no hat is mad hat. 

another zine

http://www.mixtapezine.bigcartel.com/

Today Light

Today 

open

today

fresh

baguette 

wandering

through rooms

wandering 

with warm hands 

and cool gifts 

glow

today light

a small poem 

thanks.

69/125

swaped few our zines @ zineswap tonight.
Liked this one
http://www.bridgethevoid.blogspot.com/
(for drawings)

Fuck Spring

i wandered lonely as a cunt

picked a few 

daffodils 

then went

home

better place than home?!

how to make a flower
and hide inside it?

A place of fragile beauty
full of sweet honey and scent,

+ little Thumbelina perhaps,
(if you're lucky),
for a company, chat and tabletop games...

Altermodern Review

Altermodern is Peter Coffin - who gets it right by dimming the lights, in what appears to be a normal Tate Britain room, creating a comic sense of trespass in an old institution - casting an eerie florescent glow over an old painting of heads, or leaving a Victorian painting in the half dark. Genuine gasps of surprise attend his installation. This is the only work which strikes an experiential balance between old and new - which engages interestingly with its environment, without sticking its fingers in its ears and shouting. Bourriard speaks of Altermodernism as a re-engagement with history, and Tate B is full of it... 

A Poem for the Underground

Your face in my armpit

My pit's in your face:

Fuck this,

Next time i'm walking.

future in the past

these are pictures from the past of what the future was imagined to be going to be.

{

She wore her mother's ring, a braid of cotton thread around one wrist, old skirts from second-hand shops which she never washed. The wool was coarse. The linings sometimes fell apart. In the pockets she found old dry-cleaning tickets and the glowing remains of watches touched with radium. She swung her feet sitting on the bus. She swung her arms when she walked. Her scarf was the colour of lake water in winter, and then it was the colour of a bird flying, each feather a thin, brilliant knife. She was rarely late. She carried ginger biscuits with her. She went everywhere in her coat and hat. The weather cooperated. The trains ran on time. All in all the basket she made of her life held water fine.

get your free Finger Forest copy

Upload the pdf copy of the first Finger Forest zine
http://www.sendspace.com/file/1o9ja8

link at the bottom of the sendspace page

Inspiration Park

+12 school boys 

- 12 yellow petals

few paper boats in the pond

tout le monde

 

old poem

on the ghostly imagination of age winding

cotton vignettes

round worm index

creeping with the tallow

to turn in alone

the cliche

is the creaking

of an absent sound

step then

hearth or cold breath

to detail an eye or splinter

of a face which may appear

flickering in the dark

a milk sweet shard

spooned from the black yolk

as from behind the projector

comic gloom spreads

its lacking and effort

a mantle of fleeting erections

slipping fecal prediction

into diseased hands

Sorty

we came through the light tunnel back into the forest. camouflaged in colours and twigs, the sounds of twigs snapping melding with the rain and wind. creeping low we made our story. the enemy squished his heels in deep and we spoke in their tread. wheels of light filling the holes, pinning leaves to our green faces, we were barking. a bird guided us into a cave and showed us a shot of quartz. dunked in a pint of blood we sucked it for images. it grew into tongues too long through for the throat. we tried to swallow but it got lodged. we nearly suffocated, and with the effort came a song, not unlike the bird at first, but growing worse. we went deeper in, armed with scales. the light threw animals round the cave; mechanisms. in the centre is where the imagination of the surface is reformed. we found the computer glowing blue, a pool. letters twitched over the screen. we drank, dipping our hands in a praying dive. there is no gravity in the cave, liquid pools in jelly forms and can be bitten like an apple, or fully opened eyes. she stood before us in white with transparency. a figure from an album - all cliches combined - a cradle, long hair, large eyes, hips dancing. her head hovered an inch above our shoulders. it drifted towards us and kissed each one. the body made gestures, throwing shadows on the walls, angering the animals. the cave begins to melt like skin streaming off bone. the forest appears around us again. now we had eyes and hearts, voices with tongues and a story to tell. each insisted on a different song. some held the head was carried on a string, others by a skunk, still more by a crocodile, only visible from one perspective. each insisted on their own truth for fear of being suckled back into the cave. in this way language was born.

Three Ideas

Give everyone in the room a tree-like piece of broccoli. Each stands holding the broccoli upright. A miniature forest appears. each arm becomes a root, each head a moon, body the land, and speech the sea. Speech is altered. Many resort to medieval inflection - thee and thy.

Break into your own house. Steal your most valuable possessions and sell them. Use the money to replace the window or door you kicked in. Tell the story as often as possible.

