Dream Girl #115

September 14th, 2009

She lives in a dream, has been since ’63
Never a thought for reality
Her strung out scene is her analogy
To believe in the things she’ll never see
And her name is Lucid Lucy
Yes her name is Lucid Lucy

Well have you seen my dream girl #115
She’s a travelling needle on the record machine
Oh have you seen my dream girl #115
She’s a paperback writer for the silver screen
Oh yeah!

They sang her to sleep, sweet dreams for you for me
Moving in her eyes so rapidly
Salvation disguised as virginity
Lucy deprived of divinity
‘Till she finally came to our reality
Yes she finally came to our reality

Well have you seen my dream girl #115
She’s making me clean her yellow submarine
Oh have you seen my dream girl #115
As she takes another hit from the magazine
Oh yeah!

It’s all as it seems, in a pregnant pause on the CD
Strangers in the night, they set her free
Attraction to a life of immorality
Shooting pure immortality
To realise her mind’s fertility
She realises the mind’s fertility

Well have you seen my dream girl #115
She’s playing the part of a beauty queen
Oh have you seen my dream girl #115
With her mind strung out on the guillotine
Oh yeah!
Oh yeah!

The Strange Happening Where This Giant Plant-like Thing Rips up the House and Tosses it Around a Bit

August 31st, 2009

Just realised that National Novel Writing Month is coming up again pretty soon in November. Every year I keep telling myself that I’m not going to put myself through that again, but it seems I’m always a sucker for punishment when it comes to writing fifty-thousand words in thirty days.

Thought I’d post up chapter two of last years, just for kicks. Who’s with me this year? Oh and just a warning, I was at the time going through a period of watching a lot of The Mighty Boosh.

Chapter II:

Second chapter already. Didn’t take long now did it? Now just sitting here on the front steps, the daily burn and draw, taking in the scenery. Far right in the distance there are those gigantic towers that make up the skyline now. One day they just shot straight up out of the ground and took over the skies. Does my head in sometimes thinking about how they did that, but really I’m not that much of a thinker. I’m more of a ponderer I’d say. There’s a pond down in the park, all dark and dirty, filled with all kinds of pond scum and the likes. I go down there sometimes, try to fish a little, but the fish in there are the super-intelligent kind, from hundreds of years of evolution. They know exactly what to do with a hook when they find one. They’re the real thinkers.

Sometimes when I throw my line in, I’ll find that one of them just slowly takes my line and wraps it around a giant chunk of wood, then they pull on the line thrice, three times that is, and wait until I’m certain I’ve got one hooked and then I yank and yank my guts out and end up snapping the line in two, while they sit there in their little swimming circles, chuckling away to themselves, sipping on their iced seaweed daiquiris and discussing notes on Captain Ahab and their hero who thwarted that monomaniacal maniac.

Other times they will write you a note, cleverly unhook the bait straight off the hook and then attach their little condescending notes to the line. Not on the hook most of the time mind you. It’s mostly tied up using some kind of double hitch half-knot or something like that anyway. I’m not too good with knots. The note will always be along the lines of:

Ingenious fish-catching device you have devised there old chap.
Most a pity however that it seems that the fish community,
Is today unable to aid you in your little games,
As we have prior engagements to meet our friend,
Billy the Six, the six armed octopus in his garden
For high tea this afternoon.

You are of course more than welcome to join us monkey boy,
Should you be so inclined. We do hope you won’t mind
Getting your toes wet just a little.

Sincerely yours,

Huckleberry Finn

Quite a hilarious show of wit and sarcasm. Sometimes I go down there for that alone.

I am not however here to tell you about the pond and the fish in the pond tonight though. I’ll leave that ditty for another, more appropriate time. Tonight we also leave our strange tale of the record from Luci and the quest for New Emitex. Rest assured we won’t leave you hanging for too long on that one either. But for now our story will descend into a darker time, a night much like tonight, around the same time, the moon had fallen asleep behind one of the towers to the right skyline to dream about unthinkable things, cheese and wet dreams, just like tonight, and I was asleep. Actually that part is different, because I’m not quite asleep right now, though for all intents and purposes, I may as well be.

To get on with it anyway, I was asleep, and so was Falcon I assumed in the other room. I was having this weird dream about working as a checkout chick in a normal supermarket and there were all these people just buying groceries and I just kept scanning all these groceries though the checkouts and putting them in plastic bags, over and over again; real trippy stuff. But yea, so I was asleep, dreaming, until I hear like this strange creeping sound, the sound that those creeper plants make while they’re growing up your wall. You know? That low rumble, almost inaudible, but this time it was clear as day, and there was no mistaking it.

