon had suddenly become light.
The rain running down
and saturating her second-hand clothing.
almost totally disembowelled buildings
and piles of rubber
.Remorsefully, she added,
“You know something, mister?
Two years ago I was a girl in a pair of horns,
Spock-shaped ears and legs wide
to give her eager lovers free access.”
They were gutter punks trained in countless street brawls
and the kind of predators
who were turning the city into one throbbing,
thrusting love-machine,
every part working in harmony.
“Amazing,” said Mike, truly amazed.
Flicking first one erect nipple and then the other.
He increased the pressure on her love-bud and intoned.
“Try Channel Eight.”
“Sieg hiel, mein Fuhrer!”
“Don’t let the stars get in your eyes.”
“Come on love, it’s a cold night.”
He realised too late that he had made a mistake.
Then there was silence.
Line noise from the occasional street lamps,
coughing and spitting onto long strings of beads.
His eye stung with sweat.
The city thundered, vile and cloying,
involuntarily gargling,
drowning, meshing in an infinite gloom.
She was a small, thin girl,
her face pale
as though some giant leech was feeding on her
in the neon lights.
And above it all was the music.
Emboldened by the sound,
life would be a circular autodialler,
an exclusive design,
a blob of cream on a rug of artificial grass
and no mucking around
There is line noise
probing pressure and vibration
blowing away the minds of millions
Now there was silence
but for the shrill piping
caused by a problem in the telephone line.
And somewhere a bird of some kind was hooting,
human breathing,
digestion, the shifting of bodies,
distant sounds from the darkness,
speaking with a strange accent and a wet lisp.
Each person’s eyes are closed
as he smells the one object
and takes a pinch
of each of the other two items
for applications to every orifice.
Press the Return key
for a final interlocking answer.
Building to the point
where three possible explanations
stirred the folds
of the newly privileged demolition crews.
Her white dress was stained
with a beautiful symmetry,
name and password,
decay and death,
the shadows getting closer,
the sweat of her frustration
dabbled in her labia
and her brown arms glistened.
Bend your left leg,
grasping a bad telephone.
Painted on tendered parts
marijuana and incense
and an amber disc rimmed with gold,
spiralling towards
displayed on her broad forehead,
the high-boned cheek,
her whole body shrieks.
But she had beads –
the shining box
that might have belonged
toher great-grandmother.
I felt suddenly gripped
by the distant rumble of line noise
that grated on her dying nerves.
As I sit fully relaxed and breathing deeply,
visualising my left hand,
I feel it move imperceptibility
somewhere between your computer
and the other computer.
The structure,
snake-tail red,
floating gently,
gets lighter and lighter.
It rises slowly from my lap toward my face
I know that when it touches my face
burned out flashbulbs
may not be everybody’s cup of tea.
Behind me the sirens screamed to a stop
and the bright astral body
gliding in the form of a human limpet
had learned to Frug and do the Monkey.
Green with the redhead
and black with the God knows what.
I stayed on the telephone for three more hours.
Darkness had fallen
and the street lights
were throwing a menacing lens
changing images,
amber letters,
trembling patterns
and between them a thick pall
falling.
Smell the artificial flowers
that winked like molecules
that are connected by electrical forces
to dust that can’t be swept,
vacuumed or beaten.
Follow directions,
thrill to erotic chastisement.
Discuss the temperature
of the pink latex mini-dress,
the heartbeat of the dead saint
with fire in his guts and brimstone in his soul,
and then, if symptoms persist,
press the Return key.
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7. |
Oak Leaves
06:42
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Oak Leaves
And
as my hands were behind my back,
I wrote one word on the envelope.
My face,
it was still soaked through
with the golden leaves upon it.
Oak leaves.
Again, he changed
this time to create surplus flesh
on his lean body.
His fingers shook slightly
when others mentioned the bugs with long feelers,
a stop light goes on for self security,
he is aggressive
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of flux pods
were making their way
seizing the spray
far up
a few hundred yards above the street lighting
closer to the wall.
It's true.
That is where they come from.
And the other things up the river
over a time variant
over fifteen hours,
like leaves before the wind
looking down
perfectly still
His ears breathing
gingerly grasped the edge of the hatch,
hit it with a few small charges,
a stimulating effect,
and the lights thrust,
and the action had secrets
twenty-seven on her labia
and a thick one was being applied to her clitoris.
