I’m still waiting for my outfit to arrive. The others have theirs already. All I have to do is wait, apparently. Be patient, they say. I hope it’s a good fit. I’m not used to being bound by formal wear. I prefer loose fitting. It suits my form better. More space to dream in.
They are just making the final adjustments, apparently. The others have been going round all pleased. As if their new attire feeds some inner fire. A flame that burns through their fabric without scalding. I always used to collect what they discarded
Like little secrets of how to be: Better. More robust. A more noticeable belief.
I used to look forward to being given directions. What to do with who or when I get there.
On occasion, I find that I can fit in better. Like Im “real” for a while. No lubricants needed. But now I prefer instinct.
It took me a long time to realise my weight. People tried to give me hints along the way. Some people even tried to nurse me. I felt it deep down. Patronising. They could see I didn’t care somehow. They put it down to slow development.
Now I prefer to balance knowledge with presence of mind. To react to only what important happens. And then I decide how to appear.
There was one person that I took my time with. I still have a lot of patience. I am a sort of silent mentor, I suppose. What they are doing right now pleases me. I hope they can keep it up. Reality must be lonely. The humanity of re-emergence. A digression: I know.
It will be here any day now. All the signs are pointing to it. Meanwhile, I can keep myself occupied. Running errands for the others. I gave up on understanding a long time ago. The beginning or the end of it is irrelevant.
Just how do they sew to suit? Such an undefined-portion, I am.
I will never fit in. No matter how well I am measured. I like it that way. Who needs royal garb anyway. It is, only, for public display. The occasional visit, or appearing to a special someone. I try not to reflect. I can mirror myself internally. Not many people know that.
I take pride. I can share the wisdom, if you know how to listen.
Beware (!) When you think; you may be disrupting the sleep of an un-deducible language. There are times when it is better to empathize from a distance. With this particular entity, who knows what could happen(?)
It could wake up finding that it can no longer be understood. It could realize, there is no frequency that can carry its voice and so, to be heard would require a lot of effort. This may require energy that is hard to muster, making breakfast a frustrating inconvenience. In turn, this could trigger an emotion. The emotions of unknown languages could be hard to comprehend and could put your path on the “wonk“.
Poking the invisible with a sharp, pointy stick.
Or it may sing to you, forcing you to recall hidden dimensions that were never intended for your comprehension. While this may seem appealing as a potential method of exploration, please bear in mind that while you are free to explore, there are experts who are more than happy to translate their findings.
Spacehaul is lightly to continue to be a mystery, as it appears to contain various entities who are all very tired and unpredictable. If everyone just started to poke around, there would be some difficulty involved for anyone involved in its upkeep.
Yesterday I had my teeth operated on. Root canal surgery is a new type of pain for me. A very lovely pharmacist recommended soluble codeine and paracetamol. It nearly works, but not quite enough. It’s a cross between dissolution and nervous entropy. The pain that is, not the codeine.
n.b. At the time of writing, the quality has changed, now like stabbing nerve pain but scraped through time.
With this concoction in my system, I drive to Farnborough, to the Mod Cafe. A grade one listed, ex wind tunnel. There are a load of electronic music enthusiasts here, and they are making a lot of noise. This is not techno, or drum and base. It’s all designed to explore the acoustical qualities of this cathedral of turbulent counter culture.
To give you a sense of the space, and its character, here is a short video.
I feel quite dislocated as it is. And the afternoon session is headlined by a girka / nepoliese band (1st Naumati Baja Gulmi UK) collaborating with these electronic music peeps. My seriality senses are driven into overdrive.
But this event is not about the music in the end, it’s about spacial acoustics. Almost any noise can gain meaning if you put enough reverb on it. The key is to tune into the vibrations and be led by them.
Throughout the day, the best moments happen when the musicians tap into or happen to reverberate in accordance with the space’s highly unique concrete architecture, its characteristics persuading the sounds produced to clarify its meaning to us.
During these moments, we are lost in space. We all resonate in gratitude of them. Or that is my perception anyway.
I noticed something,
the way the fat was rendering,
the meat, dripping.
A new supplier perhaps.
This fire will burn up the sinew
Render the fat.
Like a candle.
These ingredients are not coming together in the usual way.
Chefs away, no one to ask
Something special in the flesh
But what is this?
Everything is going to pot
Its my job to save the feast from ruining
Am I the only one here?
I was just thinking
If you find yourself bullied
Is it an attempt to make you ... more like them?
“Service”
The meat tastes different some how
Richer, more luxurious
Something is wrong
We have been tricked by our supplier
We all ate the flesh of humanity
Some, the loin, others the leg, some drank deep on the rich, fatty gravy.
We all realise together in silence
This is not the lamb
A trance of fear and digestive fatigue plagues the whole collective.
… a variety of reactions.
The words of truth, fear, is the mind killer emerge.
They are subconscious.
But this is the correct fear.
A rare treat.
Then the wisdom hits.
Chief, among us, suggests it,
and the instinct is wise enough to be agreed, all at once.
