BUSKING GHOSTS

London, UK, 2013 - 2015

The first 2,500 lines of a 10,000 line cut-up - digitally re-typed from a typewriter manuscript - a ritual process of absolute fucking insanity > enlightenment > intoxication.


An unfinished void note - stranded in stasis - a fragile and ongoing interrogation into a city of compressed & repressed revolutionary ancestry -








licked with alcoholism and feverish youth
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
and Hermetic formulae,
through molten tarmac
learned that imagination was
the heartbeat
electro-shock acoustics,
burned-out cars remember the noise they once made,
against Oliver Cromwell and his government,
heat that steams off the streets
downtown
London below the soil
unimaginable history,
all new edits and recycling,
compressed layers of human remains
Blake's dissident reality
new streets bubble to the surface
folklore rises like damp,
words may appear fractured,
crashed against each other in this quarter
in this unedited city..
Brutalist silhouettes..
come from twenty-four-hour markets
where soldiers are shot
the death frame
wiping myself down,
catching nervous glances
twisting roads and tangled side streets.
The Barebone's Parliament
they have so much future to use up
Hawksmoor draws pentagrams
looking all the worse for wear,
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
The common sort of people gasp -
feeling the swell of the brain stem
under bus-stop light, glare at maps and plans
guiding me home.
killing several.
bags of meat.
"The superior learning of Witches"
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
city sinking into clay foundation
Eyelids twitching,
This turbulent plot of Pagan land
suspended in space
consciousness.
crossed telephone wires, garbled signals,
open the memory vat like a vein..
Something blows up,
"no Poperty!"
birth, rebirth, repeat
into a recursive, formless abstract
past and future coagulating.
the Earth is gone before it settles back
It all sounds like an old echo,
mental associations deteriorating into a queasy spiral
where bodies were carried off
bubbling up from the roots
as poly-propagating occultism's react,
Class War rages on
pulsating channels
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
crashed against each other in this quarter
brick dust inhalation
NO PARKING - CONSTANTLY IN USE!
in a dreamlike haze,
the great snake leading into the horizon
urban desert of spray-painted parking garages.
navigating the archival vaults
the mass hallucination,
the physical enclosure of common land
well educated aristocrats of crime.
straddling dimensions of perception
final destination of the infamous spectre
a death in the night like
London below the soil
Reading passages from Savage Messiah zines while
underworld labyrinth,
neural network architecture
unclean rivers of excrement,
the fall months of metaphysical in-between
Jonathan Wild
which he described as being based on the "rules of the Ancients"
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
electrified concrete
running in delirious circles
You can still smell the burning
mental associations deteriorating into a queasy spiral
past coagulating into present
over lonely suicides
brawling boozers
eruption
rooted, along the outer edge,
the riptide of forgotten spectres
against Oliver Cromwell and his government,
Tricksters promise Architects,
LSD trips in
pulsing valves
echoes of shamanic head explosions
and corrupt the foundations.
a close knit family of well dressed
past coagulating into present
of somebody else's nightmare
from a broken negotiation with the city
with laboured patience, he chants
looking all the worse for wear,
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
a million realities vibrating together
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
through the studio of Austin Osman Spare
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
struggle back toward daylight
the heartbeat
hostile, sterile commodification of the lived experience.
as poly-propagating occultism's react,
moving slightly, slowly
Eyelids twitching,
slipping in and out of focus
steel into flesh into steel
and personal alienation,
reflection on glass
Marginalised inner edge
tendrilic wires feel and feed
against Oliver Cromwell and his government,
crashed against each other in this quarter
a fleshy sub-cultural mass of archetypes
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
one pale outstretched arm supporting
strung up between them at intervals
in Egyptian symbolism
religious artefacts
dropping banners from the windows of student occupations,
modernist utopia..
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
Abolish Enclosure
subliminal interface
London below the soil
of a starless night.
rebel and jail-breaker supreme
which he described as being based on the "rules of the Ancients"
whisper of its alternative purpose
Liquid thread of history,
This turbulent plot of Pagan land
they have so much future to use up
"the people showed a licentious,
the inevitability of dyschronia.
The Devil's Neckerchief
the Fifth Monarchists disturbing the peace,
twisting roads and tangled side streets.
tracing through rain, heat, steam
on the outer reaches of the city
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
full of cosmic tones and drones,
Nostalgia and city magick
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
chaos cloud of tags, sigils, markers
a site beyond time.
deciphering
chapters and rituals
an "orgiastic communion with the beyond"
from old alchemist writers
final destination of the infamous spectre
a fleshy sub-cultural mass of archetypes
losing my point of origin
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
birth, rebirth, repeat
chaos cloud of tags, sigils, markers
burn of day
feverish longing to return
rooted, along the outer edge,
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
circuit cables running
all twitching wires
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
the city's sources of occult power -
on the outer reaches of the city
shattered grounds
shakily tracing veins
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
Abolish Enclosure
where bodies were carried off
devoid of traffic now,
shattered grounds
a choreographed violence,
heart of the circulatory system
King Mob can be heard muttering
possessed by
more shadowy ritual.
The brooding presence of Hawksmoor
this fatal serpent flows down
and sagging walls,
Threading over thick roads
mass hallucination
howl through endless tunnels
feeling the swell of the brain stem
moving slightly, slowly
lingering sting of graffiti mist
their secrets hid behind swelling curtains
spasmodic cthuloid concrete
branded with contemporary vagueness
they have so much future to use up
compressed layers of human remains
offerings carved in mad mosaics
echoes of shamanic head explosions
carve a short passage
where was erected a gibbet
reveal the Narthex, hidden entrance to
one pale outstretched arm supporting
a million realities vibrating together
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
the initiation begins
spreading "terrors and alarms"
London is built upon darkness
This turbulent plot of Pagan land
with laboured patience, he chants
electricity
The Ancient of Days
riotous, seditious,
rupture
streets like veins
a quiet street,
sensory excess,
of events and associations
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
this reads like a weeping wound
steel into flesh into steel
Lord George Gordon flicks a match into Southwark,
based on a layout of intersecting axes and rectangles,
licked with alcoholism and feverish youth
circuit cables running
a network of decadent crime
Druid Street,
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
anxious to return to
Life is a futurespectra
tinted the familiar blue-grey
at the crossroads of the Tyburn Tree,
spillage
layers of ancient
dilation's and perceptions and histories
Marginalised inner edge
feeling the swell of the brain stem
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
nodes in the network, the mapping
Mithras slumbers
the riptide of modernity,
Anarchy Now
a network of decadent crime
confluence of roads and routes
"We inhabit an inconceivable ancient space"
this time without a sense of community
all the bright young things
learned that imagination was
pedestrian methods
Weathered notebooks
carried along old lines of exchange
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
It all sounds like an old echo,
shit street skunk,
rebel and jail-breaker supreme
that so many of the buildings resemble complexes is no surprise
"a territory decorated with slogans -
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
to the territory of the Thief Taker General
healing spring waters
rain spattered journals,
their secrets hid behind swelling curtains
occurring at different time-speeds
feeling the swell of the brain stem
killing several.
solar flare of memory
where soldiers are shot
and pisses on the tavern floor,
underworld labyrinth,
maps his awakening vision of
these intense preoccupations
to the crackle of bootleg reggae LP's
images illusory.
and sagging walls,
Hyper-kinetic melancholia..
the language of dead space
feeling the swell of the brain stem
a pattern of tributaries
"We live in the flicker."
erodes all concepts of fixed space
howl through endless tunnels
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
Raudive spook-acoustics,
shattered grounds
unimaginable history,
Hyper-kinetic melancholia..
rebellion.. terrain vague..
amongst the infernal
diffused through cryptoendolithic schisms of the city,
from a broken negotiation with the city
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
haemorrhaging (un)void
memories of old time here
full of redundant imagery
rebel and jail-breaker supreme
the hologram does not conform to the territory
founded by esoteric pilgrims
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
clocks cannot stand on this site
mischievous invocations
confluence of roads and routes
losing my point of origin
path-working between the crash & burn
hedonistic criminal
old and re-invented gods drown
"I wander thro each dirty street"
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
reclaimed by elemental things.
