drop drop the hangul! gimme gimme gimme gimme sun raaaaaa – no, the other kind! yessir eeyo davey drop the davey drop the dream, nation! yeeeaah drop it yoda drop it you must yoda! any other kind of sun ra i’m against it against all stooges day dream nations glo-wavers thomas covenant i’m against it…

Call me Kid A, capitalising on my foreign-power language, breezily erasing any thoughts of running aside to land here, finally, in this new town. Way below zero I go, plunging into a new career just as the Metro escalators do, with no thought or choice, only a strange drive to run, and run again, north.…

one year ago today i arrived in sweden on a slow snow train to winter’s nevermind & to black mornings deathly afternoons & mile deep blizzards people did not smile at each other in town & the pub was like an extra from LOTR: littered with snugs & corner tables hiding mysterious drunks today, one…

when REM recruited you to be in “it’s the end of the world …” did they stop to think what effect that might have had on you stop to think about high school pressure or petty jealousy the ostracisation of so-called high achievers by dimwits with no future or hope & no sense of solidarity…

1. returning from the graveyard to rise a level like william faulkner said i made it on a bevel 2. we first met near a pixel in eversong woods jo, our avatars dealt out some serious blows! 3. oh we fought for hours against the ironic orcs my sinister strike & your magnificent stealth 4.…

when you could see it coming coming at you like a giant giant ball of lead or something something heavy cold & dead death contained a hint of fear fear faded & quickly passed passed to an even higher plane planet heavy cold & gone; going to some future island island where the lonely go…

down here in the dead ideas office we mark all your thoughts as read don’t be alarm’d it’s just routine most people’s are a waste of space & friday’s pay day so we slack off just a bit (long enough for a wink long enough for you to emote a hit or a telepathic experience…

incantations iv: I feel all my childood & its dreams in this video my father & his brothers & their seventies stereos: born into the space age watching all the menus collapse like when you plonk a person somewhere deep IN SPAAAAAACE! well, what does that make synthesisers, then – pop? billions of commenters on…

heya cometh everyboddeeee! right out of the sleigh: purring like honey from a see-through plastic bag! & the dread, the dead night-cruise drops its beats & sings ‘la la la la la la laaaaaaa’ like a lidl lamb! hey did i dream all of that? or are we all still here, shouting ‘ship to shore’…

just how did the moon stay magnetic? answer: something to do with the sea or the way the dolphin cow calls to her calf: a little click – there, maybe a whistle, every second or so, then a brief empty eternal moment before she echolocates that tiny response – whether far away or close -…

… my face on yr space (rule #1: clone tagging! the school for the too-cool, hispter-brew, squeaky shoes – taggin’ … ‘n’ braggin’! done tagging my place get into yr space-(acne) new tool, tru blue hood, flute reeds ‘n’ music sheet screeds wot i wrote, emo(t)! done tagging, so i’m tur(n)ing now to slaggin’ grange…

could i possibly be somewhere near you forever and a day or more if that’s okay? can i hide my face in your neck’s hollow or else just stand next to you on a bus? riding together for several happy stops, with our shoulders barely touching at all but somehow just there adjacent to each…