More Kabbalistic Techno.
Neshamah Sound System by OG Spurious Scholars
Saturday 27 February 2010
The Visitor
Thresholds fold. Solid Gold.
Two lungs full of water
I awake inside a chalk triangle, unable to move. Mucous coated. Foetal response. Shouts from the shadows.
Candles flicker, their dim light blinding to eyes so used to blindness.
Tongues of Angels pronounce catastrophic. I am surrounded by visions and memories, echoes of a past and future no longer separated by the razor blade of Now.
A stream of blood makes it's way towards me, a slow roll across wooden floorboards. As it touches the apex of my geometric prison it becomes two, branching out along the white outline.
Choking cough, splutter.
Gasp.
Finally, I exhale.
.: .:
Two lungs full of water
I awake inside a chalk triangle, unable to move. Mucous coated. Foetal response. Shouts from the shadows.
Candles flicker, their dim light blinding to eyes so used to blindness.
Tongues of Angels pronounce catastrophic. I am surrounded by visions and memories, echoes of a past and future no longer separated by the razor blade of Now.
A stream of blood makes it's way towards me, a slow roll across wooden floorboards. As it touches the apex of my geometric prison it becomes two, branching out along the white outline.
Choking cough, splutter.
Gasp.
Finally, I exhale.
.: .:
Monday 15 February 2010
Waratah Blossom
Here is a new(ish) song I've made as Spurious Scholars. It's available as a free download on a recent Mind on Fire compilatonalong with tracks from a number of Manchester musicians including CZUK.
More songs from the Spurious Scholars studio are on the way.
Waratah Blossom by OG Spurious Scholars
More songs from the Spurious Scholars studio are on the way.
Waratah Blossom by OG Spurious Scholars
Friday 12 February 2010
Excerpt from Chapter IV (A Novel)
A rogue beam of early morning light cuts across the room, having easily out flanked the filthy towels and bedding I flung over the broken curtain rail. Apollo’s plague tipped arrow, announcing the horrors of a new dawn, a new day, a new ruin. A headache. The shadowy creatures of the other world are still nearby, but becoming less tangible, slipping back into the void I had dragged them from. Forgotten. Symbols with out meaning, like the mysterious Star of Babel (how many points did it have again?), conjure fevered debates without conclusion, restless discourses and oafish rebuttals. No way of telling what’s being said anymore, the walls of this absurd theater are forever expanding, the chorus’ voices echoing, merging in to one unspeakable tongue.
I'm twisting, still fully clothed from the previous evening, trying to find a position that doesn't invite spasms of pain. The sickening sweet taste of undigested whiskey lingers in the back of my dry mouth, one wrong move and it will break free of it's corporeal prison. I grab a pillow and wrap it over my face, providing slight relief, then remain as still as possible- occasionally shifting slightly to whimper like a wounded animal.
Of course, this ritual is performed in vain. I am well aware that in just seventeen minutes my alarm clock will begin to shriek. Try as I might to drown this abhorrent thought in a sea of Nothingness, it rises back to the surface like rotting log. That cursed clock. As I lay awake it's designed function is no longer valid, but rather than allow it's circuitry to be reduced to redundancy it has evolved. Once Chronos' slave, now it is his most trusted oracle. It breathes inevitability. Previously, that piercing sound was like a slapstick tug out of the dreamworld- it left me reeling, disorientated, angry in dazed wonder. But the days of comically chasing my clock around the room- Grasping. Missing- are gone. I'm already awake. In fact, in these moments I exist only to wait for it.
Waiting for the prophet to emerge from his cave. Knowing that his trumpet call signifies a painful transition. Lying here, red eyes shielded by a pillow from the sun, my body petrified in booze soaked agony, I know that the worst is yet to come. This is only purgatory.