Claustrophobic proximity,
Mithras slumbers
in 1720 the walls of St Mary Newington broke open during service
maps his awakening vision of
that a resident had reported a vision of the Virgin Mary in her room.
struggle back toward daylight
running in delirious circles
the heartbeat
the first emanation of divinity,
post-war daze
Nicholas Hawksmoor towers above him in occult circles,
bathed and baking in the sun,
The Moorfields mob demolish a Catholic school,
Nicholas Hawksmoor towers above him in occult circles,
the map frays at the edges
fortunate to be breathing in these tensions
wiping myself down,
grotesque adulation of other, better narrators,
The Devil's Neckerchief
Brutalist silhouettes..
possessed by
at the crossroads of the Tyburn Tree,
"five obelisks in the fenced area beyond Blake's burial slab"
this reads like a weeping wound
a mess of associations arise
King Mob can be heard muttering
the heartbeat
reclaimed by elemental things.
diffused through cryptoendolithic schisms of the city,
the veins of modernist utopia hissing up into the atmos
from a broken negotiation with the city
the only light beyond the usual pollution
a wounded city
shakily tracing veins
a quiet street,
riotous, seditious,
mischievous invocations
grotesque adulation of other, better narrators,
Dimensions and textures refracted
Tricksters promise Architects,
full of redundant imagery
burn of day
the co-created reality
the quiet remains now dislodged,
a fractal architecture
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
plugged into the hive mind still somehow
collapse into one another like imploding stars
the ruin continues with or without us,
as poly-propagating occultism's react,
and the death of recorded history,
echoes of shamanic head explosions
of a starless night.
Thread your psychogeographic needle
collapse into one another like imploding stars
traffic that surges serpent style
night-crawlers shuffling through lightless innards,
this fatal serpent flows down
a loose community sprung up like weeds
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
in this unedited city..
on the old Necropolis Railway.
branded with contemporary vagueness
as his art went up in the fire
over lonely suicides
rupture
a flexible blur
city sinking into clay foundation
of a swollen clay corpse
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
Raudive spook-acoustics,
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
a fleshy sub-cultural mass of archetypes
the capitalist mode of production
Mithras slumbers
London below the soil
"surveillance acoustics for the spook, the time surfer"
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
chaos cloud of tags, sigils, markers
the absent reality seeps through,
deposits of asbestos
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
burned-out cars remember the noise they once made,
in one of his weekly addresses, he reported
ritual flash-points
the capitalist mode of production
eruption
the riptide of modernity,
printed again and again
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
"a territory decorated with slogans -
"We live in the flicker."
compressed layers of human remains
maps his awakening vision of
walking, treading on skin,
Jonathan Wild
reflection on glass
these intense preoccupations
a freshly opened skull gives an infinite sense of possibility..
the absent reality seeps through,
these intense preoccupations
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
steel into flesh into steel
crackle of static
consciousness.
that a resident had reported a vision of the Virgin Mary in her room.
the illusion of seamless existence..
Street magick, signs and symbols,
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
the map frays at the edges
carve a short passage
riotous, seditious,
spinning Wargasm wax
the inevitability of dyschronia.
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
and corrupt the foundations.
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
The Elephant & Castle crackles to the bootleg sounds
The Girl Gang of Forty Thieves,
reclaimed by elemental things.
the malodorous vapour trail
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
crush of utopia
folklore fresh graffiti
NO PARKING - CONSTANTLY IN USE!
haemorrhaging (un)void
"Advertising shits in your head!"
metallic ribbons..
buried deep in the ground
Mithras slumbers
and feel how time distorts,
something faintly remembered,
"England in Blood"
The hauntological discontinuum..
street level, topside
the end of the line on a quiet weekday night
"no Poperty!"
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
electrified concrete
words may appear fractured,
the College of Invisibles
these intense preoccupations
burned-out cars remember the noise they once made,
downtown
shattered grounds
shadow of the clock tower
a compilation of memories and intrusions
a small tragedy etched into a fever sleep,
killing several.
you may notice devilish and Druidic deity
shattered grounds
a fractal architecture
from a broken negotiation with the city
Charged by a seething tapestry
for the execution of convicted pirates,
as vapour.
folklore fresh graffiti
brawling boozers
Tricksters promise Architects,
bathed and baking in the sun,
The Ancient of Days
a mess of associations arise
birth, rebirth, repeat
the only light beyond the usual pollution
and almost un-governable spirit"
steel into flesh into steel
a longing to belong,
pedestrian methods
rooted, along the outer edge,
"Acid house year zero"
Consider this, the past surging beneath us
a seething tapestry of time-shifting spooks
in Threadneedle Street,
through molten tarmac
diffused through cryptoendolithic schisms of the city,
final destination of the infamous spectre
rebellion.. terrain vague..
the ruin continues with or without us,
the great snake leading into the horizon
much like the camera shutter, opened like a vein
Abolish Individual Private Property
deposits of asbestos
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
subliminal interface
Anarchy Now
under bus-stop light, glare at maps and plans
shadow folk emerge
"no Poperty!"
street level, topside
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
birth, rebirth, repeat
for the pulse of currents
feeling the swell of the brain stem
pushed beyond the skeletal structure
healing spring waters
a furious intensity about the vision
Reading passages from Savage Messiah zines while
the illusion of seamless existence..
Raudive spook-acoustics,
this is nothing but damaged texts
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
come from twenty-four-hour markets
sensory excess,
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
a shamanic ritual processing
awaiting rebirth.
a longing to belong,
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
in this unedited city..
metallic ribbons..
strung like veins
rites of passage as shaman, hermit, culture straggler
a freshly opened skull gives an infinite sense of possibility..
channelling William Blake
their secrets hid behind swelling curtains
a furious intensity about the vision
eruption
rain spattered journals,
"the mechanical process of reproducing the object"
Druid Street,
the last days of the condemned,
the first emanation of divinity,
Old King Lud rules
pulsing valves and an antenna of bone
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
the ruin continues with or without us,
electrified concrete
looking all the worse for wear,
the mass hallucination,
that a resident had reported a vision of the Virgin Mary in her room.
drafty attic squats,
a choreographed violence,
the death frame
running in delirious circles
until abstraction,
a pattern of tributaries
a lifetime spent beneath
this fatal serpent flows down
the initiation begins
energy converging at this spot
NO PARKING - CONSTANTLY IN USE!
A thrill of repulsion
Abolish Enclosure
the absent reality seeps through,
Threading over thick roads
downtown
electricity
the language of dead space
on the outer reaches of the city
navigating by light pollution
fresh cracks in the concrete
as the chief architect of modern London
"this Capital City of the World - is still the Capitol of Darknesse"
Weathered notebooks
the only light beyond the usual pollution
its great monuments + monoliths depleted
compressed layers of human remains
the cackle of Winchester Geese
layers of ancient
running in delirious circles
in the intoxicating drone and traffic
images illusory.
slipping in and out of focus
indistinguishable rages
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
"no Gin, no King!"
brick dust inhalation
layers of ancient
traffic that surges serpent style
much like the camera shutter, opened like a vein
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
the initiation begins
the ruin continues with or without us,
hallucinosphere of place in time
catching nervous glances
The Ancient of Days
"surveillance acoustics for the spook, the time surfer"
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
the heartbeat
walking, treading on skin,
more shadowy ritual.
