Losing Face

New York City (VII)

Nature's Fury

Thalassan Morning

Awaken, Faerie!

It's raining (again)

Welcome to the Revolution

Pete and the Gang: On the Origin of the Feces

It's raining (again)

Sledgehammer

Who's the King, Bitch?

*Based on an inane chat with Somebody. Thx mand!

Bottled water; brand name spelled without capitals for a reason?

Emotions of Lost Children

MusicPlayer

Advice from a man with a beard and pipe #1

Slightly Flawed Philosophy

On Rain...and other things...

There truly can't be anything much better than sitting at one's desk, eating something delicious, drinking hot tea, looking out over treetops to the hills beyond, whilst watching and smelling the rain while one writes. The air is crisp and I have a cardie on. The air is scented by rain on eucalyptus leaves and my scented oil burner. I am listening to awesome music and it feels as though anything I choose to do today will be the best choice I have ever made.

What is it about this combination of disparate elements that makes me feel so completely happy and fulfilled?

Postualtion:

Like watching a film and yet feeling as though you are part of the story, this way of 'being' takes me away from the less comfortable elements of Nature while allowing me to feel as though I am still part of it. The cardigan is warmth and comfort although the weather is cold and wet; as is sitting comfortably at my desk experiencing the wind, rain and chilly weather as a passive observer. All this happens whilst the scent of wet leaves and expensive oils combines to recreate a kind of luxurious take on the earth's smells, and inspiring music fills the room. I am sheltered. I am fed. I am warm and dry. Yet all of my senses are awake. My eyes, my ears, my nose, my taste buds, my skin and my mind...as I write. Without facing hardship of any kind, I have managed to meet the cold and rain, the wind and mud front on and lived to tell the tale. Such as it is.

Tendre

The Cat In A State of Self-Contemplation

People Are So Uptight #2

The Capital of Capitalism

Inert

MusicPlayer

No Escape

Random Orchestra

MusicPlayer

Call2Learn

Circuit bent toy phone called "Call2Learn Language". The actual bend was a very straightforward one - a resistor clock replaced with a potentiometer. However, I'm actually quite happy with the aesthetic outcome (both visually - having a big red knob point out of the phone - and sonically - the phone has a wide range of sounds).

What Are Friends For?

So, my friend and I went out on Friday night to get drunk. As you do. We were drinking Strongbow because of its sheer crisp drinkability.
Good times ensue.
After a couple of 'Car Bombs' we were done for the night. So we said our goodbyes and retired back to our respective homes to ride out the miserable, stomach churning headfuck that is the 'Revolving Bedroom'.
I awake the next morning parched as fuck and a little worse for wear. However, upon chatting to my friend an hour later, it seemed I'd got off lightly. "I woke up like death... But with a hard on." he says.
I laugh. Partly because it was funny and partly out of jealousy because my ‘Morning Glory’ wasn't quite the baby's arm it usually is.
"If I ever pick up another cider; fucking punch me, dude." he goes on to say. A mixture of feelings and emotions flood me upon reading his request. Laughter. Happiness. Nausea. Confusion. A little bit more nausea.
But the one that stuck with me the most was that feeling of DESPAIR.
I never wanted it to come to this. I never wanted to see the day.
But… a friend's request is a request nonetheless. So I had no other option than to begrudgingly accept.
"Okay, man.” I started, “But if I'm going to resort to punching you, I'll have to imagine that it's my cider you're picking up. Punishing people for drinking cider is not something I feel I can do."
I'm such a good friend.

Gordon Banks #4: The Funeral

Treelogy

Co-created with Robert Scaysbrook.

Cubes

Scraggy Khene

Some scraggy beats featuring my khene creative commons sample pack that i made today.

Fragments From 'The Old Road'

Heart & Home

MusicPlayer
Original Poem by 'Somebody', 2009, submitted to Firefly Diorama here

General Vandalism and Fuckwittery

Houses

A River Runs Through It

The Danube

I remember standing on the veranda of a hostel in Budapest. It was on an island at the centre of the Danube, its waters glimmering in the ardent evening sun; muddy browns were glazed with a deep red and looked all the prettier for it, whilst warm wind huffed against my arms and neck. I recognised it then as a moment of mysticism and, in retrospect, it took on an almost mythic quality. Leaning over the railings and looking down I saw joggers heaving their way along a running track that, I later discovered, encircled much of the island. Sweat dripped from their foreheads and formed abstract patterns on their t-shirts (a drop of sweat tacked and tickled along my temple). Whether running alone with music in their ears or running in groups chatting to each other between deep breaths, all of them had smiles that said they were simply happy to be in this midsummer sun. Like me. As though activated by encroaching night my sunburn was beginning to blossom across my shoulders but that didn’t matter because with it came the fervent buzzing of life: the chatter of humans, the squawking of gulls, the muttering of insects gradually awakening for their nocturnal life, even the gentle hissing of fountains somewhere behind the trees and the slurping Danube – all these buzzzzzzed and I was drawn to it. They turned the air into music and the molecules of my body hummed in concert. Alchemists had spent five thousand years in pursuit of transformation but it had taken only ten minutes for me. This was perfection for a withered soul like mine. Simmering in the moment’s warmth, draped with the setting sun’s pink light, I remember standing on the veranda as I watched my mother die. She had been stabbed seventeen times with a kitchen knife. By me. I had to do it because it was the only true path of transformation; the alchemists should have looked a little closer to home. And now I’m going to Hell for it, I know, so I better get used to the heat.

Consistent force prevails over immediate strength

Inanimate Object Porn

Notes: On Humanity

We all decay, we all have this horrible affliction, this malaise of age.

Yet some take it more gracefully than others and I’m sure some insist upon inducing its effects.

All this. All this humanity. You wish to keep this? This rotting mass of flesh and vomit, seething as each limb becomes gangrenous then severed, only to be replaced by bloody vein lined tendril. Clenching out in horror as it realizes the vile nature of its existence.

Entropy and rebirth, forever and for what? You wish to boil this stagnant cauldron of fat and feces for eternity?

When the end is so near, the release from the flesh and the fury. Why not take it?

There is no good in the human animal.

There is only good in the human intellect.

Surrender your form. Become little more than a concept. An element.
Only then will you find freedom.

19.4.09

Fissures

Woodland Ditch