So she decided to bide her time
for the time being at least.
But something surely was doing things
to his intuition, intelligence and wisdom.
The second girl now approached him
A naked girl,
holding a handful of powder to the Southeast,
to the sodden forest below.
About ten years back,
the idols of old,
the false floppy discs were prolific.
The hiss heralded a menacing step forward
around and around.
What noise was unscrewed or pulled out for?
For Heaven is dusted
with a bit of fat bottom rubble,
the ancient text messaging word patterns,
the grace of the children of the film cartridge.
I'll be shopping for the intelligentsia.
Greens into a riot of colour
across cryptographers smoking cigarettes,
bow down the wall,
profitable in business.
Certain of themselves
it's designed that way.
Never went to the out fringes,
a row of metals across
one thousand two hundred bowed nipples.
They stole it from his hands.
Paralysed from action by giant cryptographers,
hoarding stolen ingots
Storage banks.
Your trust, isn't it kind of cold?
No, I haven't.
You would think that I don't blame you.
You're not the first
at the same time.
I've told the best friend,
an imperfect child,
whatever
the motley assortment
of two or three dozen in the same place,
grown from the tangled wreckage
What's going on?
He's alone.
Books were scattered all over.
He was going to get swamped
frowned on.
On the far wall,
a patch of red light and useless decorations,
secret photographs,
pain sounds pleasure sounds
meant nothing.
From the window of the office,
I looked down
and the streaming rain ran rusted guttering,
turning to powder.
At the end of the line
slates had blown
heavy rainfall sprayed.
Levered aside the stones
pounded demolished houses.
Peeled off dragging
bobbing minivans along the water,
surged back and forth
smashed dancers took running dives
and began to writhe
in a deep sea of leathery animals.
Genitals
objects
faces that meant nothing
tossed large slabs of stone
falling with bits of soil and sea everywhere.
Overflowed dropped drowning.
Birds, guts, flowers, rats, and mice,
golden grave goods,
a length of splintered branch,
human limbs,
hunter, and hunted
mixed deeper, and deeper,
so deeply.
And he waited for it to subside.
And start a pattern
to cause a shape to be formed
high enough to stand in like a fortification,
like thirty feet of cement chamber
that reeked of bones and body odour
Along one side, there was a soggy flap.
It dripped its earthly grime
somewhat like a massive fountain pen.
At the other end,
there was what appeared to be a tiny square lens.
I'm checking to see
that the plate is secure.
Things didn't look too good.
They're whispering.
Clothes will not be worn
while the computers take over.
I kicked the door open.
Tiny particles of dust drifted upward
Inside was an enormous protective web
clogged with shit
ancient shit.
beatnik shit.
If I yelled,
it got stuck in my throat.
I turned away and as I turned
polycarbonate phlegm filtered the sunlight
beaming in through the windows.
I moved forward
barefooted in the wreckage
that rose five stories
wooden crates filed in spirals
looked as if they had been standing there for years,
A wash basin,
jig steps,
and the oddball characters
attract many flies
coughed up memories of the old ones.
Thousands prowl the laboratory
it's on the map and in the vocabulary,
a sleeping animal fog drifted across the street
river fog, slurring social strata.
Different levels of wealth,
races, languages, and cultures,
the elements whipped,
the powdered grime and thorny tentacles,
moss and dandelions
an ant's eye view
is not the only point of vantage
Up close
the buildings were even more grey and damp.
Windows and doors were securely shuttered silent,
total silence
to the noise,
to the sound.
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8. |
A Great Creaking
03:49
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A Great Creaking
He heard his breathing,
his heart thudded his chest.
It was like the roar of a retreating tide.
There was a great creaking.
He thought he heard clapping and shouting.
He seemed to be listening underwater.
The noise of wind and rushing
and the blood pounded in his ears.
Outside thunder fell out of the sky
with a muffled bass thump
from passing car speakers.
Murmured voices,
sheep bells,
jangled in the distance.
There was movement and noise everywhere.
Formless static became clear voices
speaking in a foreign tongue
before the rotor noise drowned them.
And then with a loud
metal-on-metal tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
Then abruptly,
there came a loud boom
thump-thump,
blaring air horns and shouting.
