100% sleep

Ive let the data-giants into my private-life and now I track my dreams through electricity

im not sure how it works, how it knows when or how I am sleeping, whether I should be scared of the device on my pillow next to my head that produces graphs & sends them to the cloud where they accumulate for years- What would anyone do with my sleep cycles? Isnt sleep the only thing that cant really be monetized? Even though I just gave a company £1.49 to tell me how im sleeping, because I guess Im sleeping wrong. Once sleep is monetized our dreams arent even safe.

sic. (The Third Reich Of Dreams is a book by Charlotte Berandt that maps the psychosocial affect of fascism on the dreams of people during the height of the 2nd world war. )





something like time begins to crumble under the bludred moon. it illuminates the blackness. its own shadow shimmering shrunk. it shrank the desert with its gape – the gaping crescent in the blanket of night – it shrank seas, to the deepest depths its pull pooled, spooling, releasing itself, breathing, as it sleeps the tides move upon it’s chest. the dawn-kiss of total stillness. this morning my flesh sat still around my bones, i can feel the hairs extending out of my pores, coarse hairs matt my flesh & broken nails splinter, folds of skin overlap one another & dust gathers in the corner of rooms.

balls of hair neatly ordered by size & colour underneath floorboards creaking and the murmur of male tones through too-thin-walls. creaks that linger like ghosts.

  • Blood.

(ist) (hanging flesh like strewn up over curtain rails like bulbous bags of brine soaked rags a great grey cavernous thing a pool of grey water, an aerial view of a pool of grey water with pink socks floating amongst tired fishes)))

(debt) this stuff just hangs off of me I dont remember putting it there and my body doesnt feel connected anymore, and the internet therapists say connection is the reason for living and that I need to expose my vulnerability to get to the ‘me’ in the ‘me’ the inside space thats warm & glowy,

I go to work and I do all the processes like a machine I tick off the list for maximum efficiency & this is killing my creativity. & the dust gathers & the debt is accumulating tick tick apply yourself keep your area clean and tidy like this not that, – (please, try to fracture the boring dystopia)—  

—fracture the dystopia—

(fawn) inside theres pearls of passionfruit dripping mango sweet on pink lips in bloody skies, fractured rocks glowing gauntlet in endless grey,—– these expansive oceans- the light comes thru my window reflected on stainless steel my warm bed the curtains hang the dust is visible in the sunlight. bits of you and me all entwined together. im trying to get out of my head to the bigger things bigger then me all of this, its half the fight (for the dawnlight)



Declarations Of Love


All forms of friendship, kindness and love are political and radical acts in our current state of being >>  >>. this love, extending to all life-forms, everywhere >>

Men constructing buildings to the right of me— An expansive space ((sparse)). The curvature of a town is reflected in glass gaussian clouds over me – grey and glowing like ancient dreams filtered through steamed up glasses — the reflections are sexy, they remind us of the surfaces which mediate our lives — the images are desirable, aesthetically pleasing, send shivers down your spine, make you horny. Everything is pressed against this window, this shopfront, this reflective pool; tits splayed on glass, nipples larger than real life, the hues of not quite morning. Out on the street you are dancing, with eyes resting on the curve of your breasts through cotton – your nipples are visible, its hot, a man tells you to put a bra on- hes been looking at you- your jeans are tight now too everything is too tight– close//near//squeezing//touching//gliding//glimpsing —

Im walking down the street and a man shouts at me to put a bra on, I suppose he can see right through me. I suppose he can seethru me I suppose I am seethru I suppose I am seethru I am seethrough

a marketing executive used his mobile phone to spy on a woman as she undressed because he could not handle the stress of his job.

Afterhours, Nocturnal animals communicate through echoes in this chamber – the nightlife skulks , the depths, the caves, the ocean floor, silky translucent skin showing thin-like-bone-structure. The night is full of opportunities, and a great way to avoid the perils of daytime living.

To navigate in a straight line and escape from their competitors, these nocturnal animals follow the faint path of light of the milky way in the sky above.

All sorts of things come to the surface, under the shadow of darkness, wriggling around like worms in soil.

We are leaking, sticky fluids formed from figs, fragrant like pearls stuck in your teeth.

daddy I dance on your shoes, Daddy crawls the night-drunk-partyscene-thebigdog——i am your little sister, i am your sister;;;;;;

my tits are transformed into two halves of a fig bitten down the middle, i am transformed into two halves of a fag bitten down the middle.

From the gut, the rot, the deep, the core, the camo. The camoflague. make clicks and squeeks that bounce off trees. Hide in the cracks. Echolocating- sending signals to my sisters through the cover of darkness. Folds of skin that look like elegant silk wrapped around u, your body a lightshow, Floating in thick air I find myself enveloped in darkness, a sensory deprivation tank, Taking away my senses

Oily black water lapping ice cold over sordid skin

Somehow, theres a seperation here between the I and the I, the flesh and the core, pacified, I want to touch your eyes I want to see right through you.

