More Bizarre Experiments.

June 19, 2008 at 10:30 pm | Posted in pictures, podcast, poetry, splashcast, writing | 18 Comments
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in nonlinear time…

Thanks, Sumedh, for the flower image.

night sky prayer

June 12, 2008 at 7:06 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 29 Comments
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What joy there is in speaking into silence
in the absence of echoes where words
race away unremembered into the night sky,
a tumultuous cascade like long dark curls
from which stars sparkle like eyes
and sentences unfurl,
turn back twist then trail bare traces
of lips whispering arcane phrases
verbless round the subtle curves of space,
disappear into a soft fold in time
becoming yours, my love, these words
not mine,

(This piece has been podcast, by someone else, here)

Oliver Twist

June 6, 2008 at 8:37 pm | Posted in links, podcast, writing | 9 Comments
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and shout,
noone does a Fagin like my Fagin,
Happy Birthday, Lakota,
:c aution, link approaching,

Left in Legate (the podcast)
(the beginning is from the soundtrack of “Leaving Las Vegas” by Mike Figgis and the singing is Sting, but dont worry not for long, I am sorry it’s not much of a present, it turned out much more evil than I expected, sorry, behind blue eyes,

alternative view,

May 28, 2008 at 6:41 pm | Posted in blogging, links, podcast, poetry, writing | 13 Comments
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The Writer as Libertine (podcast)

from “The Puzzle Box”

by some mad bastard who thinks time truely is not linear,

cos Rick asked and also because at some point you have to take a crazy risk but more importantly to assert that they are buying the publishing rights to the manuscript and not the podcast or performance rights. (or not buying them at the moment, but we’ll see, oh and because Poetmouse Writer Reading icon avatar dared me in a way,

and the seven seas,

April 1, 2008 at 5:57 pm | Posted in podcast, writing | 20 Comments
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so i said to this bloke, look, i really don’t give a fat rat’s arse, oh sorry, hello, he says hanging up the phone, i don’t have long, have a seat, what i wanted to do was to tell you a story but this story has no plot, cold, waitingempty and deep. it has no characters because it does not involve a redemption, there is an ending however, everything changes.
originally of course it was not possible to imagine individual survival, there was only the community, they were antlike without imagination later becoming bees communicating through dance and creating a surplus in cahoots with flowers, then one of them heard himself speak,
since then there’s been all sorts of varieties of imagining oneself in a better world, mythodologies, some more effective and others more beautiful,
excuse me, a moment, he said, answering the phone, no, sorry, he’s not here, everybodies looking for something, i never met Annie Lennox, he said to me, now what was it you wanted?

(just for something to do i have podcasted this one here)

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