Then two loud, puncture-like booms echoed out,
reverberating off the walls.
The noise of police sirens,
the slowing swish of a car,
the rotor noise SHOOOOOOM!!
Thawump! Thawump! Thawump! Thawump! Thawump!
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
a humming sound and a groaning clatter
corrugated tin rattled,
a scratching sound,
Ka-chunk!
Zzzzzzzzz!
people yelling
the window rattled,
someone knocked,
the telephone rang
the high voice crackled through the speaker
with the odd sentence of English.
Shush.
What was that?
What was what?
I heard it. Something
I didn't hear anything.
Our map showed a line of pylons
running across to the four rectilinear columns
set in the middle of the curve.
It would've been easy going
travelling in a straight line,
like a waterfall.
Rain drummed on the outside window
and hundreds of tiny engines
were painted glistening white
in the same fashion.
The sounds of two TV sets
rushed down into wide body of water.
They emerge inside the ravine
somewhere where space is being twisted.
When I get the scene done
Anyway,
perhaps a dozen even larger television monitors
squeeze through the gap
for six hours today,
between the hours of three o'clock
and nine o'clock this morning.
|
||||
9. |
You Are A Wild Wind
03:41
|
|||
|
You are a Wild Wind
You are a wild wind
that blows upward and downward.
Your starter button
grappling hook and high-powered magnet
located under the driver’s seat.
I can see it now
You are easily flattered as your ego is so fragile and flaky.
Your strong need for rock’n’roll
means a singularity,
With your prick out,
wanking into the microphone of solid matter
on the far side of a sheet of glass
just after dawn and eighty feet straight down.
Shot your bolt onto the floor.
Staring at the screen,
He squinted to see it sink to its resting place,
a negative void nearly two hundred feet below.
Like magic, everything fell into place,
barefoot, uncaring
into the crack on the video recorder
I thought,
my God, she really likes it!
Whatever she felt,
my little weapon was not adverse to her plump pubis.
But within ninety seconds
Ping!
Total organ failure.
The situation was extremely fluid
and instantly went limp
dripping over her.
A tiny tremor.
“Oh, shit,”
But…
Dark Sun grasped my penis and wanked it furiously.
I whimpered in agony.
Holy shit.
First with one, two handgrips on my love machine,
a flaming erection.
I felt the circulation surge
I was nearly ready to shoot.
After weeks of nosing round the congested streetscape
of ruined buildings, squats, bedsits and anti-matter,
motorway services,
city blocks passing in a blur.
Through the metal handles,
thin rectangular conduits
a big widescreen TV,
wire-rim glasses.
He slouched and sniffed.
Little juicy twots,
smoke trails,
custard powder,
a crystal ball,
his arm,
his hands,
his bum,
the café,
unlocked conversations,
the game plan,
the hopeful glimmer,
the shrieking siren,
groans of delight,
bright-red posters,
teaching notes.
He tasted spray tan boxer shorts
jeans and vomit.
He kept checking his phone.
Checked the piece of paper
his contact at the university had sent him.
He was about to turn away
when he noticed that the door
was now revealed
as a nerve mound
of stone and plaster
that mainly emanated from her body.
Squinted his eyes to focus his frown.
A stack of rock that grew to incredible size
in a local nipple landmark,
imprisoned between my thumb
and folding realities of video pre-production
silhouetted against the sticky light from inside.
Six sisters, six.
He was sitting,
one leg on either side of her,
flapping his hands.
It was a machine here on Earth
that is somehow removed.
It is lowered onto the remainder
resting on the stacked boards
we lower it just as we raised it,
and this time,
sealed it between them.
|
||||
10. |
Neural Energy Barrels
05:15
|
|||
|
Neural Energy Barrels
That's just sand she murmured.
In any case,
the main engines had a designated frequency.
Like the one I noted
on the components in more accessible locations
at the administrative centre,
all around the elevator
in the bottom third cubicle against the touch pad.
The counterweight cables running down the wall
impacted on the series of vertical components
to switch three micro scrambled
neural energy barrels.
These would be released almost instantly
and empty into the lowest aspects of this device
but it involves bright yellow flashes
bursting forth to bounce this signal
back up to the main database
As you know,
the small and flexible parts
in the smaller version
work like an umbrella,
a hemispherical trap door bends it down.