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
new forms and languages laying dormant,
"the deadening influence of academia!"
this time without a sense of community
protoplasmic,
wavelengths
pulsing valves and an antenna of bone
the co-created reality
It is wrong to think of the city as a whole..
the city's sources of occult power -
Lord George Gordon flicks a match into Southwark,
NO PARKING - CONSTANTLY IN USE!
fuelling economic anxiety states
Nostalgia and city magick
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
channelling William Blake
city sinking into clay foundation
the quiet remains now dislodged,
electro-shock acoustics,
into a recursive, formless abstract
dead chicken, no feathers
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
the city as ceremony
losing my point of origin
behind terraced residencies
Sir Wren pulls out his cock
filed like slides of bacteria under glass
the capitalist mode of production
the disintegration of the world
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
into the concrete face.
downtown
and corrupt the foundations.
tainted air hangs misted over tarmac
through molten tarmac
You've found yourself in close proximity
old songs seeping in beneath the rush
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
howl through endless tunnels
the city as ceremony
slide around the wet surface
an illuminated glimpse into the edgeland,
ritual flash-points
the ruin continues with or without us,
Smashed up elevators ferry urine between floors,
Marginalised inner edge
Sir Wren pulls out his cock
his spiritual historical other
The brooding presence of Hawksmoor
Marginalised inner edge
victims of the blitz
Brutalist silhouettes..
The Barebone's Parliament
The Elephant & Castle crackles to the bootleg sounds
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
maps his awakening vision of
"England in Blood"
the last days of the condemned,
summoned through the sublimity of Brutalist utopia,
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
pushed beyond the skeletal structure
open the memory vat like a vein..
the language of dead space
The Devil's Neckerchief
during which she prophesied passionately and at length
a longing to belong,
the absent reality seeps through,
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
multiple histories blue together
where bodies were carried off
shakily tracing veins
down the Old Kent Road
street level, topside
wiping myself down,
where was erected a gibbet
London is built upon darkness
You've found yourself in close proximity
crackle of static
dead chicken, no feathers
the transmissions spread out across the city
the city moulds itself
a growing ring of blood and fire,
old songs seeping in beneath the rush
traffic that surges serpent style
in a dreamlike haze,
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
haunts his hidden smuggling tunnels.
for the execution of convicted pirates,
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
haemorrhaging (un)void
metallic ribbons..
exhalation of history
night-crawlers shuffling through lightless innards,
spinning Wargasm wax
images illusory.
the co-created reality
into the concrete face.
Daylight infringes
the ghost zone,
navigating by light pollution
London below the soil
protoplasmic,
Please remember, that I am an unreliable narrator,
It all sounds like an old echo,
solar flare of memory
this is mere devilry and juggling
spidering through the city
suspended in space
victims of the blitz
rebellion.. terrain vague..
Marginalised inner edge
shadow folk emerge
unclean rivers of excrement,
mediating the transmissions from the ether
shattered grounds
hedonistic criminal
a flexible blur
Anarchy Now
from memory he tries to retrace his steps,
circuit cables running
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
based on a layout of intersecting axes and rectangles,
from old alchemist writers
with laboured patience, he chants
reflection caught in the opposite window
brick dust inhalation
Please remember, that I am an unreliable narrator,
all new edits and recycling,
of ritual bloodshed
catching nervous glances
that the slumbering echoes will not seep
a death in the night like
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
Blake's dissident reality
strung like veins
Old dreads and formless awes
these two Kings of London's underworld
futures refracted through black glass, until
city of illusions
"The superior learning of Witches"
The Barebone's Parliament
The common sort of people gasp -
twisting roads and tangled side streets.
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
erodes all concepts of fixed space
electronic paraphernalia of distraction
heart of the circulatory system
deathly fingers
who know to keep their distance.
healing spring waters
Nostalgia and city magick
This turbulent plot of Pagan land
The hauntological discontinuum..
they have so much future to use up
street level, topside
losing themselves in the thrall
abstraction of the city
the only light beyond the usual pollution
chapters and rituals
plague pits, abandoned tube tunnels, busking ghosts
all twitching wires
spasmodic cthuloid concrete
"the deadening influence of academia!"
slide around the wet surface
and personal alienation,
a fractal architecture
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
wavelengths
cramping night airs
mischievous invocations
Abolish Individual Private Property
a quick flush of cash
indistinguishable rages
now buried and slumbering itself
past coagulating into present
hedonistic criminal
steel into flesh into steel
"surveillance acoustics for the spook, the time surfer"
down the Old Kent Road
shadow folk emerge
wavelengths
other secrets can be heard still
The Moorfields mob demolish a Catholic school,
this is mere devilry and juggling
Old King Lud rules
at the crossroads of the Tyburn Tree,
You've found yourself in close proximity
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
strung like veins
down in the deep tunnels
the city as ceremony
past and future coagulating.
carve a short passage
memories of old time here
as the chief architect of modern London
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
downtown
Liquid thread of history,
drip-feeding the new monuments
a museum piece trapped in time
rebellion.. terrain vague..
from hustling market traders
tipping phantasmically skinny arms
wavelengths
"the deadening influence of academia!"
slide around the wet surface
heart of the circulatory system
underworld labyrinth,
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
claustrophobia of sweating warehouses,
from old alchemist writers
of Afrobeat LPs
Bone shard fingers
of deep time
Please remember, that I am an unreliable narrator,
dilation's and perceptions and histories
from old alchemist writers
underworld labyrinth,
birthed by the Metropolitan subconscious
rain spattered journals,
struggle back toward daylight
disappearances
other bloodshed figures disappearing
tuned into the psychic street chatter
shadow of the clock tower
the quiet remains now dislodged,
and Hermetic formulae,
The Barebone's Parliament
a furious intensity about the vision
all new edits and recycling,
their secrets hid behind swelling curtains
all new edits and recycling,
downtown
pulsating channels
these two Kings of London's underworld
Criss cross over the road
bags of meat,
in a Walworth Road boozer
Repeated rhythms define the area
slurred dialect from East to South East London
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
futures refracted through black glass, until
rebellion.. terrain vague..
a quiet street,
near allied to madness
displaced
new streets bubble to the surface
and pisses on the tavern floor,
into a recursive, formless abstract
until abstraction,
buried deep in the ground
clocks cannot stand on this site
"Acid house year zero"
channelling William Blake
the absent reality seeps through,
moving slightly, slowly
"the mechanical process of reproducing the object"
something bellows out in the street
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
of a starless night.
the great skeleton twitches
Street magick, signs and symbols,
down in the deep tunnels
a close knit family of well dressed
something faintly remembered,
modernist diaspora
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
during which she prophesied passionately and at length
the heartbeat
the malodorous vapour trail
converting the charged flow
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
losing my point of origin
it is a web, a tapestry
Anna Trapnell's Report and Plea
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
of somebody else's nightmare
the psychedelic experience of the city
full of relics and death,
On this timeless slab of land,
through which Blake's mind swam -
chasing electric buzz of distant traffic,
under the strange artificial glow
a desire for place,
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
led by the Thief Queen Alice Diamond.
this is nothing but damaged texts
Stimuli board alight with
disappearances
of events and associations
deciphering
a city constructed on a shared psychedelic exchange
crush of utopia
the capitalist mode of production
where bodies were carried off
tendrilic wires feel and feed
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
the Fifth Monarchists disturbing the peace,
and pisses on the tavern floor,
wiping myself down,
plugged straight into the city-body
folklore rises like damp,
violent protests, clashing of values,
Do spaces and places require a narrative?
The city stretched out like a third-person narrative,
possessed by
I slip through quiet slips
Thread your psychogeographic needle
Surely, we have always been here,
the malodorous vapour trail
and the death of recorded history,
lingering sting of graffiti mist
bubbling up from the roots
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
as poly-propagating occultism's react,
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
words may appear fractured,
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
from a broken negotiation with the city
Hyper-kinetic melancholia..
tainted air hangs misted over tarmac
bodies and time sold as a commodity,
feeling the swell of the brain stem
in a Walworth Road boozer
deathly fingers
old forms of communal celebration were replaced
spasmodic cthuloid concrete
Spectrality wrought by schizophrenic hauntology,
plugged into the hive mind still somehow
Anarchy Now
haemorrhaging (un)void
Smoke and mirrors images
Lord George Gordon flicks a match into Southwark,
modernist diaspora
The common sort of people gasp -
the end of the line on a quiet weekday night
London is built upon darkness
a fleshy sub-cultural mass of archetypes
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
disorganised motion overwhelms the body.
new streets bubble to the surface
a quick flush of cash
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
storage
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
pivoting on the balls of my feet
address the soul,
a flexible blur
The Devil's Neckerchief
the mass hallucination,
a choreographed violence,
the cackle of Winchester Geese
based on a layout of intersecting axes and rectangles,
a choreographed violence,
The Elephant & Castle crackles to the bootleg sounds
folklore fresh graffiti
maps his awakening vision of
a desire for place,
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
for the execution of convicted pirates,
Abolish Individual Private Property
joining up unconsecrated lands
twisting roads and tangled side streets.
