Manifesto of ism

We walk though the streets of London, New York, Paris, Prague, Barcelona, Skegness, inhaling air heavy with metaphors, eyes set alight by the microscopic pyrotechnics of quotidian symbols hitherto debased by the outmoded conventions of a bankrupt civilisation decomposing in the land-fill of philosophy.

For too long we have laboured under the yolk of a reality fabricated by those with a vested interest in maintaining the outmoded conventions of performative narco-capitalist post-imperialist antineoquasilibertyrannepotism.

What is be done to smash the walls of the rat-infested dead-end in which we as artists, citizens, human beings and artists find ourselves?

We propose a total, wholesale, tautological, hyperbolic rejection of the outmoded conventions of everything that everyone has ever done before, combined dialectically with the utter, rhetorical, portentous adoption of other conventions arguably just as outmoded but less visible to the bovine masses and scum-sucking journalists, on account of the intimidatingly foreign names of their proponents, theorists and practitioners.

We shout the names you can’t pronounce from the ruined rooftops: Bataille! Baudrillard! Lukács! Kierkegaard! Debord! Duchamp! Schwitters! Etc!

In brief:

Everything is part of a system!
The system is shit!
All systems are shit!
Ism offers a new system!
The ism system is not shit!
Everything is simple!
Everything is complex!
Everything is nothing!
Nothing is something!
Words are nothing!
Words are the only things!
We must set fire to the ladder of reality!
We must drown the puppies of cultural hegemony!
We must humiliatingly probe the anus of discourse!
I am a big ape!
I have big hairy testicles!
I have ism!
You are a smaller ape!
You have small, bald testicles!
You have no ism!

The artist of the future has a duty to dismantle the certainties of apples, oranges and bananas. He will put a metaphor of a metaphor in their place, metaphorically.

Man in a Hammock

IMG_5308

man
 in a hammock
private ensembles
 in some regal salon
 play upwards
 ethereal
 to the sun king
 in his hammock
in the ribbed rafters
 eccentric
 upon the scale gables played
 &
 upon the walls soundes crept
 noted in alabaster
 cantata on the cherubims' backs
decrescendo
 in sussurate
 chiaroscuro
 illuminate
basting the ceiling
 in rich golden oils
Beyond French windows
 Constructed by Italians
 Peacock blinks
 Twists
 & idles to the gardens
Crotchets fall from the roof
 in bars aire d by a boistrous cuisin
created
below

What is the moon?

What is the Moon?

What is the moon Martha, what is the moon?

The moon is the blemished bowl of a lunatic spoon from which you slurp your salty porridge.

What is the moon Mary, what is the moon?

The moon is a many-mouthed monster; one moment it’s a yawning gob, the next a manic grimace. We must feed it.

What is the moon Mandy, what is the moon?

The moon is the spat-out, rotten tooth of Sandra Chandra; the goddess of bag-ladies.

What is the moon Miranda, what is the moon?

The moon is the thumbprint left behind by the crazy bastard who stole the daylight.

What is the moon Minnie, what is the moon?

The moon is the sun’s bitching bling.

What is the moon Maxine, what is the moon?

The moon is a jug of jism – sometimes half-empty, sometimes half-full.

What is the moon Mildred, what is the moon?

The moon is an orange that looks like a walnut that looks like a bollock that looks like a prune that looks like a lemon segment.

What is the moon Millie, what is the moon?

The moon is a rubber-clad dominatrix & we are her submissive. She stands, whip in hand, teasingly close.

What is the moon Margret, what is the moon?

The moon is a pair of Y-fronts turned inside out to reveal, in their gusset ,the remnants of a vindaloo skid-mark.

What is the moon Mable, what is the moon?

The moon is a miserable rhinoceros teetering on a pair of stilts borrowed from a Bolivian acrobat called Pogol. It carries an audience of 3 in a pouch.

What is the moon Magdalene, what is the moon?

The moon is the newly designed packaging for the latest clitoral stimulator recently posted to Mr G. String. It is full of PVA & Rice Crispies.

What is the moon May, what is the moon?

The moon is a soggy chip.

What is the moon Molly, what is the moon?

The moon is a monastery for the Venerable Order of Cephalopods.

What is the moon Melissa, what is the moon?

The moon is a surface in space where a race of astro-plaice takes its place with grace. They swim in the sea of tranquility like lacy bras.

What is the moon Michelle, what is the moon?

The moon is a clock that perpetually displays the time as 00:00 (zero hundred hours).

What is the moon Marianne, what is the moon?

The moon is a button waiting for a finger capable of pressing it. And on that day all colour will invert to its complementary hue and we shall have orange skies.

What is the moon Megan, what is the moon?

The moon is a de-hydrated dog turd.

 

 

Bugs in Space (incorporating ‘Captain Anoxia and the Space Centipedes, Episode 1’)

1

The Golden Maggot has eaten almost all the Sun’s core, and just a 200,000 km layer protects us. Its metamorphosis into God-Fly is beginning.

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The Giant Yinyang Firefly lies across the meridian of Mercury, with its totally dark head in the hot zone and its luminous tail in the cold.

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Venus’s flytraps, the jaws of which can grow to 100 miles across, have been eating our probes since 1961.

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The locusts of Mars just woke up after millions of years to find all the canals are dry and all the crops are dust: they’re hopping mad…

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Criminal Martian arachnids have destroyed their cages on Phobos and Deimos and have begun to bind the asteroids within a single colossal web.

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One tiny butterfly, the Red Spot Emperor, is responsible for all the storms on Jupiter. When not flapping, it sharpens pencils obsessively.

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The cockroaches of Saturn are subject to a continuous rain of uncut diamonds which encrusts their armour, making them the wealthiest of Blattaria.

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Metallic midge clouds are compelled by Uranus’s magnetic field to form the shapes of huge moustaches, ocean liners, and, ironically, irons.

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The Hermit Crab of Neptune lives in an abandoned spiral galaxy, and plays its underwater violin in memory of all those tiny dead stars.

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Due to an earlier broadcast by the Reverend Spooner, Goth microbes on Pluto anxiously await radio waves bearing the music of the Misters of Circe.

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The Invisible Planet Beetle who rolls the worlds around has just heard how gravity is taking all the credit and is totally going to sue.

2

Message received from observation dome in the mountains on Sedna, scratched into metre-thick glass by diamond-tipped whiskers of space centipedes:

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‘Speed-dial ‘OOKSEE’? Tan a mole? No: too fast up Sedna’s Andes puts a foot on ELO manatee’s kool-aid deeps…’

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Chimeric teams are still trying to decipher the message, written simultaneously by heads & tails of mile-long palindromic space centipedes.

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We have identified the centipedes’ reference to ‘ELO manatee’ as most likely relating to the Jeff Lynngong:

image

 

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The Chimeric station on Sedna has become unstable due to palindromes scratched into the glass by space centipedes. Abandoning it for Eris.

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Captain Anoxia is hoping to planet hop trans-Neptunian objects till we reach Ice Station Pluto. Space centipede numbers increasing.

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We seem to be witnessing a mass migration of space centipedes from the Oort Cloud towards the outer planets. Will continue to monitor whi…