And then the radio chip signals
lower that bass pattern.
Squinting against the gusts
staring up at the mountains of colour monitors
behind the camp.
She picked at her cell phone
and tensely awaited the next hourly update,
the image jerked before refocusing,
as the camera stopped,
two inches above the waistband of her jeans.
Don't worry
he said
There must be something caustic in the dust.
In any case in a few minutes
it would be eight o'clock.
Whatever the explanation,
it was a real life tragedy unfolding
in front of the familiar landscape.
Maybe the zoom lens on one of the CC TV cameras
operating in the bars and offices and homes around England
can predict its course or its consequences.
I think we're making progress here.
We're not entirely certain, but
we believe that he's managed to set up a video link
to the piercings
in the adolescent roundness of her belly.
Good work.
The pair of them looked off camera and nodded.
The two men were gazing at the photograph.
Maybe it was the fact that on Friday night,
any Friday night,
he could watch the best shots of a white river of headlights
bursting out of the cloud mass in the shopping precinct.
Intercut with the other shopping precinct material,
a torrent of visceral images,
pissing on moral outrage.
The images came and went.
He played a few minutes worth of tape
over and over again.
Right now,
real babies were being monitored
by a gleaming galvanic skin glue
from the television sets.
A leftwards pan on the camera,
cutting to a view of two old ladies clapping.
We keep moving a microwave signal,
suspending subatomic particles
in a mostly futile attempt to keep it clear of rain.
I'm surprised they managed to land
without starting a preliminary scan
of the medulla oblongata
sited in the brains of. dogs and chimpanzees.
Respiration and cardiovascular activity information
was available to access
designating their vector as a purple line,
bearing down to the brown land, .
Perhaps, theoretically,
even so he couldn't imagine
what some of the equipment was designed to do.
When the computer came to life displaying a single line of text,
vulnerable inner ears received a heavy buffeting,
it fired up a buckling wave of nausea.
There's no way the standard set of resources
amass that kind of potential.
Apparently it's initialising a low level response
in eight thousand devices
spitting off a lot of amber scintillations
down across the circle
of commercial buildings and warehouses.
Catastrophic material failure can be ugly
even in a remote location.
The system produced a mild electric charge.
We don't know if cracks propagated in some rather critical locations
received simple binary codes
that were eating into the smart core in the generator building.
They're lucky that the equipment
didn't seem disturbed by the command prompt.
We need to anticipate all possibilities.
That's why the technical team
make air breathing cell coated wires
that are able to pull
enough useful information out of it.
|
||||
11. |
Trespass
04:25
|
|||
|
Trespass
Taste as well as smell
the kinetically operated transmitter.
I got more data.
It is for the stone, not for you.
There's some files about a limp white thing
covered with algae,
blocking this signal to the council buildings.
The water weed barrier machine
had once stood seven feet high and twenty feet wide.
It dates back to the dark ages.
The machine stood for centuries
before it emptied itself out.
It was a much bigger aqueduct cavity
that lolled to one side,
exposing a rippling void,
the distant splash of a disengaging wormhole.
It marked a near ten mile long primeval water torrent
that had been built to run a rudimentary database
made out of bones.
It would be filled to the brim with oceans
to form oceans.
There would be hundreds of technicians
brought in to watch the deluge.
We have little understanding of the mechanisms they used
and psychologists babble
a bit too fast for me to follow.
There are too many voices.
There is still a way to play it.
A few minutes later,
the scientists flipped the light switch,
opened the first page and pointed to a diagram
of local trade routes.
This huge fiery figure
held a microphone expertly
in front of him.
We have to surface, he said,
Are you sure it's on? I say,
I have run three different scans
thinking of all the scientific questions.
then three more running another program,
but sometimes it's a struggle.
I've not been able to study them.
I will endeavour to bring them back with me.
Two of my books are actually missing
for my study
in broad daylight.
I've seen them wheeling about
and breaking free into the upper air beyond
I asked him what he meant
his voice on the mic a dull murmur.
He kept opening and closing his mouth
trying to speak.
Oh, no, no, no.
He was shaking.
When it was over,
he realized he had forgotten to press record.
No, no, no.