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
howl through endless tunnels
In 1820 the Elephant Boys took up their shadowy legacy,
dug up from a market crate,
electro-shock acoustics,
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
eruption
a growing ring of blood and fire,
the cackle of Winchester Geese
the ritual readjusts itself
heat that steams off the streets
You've found yourself in close proximity
on the outer reaches of the city
spidering through the city
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
the hologram does not conform to the territory
running in delirious circles
the only light beyond the usual pollution
clinging beads of longing pool on skin,
a freshly opened skull gives an infinite sense of possibility..
Abolish Enclosure
solar flare of memory
new streets bubble to the surface
words may appear fractured,
creeping histories seep up into the dross
over lonely suicides
for the pulse of currents
and pretty daughters,
street level, topside
echoes of shamanic head explosions
to the territory of the Thief Taker General
summoned through the sublimity of Brutalist utopia,
mass hallucination
looking all the worse for wear,
night-crawlers shuffling through lightless innards,
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
like trying to claw your way out
and pretty daughters,
path-working between the crash & burn
Consider this, the past surging beneath us
much like the camera shutter, opened like a vein
that the slumbering echoes will not seep
You can still smell the burning
modernist diaspora
the heartbeat
ritual flash-points
you may notice devilish and Druidic deity
a death in the night like
lingering sting of graffiti mist
branded with contemporary vagueness
mediating the transmissions from the ether
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
more shadowy ritual.
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
over lonely suicides
Who has the right to the city?
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
Nicholas Hawksmoor towers above him in occult circles,
dug up from a market crate,
new forms and languages laying dormant,
wavelengths
all the bright young things
electro-shock acoustics,
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
abstract portraits of the otherwise known.
reflection caught in the opposite window
a quiet street,
Surely, we have always been here,
The hauntological discontinuum..
King Mob can be heard muttering
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
a seething tapestry of time-shifting spooks
something faintly remembered,
protoplasmic,
a desire for place,
exhalation of history
leaving the magickal intent behind
losing my point of origin
Weathered notebooks
clocks cannot stand on this site
running in delirious circles
a freshly opened skull gives an infinite sense of possibility..
a fractal architecture
address the soul,
abstraction of the city
exhalation of history
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
offerings carved in mad mosaics
the first emanation of divinity,
It all sounds like an old echo,
howl through endless tunnels
based on a layout of intersecting axes and rectangles,
abstract portraits of the otherwise known.
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
a million realities vibrating together
Something blows up,
Regeneration sparks white heat..
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
as the city sinks into clay foundations
futures refracted through black glass, until
come from twenty-four-hour markets
a mess of associations arise
riotous, seditious,
ritual flash-points
fresh cracks in the concrete
led by the Thief Queen Alice Diamond.
LSD trips in
and feel how time distorts,
a death in the night like
its great monuments + monoliths depleted
buried deep in the ground
Abbey Street and
walking, treading on skin,
eruption
carried on electric circuits,
whisper of its alternative purpose
a pattern of tributaries
reflection on glass
Thread your psychogeographic needle
a mess of associations arise
interstitial spaces condense
a choreographed violence,
haemorrhaging (un)void
offerings carved in mad mosaics
Brutalist silhouettes..
exhalation of history
for the pulse of currents
of events and associations
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
are revolving many memories with you
"I wander thro each dirty street"
led by the Thief Queen Alice Diamond.
an illuminated glimpse into the edgeland,
blends Angels & Demons
the inevitability of dyschronia.
pulsing valves
images illusory.
confluence of roads and routes
consciousness.
our idea of the present city is only
"Atomised individuals creating subjective reality"
the cackle of Winchester Geese
the city moulds itself
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
fortunate to be breathing in these tensions
Regeneration sparks white heat..
The Ancient of Days
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
a choreographed violence,
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
a desire for place,
Bone shard fingers
dilation's and perceptions and histories
shadow of the clock tower
hostile, sterile commodification of the lived experience.
as his art went up in the fire
futures refracted through black glass, until
the physical enclosure of common land
hushed spook stories
Lord George Gordon flicks a match into Southwark,
night-crawlers shuffling through lightless innards,
pivoting on the balls of my feet
it is a web, a tapestry
Old King Lud rules
path-working between the crash & burn
hostile, sterile commodification of the lived experience.
birth, rebirth, repeat
electro-shock acoustics,
This is the world, wild, mystical, heterodox
coming to terms with the permanence of our dispossession..
strung up between them at intervals
a close knit family of well dressed
downtown
the psychedelic experience of the city
his spiritual historical other
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
stranded like the God note
violent protests, clashing of values,
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
on the outer reaches of the city
The Girl Gang of Forty Thieves,
Street magick, signs and symbols,
Hauntological discontinuum
reclaimed by elemental things.
interstitial spaces condense
the malodorous vapour trail
the Earth is gone before it settles back
drip-feeding the new monuments
The common sort of people gasp -
a desire for place,
looking all the worse for wear,
this fatal serpent flows down
Witch bottles buried
This is the world, wild, mystical, heterodox
conjuring itself into ether
burn of day
our idea of the present city is only
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
that we go unused for many hours yet,
Druid Street,
from old alchemist writers
storage
his spiritual historical other
the drowning sensation
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
under bus-stop light, glare at maps and plans
in the intoxicating drone and traffic
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
Anna Trapnell's Report and Plea
replaced by the Church's rituals,
a death in the night like
Who has the right to the city?
This turbulent plot of Pagan land
Spectrality wrought by schizophrenic hauntology,
down in the deep tunnels
and corrupt the foundations.
You can still smell the burning
unclean rivers of excrement,
maps his awakening vision of
feverish longing to return
crashed against each other in this quarter
tinted the familiar blue-grey
The Elephant & Castle crackles to the bootleg sounds
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
past coagulating into present
under the strange artificial glow
London below the soil
This is the world, wild, mystical, heterodox
in a dreamlike haze,
come from twenty-four-hour markets
Anna Trapnell's Report and Plea
possessed by
Hawksmoor draws pentagrams
these two Kings of London's underworld
Repeated rhythms define the area
stranded like the God note
spreading "terrors and alarms"
a desire for place,
howl through endless tunnels
The hauntological discontinuum..
futures refracted through black glass, until
bags of meat,
rooted, along the outer edge,
in Threadneedle Street,
the death frame
hallucinosphere of place in time
On this timeless slab of land,
subliminal interface
electronic paraphernalia of distraction
runs electric through your vision,
summoned through the sublimity of Brutalist utopia,
maps his awakening vision of
the fall months of metaphysical in-between
you may notice devilish and Druidic deity
The Parliament of Saints
footsteps running the empty spiral of the staircase
now buried and slumbering itself
through molten tarmac
On this timeless slab of land,
branded with contemporary vagueness
in this unedited city..
energy converging at this spot
on the old Necropolis Railway.
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
and feel how time distorts,
drafty attic squats,
the curse of the city slaughter-houses,
slide around the wet surface
the ritual readjusts itself
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
this time without a sense of community
for the pulse of currents
spasmodic cthuloid concrete
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
a quick flush of cash
until abstraction,
dropping banners from the windows of student occupations,
hushed spook stories
crush of utopia
in the intoxicating drone and traffic
metallic ribbons..
which he described as being based on the "rules of the Ancients"
a choreographed violence,
during which she prophesied passionately and at length
a million realities vibrating together
the city's sources of occult power -
a museum piece trapped in time
modernist diaspora
tipping phantasmically skinny arms
for the execution of convicted pirates,
Old dreads and formless awes
Regeneration sparks white heat..