—- She protests, exhausted, she wears these outrageous costumes

i am worried because the night is long and all the men are aimless


cave speech

11 secrets of unsuccessful people, please click here for more info
Contradictory consciousness-management has superseded social anxiety about Bad Faith.
It’s difficult to place your finger on it, at times, its rather unbearable. The sinking in the core of your stomach

The      unplaceable      guilt

that shackles bones and stops you dead

A warm stuttering, a membrane stretching over your head, keeping you safe,pure. translucent, glass shimmer, frosted pane. Pushing walls made of stone, breezeblocks murmuring in corridors, in alleyways, tired tired and half drunk. A drank, stank. Dank. A body, a wave, a spatter, slice, a section of flesh, a fucking for freedom. A pushing. An integer / integral component

An orifice, pink and fleshy, pulsating. Groundwork. Concrete. Crumbling. As limbs intervene with spatial certainties. A ghost. Phantom, organ. Purple shades glistening in midnight shadows. growl

0 hour contract 50 hour workweek

Please grind these rocks into sand and bury yourself deep within the caverns below. Please inject these silicon tits with your pain, projected. Keep Calm and Carry On Keep Calm and Carry On The Planes Are Circling Overhead . Seeking dynamic, driven and enthusiastic individual to attend their own funeral 40 hrs a week, 10-15k, apply within. Seeking proactive, flexible human w. encyclopaedic knowledge & tenacity for driving UP-SALES to dig own grave on casual basis -10k pro-rata. Dependent on experience. Please exploit me wholly, I pray
We don’t agree with the manual I know it doesnt work but we just have to do it this way okay? . My body is riling pulsating, crumbling

The promised land is within . heaven and hell are in the same place. Youve got to be in it to win it ! Youve got to work your way up! the qwueens got an offshore tax haven n i gotta pay hmrc 55p a minute to call them about over-taxing my minimum wage 0 hr contract jobs . Mothers become motion blur on my periphery, children stuffed with cheap meat scream profanities, the grey sky is painted on your face. The streets are strewn with trash, parts of your pain to  be ravaged by night foxes and alley cats. Your pain wrapped in cellophane. Lucky to be working to be moving your body to the beat of the rota – 1. 2. 3 . minimum wage if you’d be so lucky. The grey sky is painted on your face. Dry damp caves. Everything over here is corrupt and messy.

Planes overhead circle. Planes circle overhead.


october 16th 2017- iphone note

young girl, mossy fields and endless skyscrapers

>>>> Tight sinews rocking back and forth in motion, the pound of sculpted muscle on concrete. Hazed skies dance across window panes and block out skyscrapers

(a Diamond / a fractal / not quite a geizeer)

Sound of air being pushed through tight smog, resonating      the indistinguishable pump of car speakers

moth water licked with green

/ I forgot where I was for a minute

In my palm I can feel each bone as it flexes on the joint – im almost quite certain there is blood rushing through these veins

Back to the palm of your hand, where it was warmer in the dawn-light

/ Stick your shard in my eye,  your beautiful garden


listening to the ground

watered down

head in the sand

drunk on self love

yoga pants stretching over war torn lands

the beak of property developers rears its head

the most happening place in town  to get your hand crafted eco friendly coffee

poured over fresh wax

motorbike engine in the distance a burr a whirr

leather reflected in the curve of gleaming stainless steel.

the pubs are full, the barmaid complains of back ache, her estranged husband, alcoholism.

on the last train home the carriages full of people you call strange- pockets full of pennies dirty cash to get on the lash dirty knees bent

an old man perching nearby down

on crack alley

the babies cry the kids are dirty the streets are dirty the men in suits propagate a new property-for rent- lets not squirm in the alley daddy.

kids arrested for bunking- the schools can’t handle it the services are stretched the summers are stretched and its been too long.

the heat is still melting the asphalt although it rains

the puddles are still reflecting the haze of too many long days

on this side of town the people are alive they’re living, everything falls silent around us- give your grandad a hug and dream of the rain, its a small world they’re saying

i used to work with his auntie debbie, used to go clubbing back in the day, the clock keeps beating on and time won’t stop for no one.

a couple click their fingers at the barmaid demanding quicker service.

the air is misty oily autumns coming they say.

the geezers the fellas the lads the ladies-couples in navy blue work jackets though they’ve never really had to work.

everything tired and sagging a bit grey.

us and them never felt quite so raw.

the lillies are flowering from the dirty dish water, the stagnant water rises, thousands of petals flood the streets, its all coming up roses.

the kids are in love, fire in their bellies, everyone sings together, an anthem to the moon, the sun rises over dirty mattresses- the wheels turn.

groups of women and men dressed to the nines living up the good times —sweat on the forehead belly full of beer swirling around looking for gear a joyous embrace in a pub toilet on the dance floor, karaoke till late, singing the greats arms around each other tears rolling down its coming home we’re gonna make it out alive i think i hope i hope.

i can’t not see it i can’t unsee it

turbo gear


fast cars

getting nowhere

cash flow

business deal

babies crying

motors revving

men and women and children with no homes

the finest artisan bread loaves and flat whites on tap

the gooder stuff

getting good


giving children a fair chance

please do not stop

a scottish lass of 21- on the streets of london- the world spins all around her – can’t stop it just for a second- her face shrouded in shadows, she’s in the shadow of the city lights, big business, these big glass buildings reflecting nothing but windows into windows into windows- it never sleeps, the stocks, whatever, invest in it, get yourself on the property ladder buy yourself a brand new aeropress and talk about your rolex- your kid dines on smoked salmon and fois gras and she’s got no shoes and the forests burn

holsten pils

tenant super

k cider

please love us equally big man in the sky

the night is nigh


sexting series part 0

0. organ shaking

a fractal space

the disembodied mind

(armour clad & crave nearer half light)

0. Fallen perspective. bones protruding from cellular forms

malleable skin powdered in dust and placed amongst see through plastic sheen lotus petals

0. a body wrapped in its own cast shadow

the uncertainty of your own reflection in the dust

0. sheen blue chiffon lace on a leather basin

2 codfish enshrined in resin

(NOTE) the body mountain, movement (bass)

black holes