goodbye sea, hello magic tree on Flickr.
You gathered the last opus…
You gathered the last opus and wondered meandering through the ancient carnival where seven serpents spilled their indignant venoms over 6 noble truths. Callously stumbling back you envisioned circles of ocelots high above the spewing sentimentality. You drove yourself to hit ‘like’ whilst an unsuspected digital hernia caused your soul to wither like ants in some unspoken furnace, away from a body who jerked and twitched like 7 serpents in a way-too deep ditch. You mustered some remnant and the ocelots disembarked in every direction and still the snakes twitched. Maybe there were no longer 7. You did not know why. So, stolen from some stricken tree a gnarly branch, a sense of space and time restored. You savoured this gently and dreamed of a wayward love and in tears and horror a thousand grasses whispered un-clever demand. They asked for attention - you gave them glue. You wanted to disembark and break away from that distant and shadowy bodily form. But you would have to locate it first and - even then - wringing all the juice out would not guarantee safe passage but rather the likelihood you would crystallise 7 serpents and dismayed ocelots in some eternal unsavoury loop. You could almost hear some distant weep in the flowers in the field where you sat and lost, in earnest, your sense of space, place and time again. Perhaps in the block lies the external truth. That big, black shimmering pile of blockage right behind where your brain makes everything cleverer and hyper significant. In the blockage. That would be where you wondered next. On the outside it gleamed and was a brighter shade of darkness from a kneeling stance. You revered this. You made drawings on tiny papers and surrounded yourself until there was just the safety of now. The - maybe now only 5 - serpents still intent on their twitch and euphoric memories of a divine kill seemed now further away than anything ever was or could be. Their bite healing and portending to some introspective nightmare revealed their aching venoms in this bright blockage. At a whim you wondered if it were possible to grow a holy forest here but realised quickly all trees were plundered in your obsession to make tiny drawings. You hitched and propped up this strange bodily form. You made notes in the undergrowth and convinced yourself of nothing other than these lost truths. You wanted to be reborn. To die and to relive. This was another one of those forlorn trips to the strange carnival where every sound was shrilled and every angle disturbed and perverse and resonated with a potently mysterious nothingness. Deep within aspects of this passageway carnival you countlessly spied openings of truth in a strangers mouth or a lovers hand. But they had all disappeared completely and taken on malevolence; forms of disgust and judgement and sickness. Sometimes this carnival would end - it would bleed away into the eternity from which it formed leaving you with the residue of its malignant embrace. You were not alive nor were you dead, you were left bubbling away in the limbos is in-between; stark and ever ready to cast your fading eyes to your humble unfolding form. You were over. But not for long.
'Goodbye Sea, Hello Magic Tree'
The path of least resistance leads to nowhere.
the last day here on Flickr.
In 2013, so much changed. Everything. You. Me. Them…
Anyway, right at the moment the tides permitted me to swim into new currents of adventure, I photographed Bestival through dazed, amazed and slightly anxious eyes.
And now it’s a digital book.
Waiting here for a small time, you made your own mystical appointments.