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
pulsing static
Smoke and mirrors images
old and re-invented gods drown
The city unfolds like a long coiled serpent
of Afrobeat LPs
all the bright young things
loops of discarded history overwriting themselves
Anarchy Now
confluence of roads and routes
this fatal serpent flows down
steel into flesh into steel
strung like veins
the last days of the condemned,
modernist diaspora
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
LSD trips in
feeling the swell of the brain stem
Tricksters promise Architects,
dead chicken, no feathers
that so many of the buildings resemble complexes is no surprise
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
Christopher Wren is remembered
streets like veins
"no Gin, no King!"
electrified concrete
Brutalist silhouettes..
Once the stomping ground of Jack Sheppard,
something faintly remembered,
the ruin continues with or without us,
in Egyptian symbolism
memories of old time here
the illusion of seamless existence..
Abolish Enclosure
printed again and again
Brutalist silhouettes..
as the city sinks into clay foundations
in this unedited city..
dug up from a market crate,
the cackle of Winchester Geese
The city unfolds like a long coiled serpent
indistinguishable rages
and lurching movements.
and personal alienation,
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
past and future coagulating.
You've found yourself in close proximity
replaced by the Church's rituals,
one pale outstretched arm supporting
losing my point of origin
something bellows out in the street
shadow of the clock tower
converting the charged flow
confluence of roads and routes
dead chicken, no feathers
and lurching movements.
urban desert of spray-painted parking garages.
of deep time
cramping night airs
layers of ancient
Sir Wren pulls out his cock
post-war daze
tracing through rain, heat, steam
a wounded city
the riptide of forgotten spectres
Tricksters promise Architects,
hallucinosphere of place in time
dilation's and perceptions and histories
of somebody else's nightmare
Abolish Individual Private Property
the city is on the move
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
near allied to madness
a fractal architecture
you may notice devilish and Druidic deity
coming to terms with the permanence of our dispossession..
In 1820 the Elephant Boys took up their shadowy legacy,
nothing left of them now but a scream in the dark
reflection on glass
the great skeleton twitches
as the chief architect of modern London
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
to the crackle of bootleg reggae LP's
like trying to claw your way out
Raudive spook-acoustics,
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
in Egyptian symbolism
exhalation of history
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
wavelengths
well educated aristocrats of crime.
anxious to return to
a close knit family of well dressed
End police oppression -
a network of decadent crime
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
Thread your psychogeographic needle
and corrupt the foundations.
incomparable artist and sorcerer
rupture
a longing to belong,
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
the psychedelic experience of the city
bags of meat,
the first emanation of divinity,
"no Poperty!"
"here he sits in Darknesse for seven dayes and seven nights"
wavelengths
the only light beyond the usual pollution
mischievous invocations
hydra-headed fascism.. a million camera eyes..
storage
folklore rises like damp,
the first emanation of divinity,
violent protests, clashing of values,
Daylight infringes
replaced by the Church's rituals,
chaos cloud of tags, sigils, markers
birth, rebirth, repeat
cramping night airs
memory scrawls
unclean rivers of excrement,
Repeated rhythms define the area
modernist utopia..
crowds swell, fuck the riot act!
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
riotous, seditious,
Anarchy Now
King Mob can be heard muttering
in a dreamlike haze,
King Mob can be heard muttering
dirty grey pillars
rebellion.. terrain vague..
reflection on glass
"We live in the flicker."
confluence of roads and routes
reveal the Narthex, hidden entrance to
converting the charged flow
A thrill of repulsion
You've found yourself in close proximity
well educated aristocrats of crime.
displaced
It all sounds like an old echo,
an illuminated glimpse into the edgeland,
spreading "terrors and alarms"
in Threadneedle Street,
tipping phantasmically skinny arms
pulsating channels
up and down the deserted platform.
sensory excess,
rites of passage as shaman, hermit, culture straggler
a modernist utopia bleeding into tropical rains
guiding me home.
sensory excess,
rooted, along the outer edge,
dead chicken, no feathers
the language of dead space
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
Nicholas Hawksmoor towers above him in occult circles,
energy converging at this spot
a city constructed on a shared psychedelic exchange
mapping intrusions into place myth territory
the physical enclosure of common land
its great monuments + monoliths depleted
tuned into the psychic street chatter
carried along old lines of exchange
a furious intensity about the vision
that we go unused for many hours yet,
This is the world, wild, mystical, heterodox
exhalation of history
suspended in space
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
a fractal architecture
religious artefacts
violent protests, clashing of values,
morphologies coagulate
Abolish Enclosure
a fractal architecture
The Parliament of Saints
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
and pretty daughters,
dropping banners from the windows of student occupations,
and almost un-governable spirit"
Dimensions and textures refracted
memories of old time here
reflections on glass
"Advertising shits in your head!"
against Oliver Cromwell and his government,
behind terraced residencies
loops of discarded history overwriting themselves
all new edits and recycling,
hedonistic criminal
A gulping gasp outside
boarding and disappearing into the last carriage
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
re-birthed into the neither-zone,
Criss cross over the road
replaced by the Church's rituals,
form like a skin on the surface.
down in the deep tunnels
drafty attic squats,
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
creeping histories seep up into the dross
the last days of the condemned,
Life is a futurespectra
"How transient compared to stone"
in a Walworth Road boozer
and pisses on the tavern floor,
blends Angels & Demons
the cackle of Winchester Geese
unclean rivers of excrement,
awaiting rebirth.
into the concrete face.
bags of meat,
Smoke and mirrors images
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
as the city sinks into clay foundations
the transmissions spread out across the city
past and future coagulating.
futures refracted through a crystal aesthetic
layers of ancient
birthed by the Metropolitan subconscious
"the deadening influence of academia!"
disappearances
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
"the deadening influence of academia!"
bathed and baking in the sun,
as his art went up in the fire
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
address the soul,
stranded like the God note
rebel and jail-breaker supreme
printed again and again
pushed beyond the skeletal structure
"surveillance acoustics for the spook, the time surfer"
dropping banners from the windows of student occupations,
of ritual bloodshed
The decision will have been made by the time you read this
The brooding presence of Hawksmoor
heat that steams off the streets
founded by esoteric pilgrims
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
the last days of the condemned,
wiping myself down,
the dream splits and
the cackle of Winchester Geese
full of relics and death,
tendrilic wires feel and feed
dusting off the shrapnel,
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
other bloodshed figures disappearing
Christopher Wren is remembered
this time without a sense of community
victims of the blitz
that we go unused for many hours yet,
pulsating channels
it is a web, a tapestry
the ghost zone,
ritual flash-points
tuned into the psychic street chatter
final destination of the infamous spectre
back room parlour seances
the drowning sensation
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
electricity
disorganised motion overwhelms the body.
the psychedelic experience of the city
feverish longing to return
streets like veins
Littering the fringes
folklore fresh graffiti
electrified concrete
unclean rivers of excrement,
hydra-headed fascism.. a million camera eyes..
reflection caught in the opposite window
guiding me home.
through the studio of Austin Osman Spare
Class War rages on
where soldiers are shot
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
pulsing valves
The decision will have been made by the time you read this
branded with contemporary vagueness
healing spring waters
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
the psychedelic experience of the city
Life is a futurespectra
on the outer reaches of the city
and feel how time distorts,
Once the stomping ground of Jack Sheppard,
bodies and time sold as a commodity,
Please remember, that I am an unreliable narrator,
the increase of money as a form of exchange,
heat that steams off the streets
path-working between the crash & burn
"buildings must die"
circuit cables running
shadow of the clock tower
the great skeleton twitches
Abolish Individual Private Property
"the mechanical process of reproducing the object"
a growing ring of blood and fire,
brawling boozers
and Hermetic formulae,
It all sounds like an old echo,
displaced
Old King Lud rules
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
an ocean of geometric shapes stretching out to infinity
as culture sucks in its last breath,
Venner's Rising attempts to take the city
Once the stomping ground of Jack Sheppard,
fuelling economic anxiety states
The Elephant & Castle crackles to the bootleg sounds
Charged by a seething tapestry
down in the deep tunnels
the heartbeat
the city's sources of occult power -
footsteps running the empty spiral of the staircase
On this timeless slab of land,
down in the deep tunnels
and lurching movements.