I would like to commission a giant pint shaped glass - a glass for goliath - as a public sculpture. The glass has the volume for a years worth of blood. It is sighted outside in a town centre. The glass is strengthened so it cannot be smashed. During the year, it fills with rainwater. It becomes a lens and latent fountain. Birds drink from it. In another part of the city there is an equivalent sized wine-shaped glass. 

Paradise Moon

How do people meet after all? Some travel from one ear to the other, across an entire planet, against time, through customs - to find themselves in the same house, exactly a year later, to write a book. mutual friend. i think of it. water finds a path through rock - a path through fault lines, which is faultless. 

The Martian Garden (1)

It's a plan of the garden or the design of a park, but also a herbarium. A herbarium of propositional plants carefully preserver between the pages of volumes of my memories. Volume 1 - childhood... which plant is remembered and why? Which will i take with me from the past to the future? 

A Christmas tree, you've said?! No, we always had an artificial tree. I wonder how many trees were saved during all those years? One tree a year, adds up to a little copse through out a years. A copse of saved Christmas trees! Let it grow here in the north. It the middle of the wood I'll arrange a little glade with bench under a silver birch - a small memento of my first kiss. The birch and bench were on the hill overlooking a small lake (let's make it a pond) all in white. It winter the snow made fluffy pillows on the pine trees, but the brunches of the silver birch stay almost bare, with the bright winter stars shining through the dark net of branches. It was winter back then: shimmering snow, glimmering stars, me and the boy kissing under the silver birch...

Further into the plan and years ago would be a row of three trees opposite the front door of a wooden house. My grandfather planted a tree to celebrate the birth of each child. The oldest was maple , then the bird cherry in the middle, and a poplar the youngest tree for my father. The trees did well, all three of them.

Under the windows of my parent's flat a few bird cherries also grew. they blossomed beautifully in the spring and birds enjoyed their berries until winter. lots of birds, they sang, my mum fed them, and our cat desperately made futile hunting poses in endless anticipation...

I have to say sorry for a few trees, which were chopped down, not by me exactly, but I did not mind very much. Three huge cypress trees - all vastly overgrown for our tiny garden, sucking all the goodness, from the soil and stopping everything else from growing despite all my efforts. They had to go, the authorities agreed and claimed that they might also be dangerous. Anyway, the tree cypress trees will be so much happier not being squeezed between the garden shed and the parking lot - but in the wild near the road and the field. Here. I'll plant more then just three - to say I'm really sorry...

sweet potato
one,

sweet potato, grilled.

one,
one,

The Keeper

this beak of bitten light

spots the transient gesture

opening palms 

to the shrapnel 

stars 

the eyes of this 

terrific night.

hand out island

filled with 

little silver

nib-confetti

discounted to x ray

moonlighting for chain mail

heart shaped as spades edge

to scratch out an iconic maze

a cutters line 

for digging chests  

heaving with lace & 

lumber

mechanical trunks 

twisted into the 

curtained spectre

up the steps & 

over board

to sink into a counter erasure.

good bye

1.good bye good bye go-od bye -
my name/ i love you/ ok-fine/ that's ok.

this is love story
and
romance

2.good bye good bye go-0d bye-
hungry/go go/ delicious/eat together/

this is good food restaurant guide

3.good bye good bye go-od bye-
flower/ring/jewelery/expensive buy me/

this is
who do sexually immoral relationship with
teenaged girls

4.good bye good bye go-od bye
chi-ki/ chaka/ chicha ka/ chichaka good bye-

end:good bye.

gardener's prayer

Moist to all,

Sunshine, mild weather conditions 

and friendly insects to those 

who are blooming. 

Keep growing &

green it up.

amen

strap line

FINGER FOREST - we use our fingers and (other) recycled materials only.

by Kata Pillar*

*Katya

how to check if the soil is ready?

Take a handful of soil 

and make it into a ball

lift it up, up, up 

and a bit higher

and then let it fall...

HOW TO ATTRACT THE WORMS 

AND SET THEM WORKING???

1,
fresh baguette,
gave to number2 a
very

very
white
and pure, but not fresh teeth,

2,
*
gave to number2
a
dark
one.

New Song

i put up a new song, called 'custard probe', at:

www.myspace.com/paroxetinedream

let me

sing

let me dance
let me show you ,

let me, let me

number 2

mummer mummer mummer.

11:59

good morning
and

soon,
good afternoon.




good night
and

soon,
good morning.

song idea

everyone knows

which way to go

when it's bedtime at

the sanctuary

no one bows 

for the end of the show

when it's bedtime at

the sanctuary...

* and fresh baguette

* and fresh baguette

yes,
hello

morning 7 am,
window
and
dolls

eight dolls
dresses
standing altogether,
7 dolls standing back
one staring at * and baguette.

hello,
7:03am.