I climbed up from out of my bed. I was in the depths that night, sunken at least six feet under. It took me a little while to wade through all the extra pillows that had somehow fallen on top of me. I pretended like a was one of those cute little blind molerats that they’re always showing on those nature documentaries, burrowing my way though, until I was finally free. I was still blind however, having somehow misplaced the light switch. In my pocket I’d put a lighter. I knew I had a lighter. Westy the trout was keeping it safe for me. Westy had a terribly well developed habit for the pipe, so he used it far more often than I ever did anyway. Still, you never know when you might be in need of a lighter I always say. Like just say you’re out at a bar some night and some really cute bird asks if you’ve got a light, then there’s no need to feel like a twat, digging around in your pocket, pretending like you’ve lost it. You just say, “Hey Westy, you got that lighter I spotted you before? It sure is dark in here isn’t it?”

“Oh hi hi there Mr Fisher, sure thing, I’ve got it right here. And yes, it is quite dark in here now that you mention it. What’s going on then?”

“I think I heard something outside.”

“Outside the house, there’s always something outside the house.”

“No Westy, inside, out in the lounge or something, like a low rumbling, you know like a creeper vine climbing up the side of your house.”

“Oh, yes of course!”

So I got the lighter anyway and lit it up. One of those new models where it can light up the whole entire room. A LIGHTer brand lighter. The jet flame extending about seven inches from the tip. Whatever, I’m getting off track here. Just kick me or something when I start to linger too long on a subject. It’s a tendency I have sometimes, especially when I’m really tired like I am now. This is the good part anyway, so don’t quit on me just yet.

Behind the door I knew there was something, but I didn’t know what it was, so naturally I opened the door. I’m not one to just sit behind a door while I know there’s something interesting behind it. It was still all dark behind the door when I opened it, but what hit me first was the smell, real jungle, or more closely, like a deep tropical rainforest delight. I reached around for the light switch and was hit by a flurry of green light, but coming slow, almost trickling down at a plodding pace from high up above and behind the green canopy. After about a minute or two, it had fully engulfed me and the room and I could see that the whole room was a gigantic overgrown mass of growing and decaying plant matter.

Far out it was good. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, and I almost wondered if I was still dreaming, but no, this was too real, not like my dreams.

When my eyes became accustomed to the light I started to notice all the little details presenting themselves to me, the tiny flowers that were springing up right before my eyes, quickly budding, blooming, and then turning to tiny helicopter seeds that took off with their tiny piston engines in search of a new land. There were hundreds of them, thousands probably, and perhaps even a hundred thousand or more. I could hear their miniature rotors heaving and hoeing though the air, lifting them to dizzying heights around my nose. I almost breathed one in, but merely sneezed a bit, the force of which toppled me over, and I fell with an almost inaudible thump down to the moist ground below.

It was all mossy and wet, slippery and soft, so nice to sit on. I saw, glowing on the ground, the incandescence of a few neon mushrooms. “Rare delicacies these are!” thought I, carefully harvesting the few brilliant specimens. “They’d go great with a spot of jagger root tea.”

The kitchen was relatively unchanged, and I boiled Mr Kettle just like I always do, and poured his hot juices into the cup for a perfect jagger root and neon mushroom tea. Blowing the steam away to cool it down I returned to the rainforest within, only to find that I wasn’t alone.

There, perched upon the sill of the open window was a little green man. No, not an alien or anything like that. He was more like a goblin or something, but he had all this grass and leaves and moss growing all over him and twigs and bits of branches sticking out everywhere from his body. He was really ugly looking, and could certainly have done with a haircut. That grassy, unkempt mane certainly couldn’t have been doing him any favours with the ladies, if you know what I mean.

“So who are you supposed to be then hey? The Green Goblin?” I asked him in a casual tone — the tea was starting to kick in around that time I think.

“My name is Bartholomew Pumpernickel. I am part of the Spirit of the Forest.”

“Part of the Spirit of the Forest? Which part, the bleedin’ left pinky toe?”

“We are a collective conscience of myriad individual beings”

“You’re a what?” Yep, it was beginning to kick in.

“Never mind puny mortal. I am simply here because I used to live on this very spot and I was just driving past with my friends and wondered if I might be able to get a photo with the house. Here, here’s my camera. Watch it though, it’s an old style film camera, so you have to wind it and look through the viewfinder.” He gave me the camera with the utmost of care and relaying a few more thousand instructions on how to use it properly.

“Oh right, I thought maybe you were going to have a go at us for destroying like the natural habitat or something. I would have told you that, you know, it wasn’t us, it was whoever lived here before we moved in, but hey, that was you wasn’t it?”

