A Story so Untrue You Have to Believe It’s Real A Story so Untrue You Have to Believe It’s Real On foot from Edinburgh to Canterbury for a once-in-a-decade conference on "What It Means to Be a High-Functioning Humanzee in a Mythological World", we are discussing the cultural fallout of "phase-three scholasticism", which has rocked the academic world and the Catholic Church in Ireland, and is responsible for the suicide of at least five university deans and three bishops, as w

The Original Sin Our DNA a polymer implant from our worldly creator, Blake’s Urizen. Backbone sidechain nitrogen phosphate And a plastic oesophagus for when you can't swallow Reason. Bonding one attribute to another: the adhesive Epox is on the horizon. One mind becomes many minds Separated in competition, growing bodies to maintain Separation. Protesting, Adam fiddles a stringtaut wire, A thin-sliced reproduction of human forest life: gunfire, Gas, batons, guillotines, barbe

Outposts on the Edge of a Haunting By speech and by text we launch our raids against the unknown, yet never succeed in capturing what we pursue. Such expeditions are doomed from the start: there is nothing, no one, to seize. Only a ghost, a rumour haunting our stations at the frontier of a vast territory stretching behind us. Lately there has been talk of strange sounds arising in the in-between spaces, in the gaps between outposts we call words. But when we li

Marcus Aurelius Arch in Tripoli, Libya, built in 163 C. Original photo by Daniel and Kate Pett (Wiki) Going Off in Libya a bomb(ard)ed runway is nothing in Libya said she profoundly on visit to Marcus Aurelus Arch or Roman ruins of Sabratha (I forget) the skin of the sun or a goat stretched out the flammable sky over Al Khums / Ghat / Mandra it’s Benghazi hell time, man BOOM! boom!| Libya bears something evil [or new] perhaps re: 1955 Petroleum Law| 1982, kissed B

"red is the colour of the bone snapped back"

Zero and the Anti-Dollar Doing nothing at all, Zero sat Gaping at TV, his last lone dollar Crumpled inside a small itchy palm. The news had begun. War shot through the air Like blood. Virulent statistics stirred His insides like poison. The dollar sweated in his hand; It thickened his veins with potential. Looking out Zero saw a V-sign Projected on the night sky. He locked the window, Shut the blind. On his face he chalked A mask of desperation to hide his apathy