Still I try to forget. There's another part to this ritual. I lay on my back imaging a white light. The aim is to concentrate on the light until it fills my consciousness, leaving me blind and content. Well, that's the theory anyway. Today it flickers like a hanging bulb in some shit smeared brothel- for an instant it increases in luminosity before fizzing out into the dullest glow. I strain my mind to bring it back but it's going the wrong way, into darkness and beyond. The point that the light once occupied in my mind has become a roughly torn hole through my dark prison walls, opening up an infinite new realm of shadows. I can hear voices calling to me from outside, beckoning me towards them. I stay put. But there's no escape and they come in. Howling my name, the Hordes approach. They bring with them visions of the coming day, or perhaps memories from the previous one- it's all the same.
Gasping, I open my eyes again. I look towards the clock. Three minutes left. Resigned to defeat, I lay on my side- never taking my eyes from my digital tormentor. I wonder why I'm doing this to my self again, if it would really be so bad to be one of Them? Surely, a roof and four walls can't be worth this. Stability. The irony of the word is enough to make me laugh aloud. Stagnation would be more apt. One minute to go. My thoughts fall silent for the first time since I woke, I am overcome by a tiredness so heavy I can't resist. After a morning of squirming restlessness, I now feel as if I could sleep all day. Maybe I'll stay home. Tell them I'm sick. Hell, I won't even call them. Maybe I could-
I am interrupted by The Sound.
Moloch has spoken.
I obey.
I'm twisting, still fully clothed from the previous evening, trying to find a position that doesn't invite spasms of pain. The sickening sweet taste of undigested whiskey lingers in the back of my dry mouth, one wrong move and it will break free of it's corporeal prison. I grab a pillow and wrap it over my face, providing slight relief, then remain as still as possible- occasionally shifting slightly to whimper like a wounded animal.
Of course, this ritual is performed in vain. I am well aware that in just seventeen minutes my alarm clock will begin to shriek. Try as I might to drown this abhorrent thought in a sea of Nothingness, it rises back to the surface like rotting log. That cursed clock. As I lay awake it's designed function is no longer valid, but rather than allow it's circuitry to be reduced to redundancy it has evolved. Once Chronos' slave, now it is his most trusted oracle. It breathes inevitability. Previously, that piercing sound was like a slapstick tug out of the dreamworld- it left me reeling, disorientated, angry in dazed wonder. But the days of comically chasing my clock around the room- Grasping. Missing- are gone. I'm already awake. In fact, in these moments I exist only to wait for it.
Waiting for the prophet to emerge from his cave. Knowing that his trumpet call signifies a painful transition. Lying here, red eyes shielded by a pillow from the sun, my body petrified in booze soaked agony, I know that the worst is yet to come. This is only purgatory.
Still I try to forget. There's another part to this ritual. I lay on my back imaging a white light. The aim is to concentrate on the light until it fills my consciousness, leaving me blind and content. Well, that's the theory anyway. Today it flickers like a hanging bulb in some shit smeared brothel- for an instant it increases in luminosity before fizzing out into the dullest glow. I strain my mind to bring it back but it's going the wrong way, into darkness and beyond. The point that the light once occupied in my mind has become a roughly torn hole through my dark prison walls, opening up an infinite new realm of shadows. I can hear voices calling to me from outside, beckoning me towards them. I stay put. But there's no escape and they come in. Howling my name, the Hordes approach. They bring with them visions of the coming day, or perhaps memories from the previous one- it's all the same.
Gasping, I open my eyes again. I look towards the clock. Three minutes left. Resigned to defeat, I lay on my side- never taking my eyes from my digital tormentor. I wonder why I'm doing this to my self again, if it would really be so bad to be one of Them? Surely, a roof and four walls can't be worth this. Stability. The irony of the word is enough to make me laugh aloud. Stagnation would be more apt. One minute to go. My thoughts fall silent for the first time since I woke, I am overcome by a tiredness so heavy I can't resist. After a morning of squirming restlessness, I now feel as if I could sleep all day. Maybe I'll stay home. Tell them I'm sick. Hell, I won't even call them. Maybe I could-
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