Young Bart isisted that I take a shot from outside the house, that he had a little trick that he wanted to catch on camera so that he could show all his other forest spirit buddies. I was still only in my jocks and socks, but I figured that it was the middle of the night, no one would be around, and I’d only be outside for a few minutes anyway.

So I get outside and begin to go through the instructions on how to work this great big old wooden camera, when I notice the house begin to shake there in front of me, and start to lift up from its struts. Something was growing from under the house, and growing fast, and before I could do anything at all, the giant fig tree from below had lifted the house clear off the ground about ten metres in the air and had it swinging around quite violently from side to side.

It was then that I saw Bart hanging from the front porch screaming something down to me. “Take it! Take it! Take it now before it’s too late!”

But before I could finish winding the film, taking off the lens cover and lens hood, set the shutter speed and focus, I noticed the little green man come hurtling down towards me. It was Bartholomew of course, behind him, a dazed and confused Falcon, wondering what in all hell was going on.

Reason & Wonder

August 11th, 2009

I’d like to welcome, you to the show
We’ve got all you need, so no need to linger
On thoughts that betray, the games that you play
In the mind you create, you wouldn’t be late
To the party inside, illumination resides
With the path that is paved, with a golden glow
That you know will awaken, the darkest of nights
And let you take flight, through the airwaves untamed
And into the brains, of the modern day prophets
Of reason and wonder, if all you discover
Has always been there, and existed between
All the thoughts that we share, then the path will evolve
and we’ll watch it unfold, in a thousand directions
Of new found perfections, that branch high above
For the love that is leading, the ultimate meaning
Of freedom to be, to listen, to see
That we all sing the same, song in the end
It’s not time to pretend, any more that the war
Raging outside, is not just the same
As the one that you keep, bottled up in your brain

The Disambiguous Dylan

July 30th, 2009

Looking up Bob Dylan as it seems I often do on Wikipedia, I came across this little edit on the Dylan disambiguation page.

Dylan is a boy who lives 14 miles outside from Glasgow he is an only child & loves the USA he has got two cats called Tantrum (age 5) and Potter (age 3). He usually goes out to the cinemas alot. He is coming 13 in November and loves playing World of Warcraft. His favourite food is cheese and pizza. His favourite type of cheese is goats cheese, stilton and cheddar. He made a lot of friends in his 1st year but in his 2nd he doesn’t know if they’re still friendly with them.

Cute. Haven’t the heart to take it down. Hope it stays there for a while..

Dylan - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia_1248889131044

Solitude Amongst the Masses

July 25th, 2009

Lonesome night I hear you suffer
In the midst of all this
Of all this misery & decay
All this misery & decay disguised
Disguised as profit & growth
A glorious profit & growth that
Somehow sweeps the nation
And takes on all that it passes
And passes itself off as something
Something admirable and good, while
Other such similar things are thought
To be held in contempt
This is how it holds its power
This is how it remains on the mind
Its crafty work in remaining here
Will not go unobserved
We are watching and will report
You think you’ve gotten away with it
But we’ve got news for you

Hacking FriendFeed to find Google Reader users to follow

July 23rd, 2009

So yeah, a little while they started implementing changes to Google Reader to make everything just that little bit more social. Seems to be the way things are headed these days.

The people search feature they have currently is next to useless. Figured there had to be a better way to work out if friends were actively sharing.

FriendFeed to the rescue! Imported all my Facebook, Twitter, and Gmail contacts using the automatic friend finder. Then used the service:googlereader search operator coupled with friends:phocks and there we had it, my friends currently sharing. Simply click the “from Google Reader” link underneath and follow happily.

Of course you can mix it up also and find users sharing all kinds of topics like: Firefox, The Beatles, Twitter, iPod, photography, etc.

Happy sharing! Peace.

Interview With Amelia Dowd

July 14th, 2009

For her People I’ll Never Meet project of stealthy exposures from behind. Article coming soon.


1. Who are you and who the hell decided to give you a camera?
My name’s Amelia and I got my first camera when I was 10. It was a spice girls polaroid camera. I still have it, and use it.

2. Brilliant idea! Who did you steal it off?
My sister argues it’s hers. It isn’t. I maintain that.

2a: What’s your weapon of choice now, then?
I use, for this project, an old Pentax P30 i got from an opshop. And for this project I only use AGFA colour 400 expired film. Otherwise I shoot Canon DSLR.

Crossing the street

3. When was the last time your camera was smashed by someone who’s caught you out trying to take them from behind?
Never, I’m far too sneaky for that. I come in smooth and gentle, and they like it once I’m done. It’s like I was never there.

