Extremely Dark Time

Usual caveat applies.

My brain stopped, a week ago, though it was noticeably skiddy before that, to be honest.

This is me on auto, while trying not to offend, and wondering why.

Here are some pictures....

 

Air Fingerprints

Out of the magnificent warm dark windy

Strange sounds of infinitely industrial prayer

Non-nature ghost of process past in distant mills

And unidentity, queer aromas, airs of making

Destroying these eyes with spectral memory

Of chemical moment and gravity, and rabbits

Downwind from this odd airy fingerprint

A walking lecture of past revolution progress

Removed guilty magnificence in our own eyes

Cast useless as far into the dark as yesterday

Turning back to windier chemical conversations

Lost translations, just sounds, love and poison

Upwind, upstream with waterfall magnificence

 

Drying Out.

Dry, skull full of crisp leaf memory,

Wrung out and left to air,

Four, five days now.

How fierce comes unimagined sphere,

Where once we flew though dream prairies,

And thought we were the only ones.

All wrung out, mangled and hung,

On lines of respectable responses,

To this tapestry, to this life.

It appears that there are several options for aspect ratios on the camera, so I have tried to play/learn about them a bit. First by reading, then by ignoring most of what I read....(situation normal there then...) then by just trying. 1:1 as in square, and 16:9, as in what you might think of as "widescreen"....

My line of thinking though is that the camera sensor remains the same, so that the only thing that actually changes is the way the (already-cropped) sensor creates these options can only be by cropping again before saving each image...so when I first read about it, and dabbled, I gave it up as a bad job, and stuck with the common, all-garden 4:3...after playing a bit this weekend I am now not so sure, as for a start, a square picture takes a bit of thinking about when composing the frame...

Remember those old polaroids you used to see? All square.

I might change my mind and go back to 4:3, but for now have to say that these few have really made me rethink my attitude to the whole subject.......

Random YouTube insert, as it's what I'm listening to while I write this....

 

Thought Fog

Heavy woollen water pressure

Slow plastic oil weight

Behind scalp between ears

Inside temples boiling slowly

Coolly waxy muffled moment

Plastic thought too, heavy times

Ooze around this hollow skull

Numb fluid crude pressure

Invading will to live

To disempower slow warmth

Paraffin residue seeps in dreams

Brain death plastic suffocation

Clearer on frosty mornings

Thought fog, no drugs.

Factory Shithouse.


KLE-DUNK, KLE-DUNK, KLE-DUNK,
Clink, clink, clink, clink,

Dickensian workhouse setting.

Machines of Dali, and now mine.


A smoke-filled shithouse,
Next to the heaviest machine of all,
Driven by the token negro,
Employed, not just as statistic.

Within the smoky chambers,
Newly decorated with asylum green,
(First time since nineteen-sixteen.)
The chains swing from filthy cisterns.

KLE-DUNK, KLE-DUNK, KLE-DUNK, KLE-DUNK,

You light your fag and wish
For the peace of mind that eludes,
Rudely cast-forth noised interludes.


Heavy processes shake this shaky poe,
Above, clean offices, here below to find
Girly magazines secreted on top of tanks,
Grimy secreted within, and without care.

Shifty eyes, too loud to converse,
To reverse the process and cancel all,
To dream of lucid moments, of booze,
Lost once more, in industrial loos.

And when keeping your eyes open for inspiration as to how you fit in the world, and looking for a "sign" to help in that...don't go to our local woods and see  what the council think you should do.....

 No bloody help at all......

This one might do, for now......

Right now, life is shit, but there are always the woods, and the moors,

 and the remote places to go get lost in....