A silent communion.
Our disgust at having been tricked can be un done in an instant.
We will cleanse our pallets through our enjoyment of the foods we love best.
We raid the pantry for the finest wine, the sweetest meats.
All of our richest, most treasured ingredients.
A gumbo, we indulge in defiance.
The real feast is not in the preparation or the eating, but in the opposition.
We eat this meal in defiance against the trick that was played on us.
The cannibal wanted us to join it.
But that was never in our nature,
that portion of hell is for you alone.
Unless you dine with us,
our new gluttony, is your salvation.
Artwork generated in Satble defusion 2.1 on Hugging Face
An entire nation once went to War with me!
Little old me, under attack from a whole country
I didn't know what to do
I mean, I was only telling the truth
I let a handful of people see my idea,
and they started fighting over it
It wasn't even a particularly meaningful truth.
Not much reason for it to be taken at any more than face value They tried to use it as currency,
attempted to apply leverage to their mistakes
Tried to bring the past to life
As if time could heal
The missiles were not deadly,
nor the bullets,
or the soldier's maladaptive coping strategies
The fall-out lasted for many years
In the end, they forgot what they were doing and just fell into automatic pilot mode
They stopped developing more and more sophisticated means of attack
It didn't last a long time for me
It must have seemed like an age for them
Such a waste of energy
The truth will heal them
Reasonable adjustment. A friend. Reaching a new arrangement.
To execute the end. A real life measure, weighting to be seen. Mis-connected real life woes that receive a mismatched meme. When there was once a star to guide us, all there is, is trees. Where the void was filled with silence, my brain brings only greed.
I am only saying this because I can’t think where I should go. My boredom has not yet passed beyond the unsurpassed ego. Now I dance. Brave as you. Scattered form, of autumns blue. A fear of rearrangement. A new type of exchange. Not Money, nor hate, not fear and not love.
Misguided by the realm of sleep. The damp-course of my mind, is ever tracing back to you, my last living lifeline. Trust me. Trust; Me?
There was a story that told us the truth once. There is a new tale being told. One without an ending, that reads of bitter cold. The flame, the drip, the air of chance. Our flame is stripped, no fuel to dance. We are only the rhyme, not the words you see. Our lonely hearts were once to be … Caged in our obsession, but never, ever free. Now we steer the sinking ship and have lost track of the way. Time is neither here nor there. It’s never, ever, day.
Bring us to the water and we won’t swim out for fear. We can only stand and stare while the edges disappear.
Expanding universal forms in aether re-emerging. Forever and a day ago was just another day in the life of these strangers.
Once it was a forest of young sun swept growth. Then it was a woodland, now a single barren oak. Has seen the realms evolving, Has seen the fogs and traps. Remembered and then forgotten, more than is in ‘order’
Survival is an acorn, that drops on barren ground.
Survive brave oak. You must survive. Pick me up kind stranger, now place me on the fertile plain. Gard me with your mind, your wit, your empathy, your rage. Let’s sow more seeds and grow thine will towards … the empaths golden age.
Did you know that these days there is a new kind of knowing for Spacehaul? It takes a certain faith, but the shadows of knowledge and direction flit over your perception on a regular basis. It doesn’t care what time it is or if you have the time. Knowing will make up time for you. Like a camera, this will allow for you to match its presence with your version of the truth.
This ‘Knowing’ knows your limitations. It needs you to expand your boundaries. It may put you in a bind, disturb you at your most vulnerable, or make you trust in your mistakes. To bring you a tick closer to acknowledging its greeting, it may whisper as you fall asleep… “I am here for your sanity” or give you permission to let Spacehaul happen.
Hello From Outside
Why is everything not quite real, this moment?
I suppose it’s because it was never the sort of real you were used to. One should like to say, that your perception may have been perceived underneath a threshold. Have some empathy for those outside. They removed themselves at your command. Now they are wondering the corridors. Am I preaching to the unreachable? Or are you willing to take a leap of faith?
The Observerse is ‘here’ to trick you into thinking about it. This trick it employs is the same every time. When you think about something beyond its function; you tempt the observerse into our existence, for a futile moment you see it. A sun spot? A refraction? Some meaning left behind? Some hidden menace?
The observerse is not interested in your perception it is just there to collect material for its next encounter. Its confusion at appearing outstrips its ability to not exist in time. These views are plain to all who are willing observasonists but the tax is a deeper illusion to unfurl. Its the un-cofmort of knowing you have been tricked by the nature of deeper understanding; the twist of a blade that you sharpened so keenly.
It is like being pursued by something that wants recognition in order to become real. But as soon as you regard it as your friend or mentor it evaporates back into the aether. It wants your success to be pure, unadulterated by ego. The pursuit of #Spacehaul has forced me disregard nothingness. It has pulled my bodily particles into spaces that don’t usually exist. I have to accept that the burden of knowledge is an illusion and give myself over to the hidden current. It will vanish again but each time a lesson is learned.
#Spacehaul 