4. How do you choose your victims?
I go with my gut feeling. But it helps if they’re interesting somehow from the back (hairdo/backpack/hoodie/eyes in the back of head). Or if I find them attractive and am too shy to say hello. Which is often.

5. What happens when someone sues?
I run to Japan and start all over again. Under a fake name.

6. How many people have you posed for without knowing about it?
Too many. Mostly when drunk. I can only count because I’ve seen the results on facebook.

Old couple

7. Are you a ninja?
If you can count small, nimble and crafty as the defintion of a ninja, then yes, I’m a ninja.

8. You’ve made up silly little stories about each of these people haven’t you?
Sometimes. It helps in the knowledge that I’ll never, ever know them, that I create a little fiction for each. Maybe that helps me pick them, too.

9. Are people more exposed when they’re unaware that they’re subjects?
I think if you’re being followed and photographed without your knowledge, you’re very exposed. Especially if they’re moving.

10. I want to do this. Any tips for the budding strangertographer?
Get up early, or wait for sunset. That’s the best light, and people are tired in the morning and at night. They’re less likely to pay attention to you and there is bigger crowds. And emotion is more heightened because people are impatient and cranky and are trying to get somewhere. Go places you aren’t used to. Scare yourself a bit. Be brave, but most of all, be invisible.


McCartney Blues

July 9th, 2009

Rock n roll gone sold her soul.
Rock n roll gone sold her soul.
She bargained at the crossroads
When she was only twelve years old.

Now every morning,
The bitter dust comes raining down.
Now every morning,
The bitter dust comes reigning down.
She shuffles into the kitchen
When she hears that awful sound

Crazy daze,
When the kingdom paved the way.
Crazy days,
When the crown paved the way.
I let her in my heart
When she needed a place to stay.

Going down the road now,
Where she threw it all away,
Going down the road now,
Where she threw it all away.
She taught me to write this song
And to sing it where all the children play.

Upon the water,
She sails her ship into the sun.
Upon the water,
She sails her ship into the sun.
The shining of my heart baby
Will pass before the morning comes.

Late at night,
I see the forest for the trees.
Late at night,
I see the forest for the trees.
But I can’t find the answer
‘Cause it’s floating in the breeze.

Up at dawn,
All the children lose their way.
Up at dawn,
All the children lose their way.
Their old road turns to rubble
In the crazy month of may.

I’ll meet you there,
Down the corner of fifth and main.
I’ll meet you there,
Down on the corner of fifth and main.
Where we’ll buy back her soul
of rock n roll and play it once again.

High Dynamic Range Over The Balcony

July 5th, 2009

Been a while since experimenting with any HDR photography.

Another attempt arises. Three shots of differing exposure on a meagre camera and only free software used.

Acceptable results.

New Farm Hill at Dusk

Reckless Abandoned Words

June 23rd, 2009

From one of my addresses over at Blogger, abandoned like many, planned for reworking, reimagining. Content copied here for posterity.

Salute to the Downtrodden

Fraught with ginger headlights blowing
Down the wind that keeps you knowing
About the lost temptation longed for
From the highland town on the foreshore,
We see a dark presence engulf
What was once a mere meeting post
Of ornaments and statues speaking out
To all that hear them scream and shout.

Tiring from the overtime unpaid
The pretty ladies fade away
Dreading the fifth movement of the piece,
Though waiting as though ill at ease
Along the back decks of the seventh sage
Never longing or showing their grace
The forever lost again find a place.

Subterranean Homesick Elation


Take me down, take me out, for all the world to see, eyes closed elation as they stare. The deep coloured clothing hangs from her fortified frame, highly evolved to shoot you down, through the heart, through the mind, on my mind she stands, heels dig in.

Come evolve with me underground. Bring it all back home and then throw it up once more.

A Sombre Light Shines On In The Night

When the terrors of the night come wandering by
I know for sure that we all someday must die,
For the walls are painted with a million shades of gray,
Telling a story of when the wind ran away
Into the ocean, into the sea.
We alone will believe what no one else will see.
Try as you might, you will never walk down
All those paths in your lifetime you might have found.
Actors and agents they claw at my door,
But letting one in means that they all must want more.
Today is the day that they again throw you back.
What news do you bring from the coronary shack?

What Now?

Someone lead me now, failing that, this ship may sink,
Though no one stands there behind the curtain.
No one is pulling at the puppet strings.
Should I invent an entity so great,
That I, even I, could consider following?
Oh how diabolical a deed.
It must be done,
And right away.
My creation will create myself,
This new self,
Leading to the infinite
There for all to see.
Now I become the puppeteer,
That no one can see.