birthed by the Metropolitan subconscious
drafty attic squats,
crossed telephone wires, garbled signals,
plague pits, abandoned tube tunnels, busking ghosts
other secrets can be heard still
straddling dimensions of perception
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
solar flare of memory
the mass hallucination,
The Parliament of Saints
deathly fingers
It is wrong to think of the city as a whole..
feeling the swell of the brain stem
Hyper-kinetic melancholia..
wiping myself down,
bags of meat,
looking all the worse for wear,
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
of deep time
a furious intensity about the vision
subliminal interface
this is nothing but damaged texts
mass hallucination
and feel how time distorts,
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
I slip through quiet slips
confluence of roads and routes
on the old Necropolis Railway.
pulsing valves and an antenna of bone
Druid Street,
Do spaces and places require a narrative?
of deep time
for the execution of convicted pirates,
old forms of communal celebration were replaced
through molten tarmac
that we go unused for many hours yet,
supermarket whisky,
back room parlour seances
the curse of the city slaughter-houses,
a city constructed on a shared psychedelic exchange
a desire for place,
the great skeleton twitches
as vapour.
Thread your psychogeographic needle
final destination of the infamous spectre
the absent reality seeps through,
the dream splits and
ritual flash-points
crackle of static
drip-feeding the new monuments
heart of the circulatory system
shit street skunk,
an "orgiastic communion with the beyond"
Weathered notebooks
snared in their death rattle
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
carried along old lines of exchange
up and down the deserted platform.
the last days of the condemned,
stranded like the God note
in one of his weekly addresses, he reported
his awkward frame, all jittering bones
on the old Necropolis Railway.
as his art went up in the fire
in Threadneedle Street,
unimaginable history,
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
"The superior learning of Witches"
for the pulse of currents
hyper-kinetic crackles thru the sparks
maps his awakening vision of
"Who shall rouse him up?"
who know to keep their distance.
Brutalist silhouettes..
feverish longing to return
multiple histories blue together
Abolish Individual Private Property
The brooding presence of Hawksmoor
incomparable artist and sorcerer
pushed beyond the skeletal structure
a quiet street,
"Advertising shits in your head!"
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
city of illusions
eruption
tipping phantasmically skinny arms
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
down the Old Kent Road
an insect species
drawing battle lines of occupation
consciousness.
which he described as being based on the "rules of the Ancients"
amongst the infernal
"buildings must die"
until abstraction,
the end of the line on a quiet weekday night
who know to keep their distance.
crush of utopia
it is a web, a tapestry
"a territory decorated with slogans -
tracing through rain, heat, steam
carve a short passage
the mass hallucination,
with laboured patience, he chants
"a territory decorated with slogans -
chasing electric buzz of distant traffic,
the absent reality seeps through,
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
more shadowy ritual.
reflection on glass
the language of dead space
as his art went up in the fire
final destination of the infamous spectre
to the territory of the Thief Taker General
where bodies were carried off
where soldiers are shot
as culture sucks in its last breath,
the College of Invisibles
through which Blake's mind swam -
hallucinosphere of place in time
bubbling up from the roots
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
tendrilic wires feel and feed
guiding me home.
in a dreamlike haze,
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
coming to terms with the permanence of our dispossession..
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
hyper-kinetic crackles thru the sparks
who was a devout Roman Catholic,
the absent reality seeps through,
"Blackens oer the churches walls"
Eyelids twitching,
King Mob can be heard muttering
circuit cables running
pressure valve
crackle of static
runs electric through your vision,
navigating by light pollution
the malodorous vapour trail
in Threadneedle Street,
a city constructed on a shared psychedelic exchange
a death in the night like
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
I slip through quiet slips
wiping myself down,
In 1820 the Elephant Boys took up their shadowy legacy,
deposits of asbestos
crossed telephone wires, garbled signals,
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
full of cosmic tones and drones,
shakily tracing veins
as the chief architect of modern London
shadow of the clock tower
The city stretched out like a third-person narrative,
modernist utopia..
Old King Lud rules
in one of his weekly addresses, he reported
the illusion of seamless existence..
city of illusions
the increase of money as a form of exchange,
creeping histories seep up into the dross
feverish longing to return
morphologies coagulate
abstract portraits of the otherwise known.
through molten tarmac
Hauntological discontinuum
cannot contain the sacred histories
twisting roads and tangled side streets.
tainted air hangs misted over tarmac
The Barebone's Parliament
deposits of asbestos
full of cosmic tones and drones,
down in the deep tunnels
chapters and rituals
LSD trips in
spinning Wargasm wax
The Devil's Neckerchief
Criss cross over the road
through which Blake's mind swam -
and sagging walls,
a network of decadent crime
claustrophobia of sweating warehouses,
reflection caught in the opposite window
to the crackle of bootleg reggae LP's
Venner is said to have killed three men with a halberd
maps his awakening vision of
wiping myself down,
past coagulating into present
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
pulsing valves and an antenna of bone
losing themselves in the thrall
memory scrawls
religious artefacts
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
a shamanic ritual processing
open the memory vat like a vein..
more shadowy ritual.
the veins of modernist utopia hissing up into the atmos
tracing through rain, heat, steam
reflections on glass
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
street level, topside
come from twenty-four-hour markets
channelling William Blake
"the deadening influence of academia!"
that a resident had reported a vision of the Virgin Mary in her room.
the language of dead space
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
Future ruins.
supermarket whisky,
all twitching wires
down the Old Kent Road
ritual flash-points
the city's sources of occult power -
the Fifth Monarchists disturbing the peace,
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
rites of passage as shaman, hermit, culture straggler
urban desert of spray-painted parking garages.
deposits of asbestos
Smoke and mirrors images
circuit cables running
rebellion.. terrain vague..
the first emanation of divinity,
learned that imagination was
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
into the concrete face.
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
they have so much future to use up
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
an ocean of geometric shapes stretching out to infinity
a million realities vibrating together
stranded like the God note
tracing through rain, heat, steam
Future ruins.
navigating by light pollution
the riptide of forgotten spectres
a furious intensity about the vision
"I wander thro each dirty street"
It is wrong to think of the city as a whole..
the mass hallucination,
pressure valve
hallucinosphere of place in time
crush of utopia
The Moorfields mob demolish a Catholic school,
suspended in space
new forms and languages laying dormant,
deposits of asbestos
exhalation of history
Dimensions and textures refracted
the city's sources of occult power -
devoid of traffic now,
crowds swell, fuck the riot act!
converting the charged flow
where was erected a gibbet
an "orgiastic communion with the beyond"
shattered grounds
New streets and grounds bubble to the surface.
amongst the infernal
something bellows out in the street
"Advertising shits in your head!"
Future ruins.
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
carried on electric circuits,
like trying to claw your way out
anxious to return to
rooted, along the outer edge,
Spectrality wrought by schizophrenic hauntology,
the great snake leading into the horizon
the last days of the condemned,
Smashed up elevators ferry urine between floors,
mental associations deteriorating into a queasy spiral
Jonathan Wild
a site beyond time.
the psychedelic experience of the city
where bodies were carried off
King Mob can be heard muttering
to the crackle of bootleg reggae LP's
full of relics and death,
A thrill of repulsion
pulsing valves
"a territory decorated with slogans -
images illusory.