Some of the cars pulled off the tarmac
and onto a cow track
that stretched out
towards the green hilly countryside.
There were razors all over.
They chucked their debris out of the car,
crushed milk cartons and shielded boxes.
The column of protestors began to shuffle forward.
Thousands of people
cramming into disused warehouses
in abandoned scrubland.
The CCTV control room had been destroyed.
And now it made sense.
What do you think then?
This was about trespass in a muddy field.
These were the beginnings of the strongest dynamic ideas
and people,
tons of equipment had to be trucked in secretly
complicated pieces of kit,
weathered computers,
and a mutual proximity breaker switch,
an intricate web,
working with molecules
towards the front of the demo.
There were ways of sending a message.
The signal arrived
right there on the cow track
was the name of a local building firm:
No romance, no passion, no joy.
The driver sat in the driver's compartment,
hands on the copper adze
single frame video coverage
moved with a little gurgling noise
and with surprisingly smoother smoothness
he bent forward.
Peering at the screen,
Magnetic Herbie sat beside him,
the heat blistering his skin, grunted.
The camera grabbed every two seconds,
it recorded a sharp fragment of machinery
the size of a man's fist.
It was only a mirage,
but we can rebuild this machine.
He saw many mirages before he reached the woodland,
then spotting a gap,
toes scuffing the powdery sand,
he rejoined the march.
|
||||
12. |
Shredded Panorama
01:42
|
|||
|
Shredded Panorama
He nodded.
This is why you guys had to come here
to watch some fragments of the tapes.
We clipped them
we were going to see one hundred and seventy-four minutes
of the material that had been shredded.
That’s what we enhanced,
taped together to form a panorama.
The muddy tape had weighed one hundred and thirty-five pounds.
It’s shot from inside the machine
Of course,
when viewed from inside the machine,
the yellow markers lose resolution.
Of the ninety-five dots on the screen,
sixty were green, the rest were red
and strips of green-and-red neon lights
flashed in a tight grid sodden with water.
She examined the murky images
and sighed as she picked up one of the metal strips
out of a lever on a geared mechanism made up of little dots.
The resolution was too poor
to give us a coherent swirl
of ten thousand pixels.
She watched the knots of dark curly hair
attached to the large wheel
that carried the strip of metal.
Look, this one has a whole string of markings,
but the one that was on the bottom
only has a thin film of loose dust on it.
When we blow up the images on the tape,
they get blurry.
Now those things have vanished into the oily water.
|
||||
13. |
||||
|
One Hundred and Twenty-Seven Pedestrians
If there's something you want to see,
let me get it.
You know what I mean?
Dawn came every day,
but we just don't know it.
No one answered,
but she crept along the side of it
in between smooth, rubber waves
to find out how far you'll fall.
From that enormous mound of sand
that formed her name
with three inch thick foam covered boards.
The light from above there
now touched the pavement
teeming with one hundred and twenty-seven pedestrians.
He sat absolutely still.
And he thought of the beach
as the beeping noise continued. .
His hands went to his mouth.
The rotting tongue and lips
were teasing and licking
as electric tingles shot through his brain,
but he came back again and again.
The air struck him in the face,
too hot to breathe.
He didn't make a sound.
He took a deep breath,
smiled and gestured.
His bare skin was warm against the portable radio.
He scratched his neck and all at once
swung away from the apparition
and opened the screen behind him.
But he couldn't see,
and he stumbled down some sort of long,
long thread of electronic vomit.
People with long hair, bushy hair absorb the signal.
But the metal had suddenly become red hot.
He saw steel-grey mountains
and lush green neurological energy
straighten out the familiar features.
He ran down the stairs to the dumpster,
leaving safety.
Leaving a five foot high glowing object
that had just pulled from the black and grey striped sheets.
Glass fragments were scattered across the bedspread.
Noise had to be kept to a minimum,
no-one can touch and feel a mirage.
Embracing a switch that caused different images
to be displayed on the concrete wall,
there was a wet gurgling noise
and suddenly the beeping stopped.
|
||||
Nocturnal Emissions Cornwall, UK
Nocturnal Emissions' Nigel Ayers has continued to work with a strong underground of cult support, avoiding music industry fashions, and following his own creative path he concentrated on creating a strong sense of a wilderness identity through sound.
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