Weathered notebooks
tipping phantasmically skinny arms
navigating the archival vaults
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
mass hallucination
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
abstraction of the city
something faintly remembered,
the psychedelic experience of the city
of Afrobeat LPs
the heartbeat
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
creeping histories seep up into the dross
Spectrality wrought by schizophrenic hauntology,
through the studio of Austin Osman Spare
in the intoxicating drone and traffic
down in the deep tunnels
of somebody else's nightmare
rooted, along the outer edge,
Consider this, the past surging beneath us
city of illusions
feverish longing to return
Street magick, signs and symbols,
the ritual readjusts itself
hedonistic criminal
new streets bubble to the surface
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
the mass hallucination,
deciphering
clinging beads of longing pool on skin,
a desire for place,
the map frays at the edges
Something blows up,
Liquid thread of history,
Abolish Enclosure
tainted air hangs misted over tarmac
a small tragedy etched into a fever sleep,
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
drawing battle lines of occupation
a fractal architecture
this is mere devilry and juggling
the heartbeat
a compilation of memories and intrusions
fresh cracks in the concrete
for the execution of convicted pirates,
as the city sinks into clay foundations
the Fifth Monarchists disturbing the peace,
sensory excess,
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
something faintly remembered,
as his art went up in the fire
rebellion.. terrain vague..
I slip through quiet slips
of a starless night.
London is built upon darkness
the crypt stacked high with skeletal remains
Abolish Enclosure
violent protests, clashing of values,
one pale outstretched arm supporting
tendrilic wires feel and feed
You can still smell the burning
the riptide of forgotten spectres
the map frays at the edges
Abbey Street and
printed again and again
the initiation begins
the riptide of forgotten spectres
as vapour.
a quick flush of cash
the hologram does not conform to the territory
heat that steams off the streets
a fractal architecture
an "orgiastic communion with the beyond"
Street magick, signs and symbols,
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
navigating by light pollution
King Mob can be heard muttering
I slip through quiet slips
boarding and disappearing into the last carriage
modernist utopia..
Lord George Gordon flicks a match into Southwark,
birth, rebirth, repeat
"We live in the flicker."
founded by esoteric pilgrims
whisper of its alternative purpose
the Fifth Monarchists disturbing the peace,
crackle of static
the veins of modernist utopia hissing up into the atmos
crush of utopia
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
the great skeleton twitches
the disintegration of the world
brawling boozers
under the strange artificial glow
The words slither around me
The city unfolds like a long coiled serpent
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
the city moulds itself
Once the stomping ground of Jack Sheppard,
back room parlour seances
I slip through quiet slips
this reads like a weeping wound
strung up between them at intervals
of events and associations
the first emanation of divinity,
Repeated rhythms define the area
at the crossroads of the Tyburn Tree,
reflection on glass
printed again and again
solar flare of memory
It is wrong to think of the city as a whole..
Smashed up elevators ferry urine between floors,
chasing electric buzz of distant traffic,
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
"the people showed a licentious,
crossed telephone wires, garbled signals,
in this unedited city..
in Threadneedle Street,
birth, rebirth, repeat
a fractal architecture
a million realities vibrating together
something bellows out in the street
through the studio of Austin Osman Spare
the great skeleton twitches
riotous, seditious,
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
much like the camera shutter, opened like a vein
his spiritual historical other
violent protests, clashing of values,
deposits of asbestos
a compilation of memories and intrusions
full of relics and death,
chasing electric buzz of distant traffic,
Dimensions and textures refracted
"this Capital City of the World - is still the Capitol of Darknesse"
Littering the fringes
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
of deep time
in this unedited city..
based on a layout of intersecting axes and rectangles,
back room parlour seances
over lonely suicides
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
eruption
End police oppression -
in one of his weekly addresses, he reported
Hauntological discontinuum
The hauntological discontinuum..
the mass hallucination,
mapping intrusions into place myth territory
a close knit family of well dressed
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
new streets bubble to the surface
clinging beads of longing pool on skin,
NO PARKING - CONSTANTLY IN USE!
straddling dimensions of perception
"Protest against"
during which she prophesied passionately and at length
violent protests, clashing of values,
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
"here he sits in Darknesse for seven dayes and seven nights"
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
Bone shard fingers
"England in Blood"
and corrupt the foundations.
Bone shard fingers
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
spinning Wargasm wax
through the studio of Austin Osman Spare
Littering the fringes
the only light beyond the usual pollution
they have so much future to use up
a coagulating slop of atmos matmos,
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
street level, topside
Anarchy Now
wavelengths
supermarket whisky,
the Earth is gone before it settles back
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
Surely, we have always been here,
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
sweaty memory
howl through endless tunnels
disappearances
these intense preoccupations
the hologram does not conform to the territory
reveal the Narthex, hidden entrance to
layers of ancient
King Mob can be heard muttering
the language of dead space
under bus-stop light, glare at maps and plans
all the bright young things
of a starless night.
the hologram does not conform to the territory
streets like veins
pulsing static
"Atomised individuals creating subjective reality"
mental associations deteriorating into a queasy spiral
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
LSD trips in
abstract portraits of the otherwise known.
carried on electric circuits,
up and down the deserted platform.
bodies and time sold as a commodity,
The decision will have been made by the time you read this
a fractal architecture
Jonathan Wild
a network of decadent crime
reclaimed by elemental things.
You can still smell the burning
A thrill of repulsion
"buildings must die"
in Egyptian symbolism
slurred dialect from East to South East London
shit street skunk,
the heartbeat
Life is a futurespectra
that a resident had reported a vision of the Virgin Mary in her room.
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
William Blake, rapt by a vision of angels
The words slither around me
back room parlour seances
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
folklore fresh graffiti
"a territory decorated with slogans -
pulsing valves
Tricksters promise Architects,
birth, rebirth, repeat
eruption
as culture sucks in its last breath,
the initiation begins
these it was said were added as a loving gesture to his wife
interstitial spaces condense
in 1720 the walls of St Mary Newington broke open during service
something bellows out in the street
birth, rebirth, repeat
past coagulating into present
multiple histories blue together
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
looking all the worse for wear,
unimaginable history,
the city is on the move
under the strange artificial glow
mass hallucination
more shadowy ritual.
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
replaced by the Church's rituals,
other bloodshed figures disappearing
on the outer reaches of the city
rooftop jaunts atop the graffed altar of the Heygate
bubbling up from the roots
path-working between the crash & burn
his awkward frame, all jittering bones
a replay from the back catalogue of the city.
an illuminated glimpse into the edgeland,
The Girl Gang of Forty Thieves,
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
our idea of the present city is only
that we go unused for many hours yet,
howl through endless tunnels
printed again and again
through molten tarmac
and feel how time distorts,
these two Kings of London's underworld
tinted the familiar blue-grey
as vapour.
devoid of traffic now,
something faintly remembered,
from a broken negotiation with the city
fresh cracks in the concrete
to the territory of the Thief Taker General
snared in their death rattle
Life is a futurespectra
electro-shock acoustics,
Street magick, signs and symbols,
learned that imagination was
morphologies coagulate
kaleidoscopic catastrophes
in 1720 the walls of St Mary Newington broke open during service
spidering through the city
Blake's dissident reality
shit street skunk,
leaving the magickal intent behind
of ritual bloodshed
howl through endless tunnels
layers of ancient
folklore fresh graffiti
Jonathan Wild
pulsing valves
Marginalised inner edge
A gulping gasp outside
burned-out cars remember the noise they once made,
amongst semi-lucid mythic encounters..
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
cramping night airs
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
a fleshy sub-cultural mass of archetypes
of Afrobeat LPs
snared in their death rattle
reveal the Narthex, hidden entrance to
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
a lifetime spent beneath
the quiet remains now dislodged,
continuing past the point of abandonment,
old songs seeping in beneath the rush
Littering the fringes
and almost un-governable spirit"
against Oliver Cromwell and his government,
plugged into the hive mind still somehow
It is wrong to think of the city as a whole..
losing my point of origin
old forms of communal celebration were replaced
nodes in the network, the mapping
tuned into the psychic street chatter
hostile, sterile commodification of the lived experience.
"no Poperty!"
fresh cracks in the concrete
into the concrete face.
underworld labyrinth,
tendrilic wires feel and feed
tainted air hangs misted over tarmac
spreading "terrors and alarms"
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
howl through endless tunnels
crush of utopia
misapplied notions of immortality
the heartbeat
"Who shall rouse him up?"
healing spring waters
in Threadneedle Street,
Mithras slumbers
suspended in space
in this unedited city..
Druid Street,
anxious to return to
Witch bottles buried
electronic paraphernalia of distraction
Abolish Enclosure
running in delirious circles
Undergoing the slow process of re-tuning frequencies,
converting the charged flow
feeling the swell of the brain stem
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
night-crawlers shuffling through lightless innards,
riotous, seditious,
"This was The site of the Mysteries"
plugged straight into the city-body
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
something faintly remembered,
dead chicken, no feathers
dropping banners from the windows of student occupations,
they have so much future to use up
open the memory vat like a vein..
Captain Porteous orders his men to fire into the hanging crowd,
the city moulds itself
form like a skin on the surface.
carried on electric circuits,
Spectrality wrought by schizophrenic hauntology,
in one of his weekly addresses, he reported
crush of utopia
mass hallucination
futures refracted through black glass, until
shit street skunk,
healing spring waters
as culture sucks in its last breath,
rain spattered journals,
the only light beyond the usual pollution
Eyelids twitching,
crowds swell, fuck the riot act!
where was erected a gibbet
violent protests, clashing of values,
and corrupt the foundations.
a museum piece trapped in time
all twitching wires
chasing electric buzz of distant traffic,
printed again and again
electricity
"The superior learning of Witches"
rain spattered journals,
in a Walworth Road boozer
"this Capital City of the World - is still the Capitol of Darknesse"
the heartbeat
in the headlight beam of passing traffic,
loops of discarded history overwriting themselves
You can still smell the burning
the only light beyond the usual pollution
that we go unused for many hours yet,
struggle back toward daylight
The Victorian blood and thunder melodrama.
pulsating channels
the capitalist mode of production
pedestrian methods
a choreographed violence,
The words slither around me
losing my point of origin
burn of day
bubbling up from the roots
city of illusions
Spare casts a shadow that looms over
this is mere devilry and juggling
"no Gin, no King!"
the ruin continues with or without us,
Smashed up elevators ferry urine between floors,
where was erected a gibbet
the rumoured remains of a Mithraic sun temple
The Devil's Neckerchief
"no Gin, no King!"
the drowning sensation
coming to terms with the permanence of our dispossession..
avoiding sonic disturbance
the only light beyond the usual pollution
Christopher Wren is remembered
a lifetime spent beneath
Old King Lud rules
carried along old lines of exchange
London below the soil
from old alchemist writers
interstitial spaces condense
a loose community sprung up like weeds
a compilation of memories and intrusions
and the death of recorded history,
their secrets hid behind swelling curtains
Jonathan Wild
Driscoll House included a large number of religious paintings and
the co-created reality
pressure valve
behind terraced residencies
wiping myself down,
open the memory vat like a vein..
a flexible blur
bathed and baking in the sun,
hostile, sterile commodification of the lived experience.
"a territory decorated with slogans -
crush of utopia
misapplied notions of immortality
The Barebone's Parliament
and pisses on the tavern floor,
erodes all concepts of fixed space
Jonathan Wild
hushed spook stories
the ceaseless traffic between heaven and earth -
until the Tyburn saw them both hanged.
over lonely suicides
"no Gin, no King!"
other bloodshed figures disappearing
come from twenty-four-hour markets
old and re-invented gods drown
dusting off the shrapnel,
suspended in space
leaving the magickal intent behind
Surely, we have always been here,
near allied to madness
Stimuli board alight with
offerings carved in mad mosaics
the language of dead space
clocks cannot stand on this site
in 1720 the walls of St Mary Newington broke open during service
Claustrophobic proximity,
let the ghosts that wander them be forgot
tuned into the psychic street chatter
and almost un-governable spirit"
pivoting on the balls of my feet
this reads like a weeping wound
on the old Necropolis Railway.
electricity
folklore fresh graffiti
healing spring waters
for the pulse of currents
awaiting rebirth.
of events and associations
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
in Egyptian symbolism
runs electric through your vision,
urban desert of spray-painted parking garages.
cramping night airs
Raudive spook-acoustics,
burned-out cars remember the noise they once made,
navigating by light pollution
and sagging walls,
Jonathan Wild
all new edits and recycling,
of somebody else's nightmare
shadow folk emerge
one pale outstretched arm supporting
losing my point of origin
carried along old lines of exchange
Marginalised inner edge
the riptide of forgotten spectres
down in the deep tunnels
the last days of the condemned,
its great monuments + monoliths depleted
spinning Wargasm wax
burial grounds and shuttered galleries
form like a skin on the surface.
strung like veins
the fall months of metaphysical in-between
of deep time
to the crackle of bootleg reggae LP's
a quiet street,
echoes of shamanic head explosions
open the memory vat like a vein..
fuelling economic anxiety states
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
The Devil's Neckerchief
"surveillance acoustics for the spook, the time surfer"
hydra-headed fascism.. a million camera eyes..
a visionary from London, she fell into a trance
Stimuli board alight with
feeling the swell of the brain stem
and almost un-governable spirit"
bathed and baking in the sun,
the heartbeat
The words slither around me
It all sounds like an old echo,
spillage
deciphering
Weathered notebooks
"Atomised individuals creating subjective reality"
all twitching wires
Consider this, the past surging beneath us
The common sort of people gasp -
converting the charged flow
offerings carved in mad mosaics
birth, rebirth, repeat
incomparable artist and sorcerer
morphologies coagulate
cannot contain the sacred histories
electronic paraphernalia of distraction
morphologies coagulate
and lurching movements.
rebel and jail-breaker supreme
licked with alcoholism and feverish youth
city of illusions
hidden behind the guise of innocent wives
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
in this unedited city..
anxious to return to
our idea of the present city is only
in Threadneedle Street,
a choreographed violence,
carried along old lines of exchange
compressed layers of human remains
that we go unused for many hours yet,
dirty grey pillars
reflection on glass
the cackle of Winchester Geese
The Girl Gang of Forty Thieves,
a small tragedy etched into a fever sleep,
ingesters of toxic powder fill the waiting area
fortunate to be breathing in these tensions
the inevitability of dyschronia.
downtown
a desire for place,
circuit cables running
the riptide of forgotten spectres
violent protests, clashing of values,
the prophecies attracted widespread public attention.
diffused through cryptoendolithic schisms of the city,
the death frame
"We live in the flicker."
channelling William Blake
howl through endless tunnels
dilation's and perceptions and histories
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
mapping intrusions into place myth territory
rooted, along the outer edge,
a modernist utopia bleeding into tropical rains
crush of utopia
violent protests, clashing of values,
The common sort of people gasp -
other secrets can be heard still
the city is on the move
drawing battle lines of occupation
exhalation of history
that so many of the buildings resemble complexes is no surprise
bask for a moment in the Phantom shadow
branded with contemporary vagueness
healing spring waters
catching nervous glances
that we go unused for many hours yet,
where soldiers are shot
other secrets can be heard still
unimaginable history,
Daylight infringes
Hawksmoor's churches “guard, mark or rest upon”
near allied to madness
King Mob can be heard muttering
filed like slides of bacteria under glass
blends Angels & Demons
the last days of the condemned,
exhalation of history
Tricksters promise Architects,
dug up from a market crate,
tinted the familiar blue-grey
Old King Lud rules
Brutalist silhouettes..
electricity
You've found yourself in close proximity
for the pulse of currents
dirty grey pillars
a death in the night like
circuit cables running
a belief in life beyond the physical world,
This is the un-place, the nostalgia,
shit street skunk,
snared in their death rattle
a flexible blur
"How transient compared to stone"
and almost un-governable spirit"
Threading over thick roads
his sorcery and draughtsmanship gifted a perplexing glimpse of other
Liquid thread of history,
"How transient compared to stone"
awaiting rebirth.
under bus-stop light, glare at maps and plans
memory scrawls
anxious to return to
full of relics and death,
Christopher Wren is remembered
these intense preoccupations
reflections on glass
the initiation begins
navigating by light pollution
behind terraced residencies
pushed beyond the skeletal structure
"a territory decorated with slogans -
shakily tracing veins
the end of the line on a quiet weekday night
Liquid thread of history,
of ritual bloodshed