by Timothy Chapman

Your words are footprints in the snow and it keeps a-snowing and you keep a-wandering and the fruit machine plays Beethoven’s fifth symphony beneath mirrors made of sunlight where we find comfort in the faux log fire.

Birthed with a crimson latex cloak we howl from a fecal fountain for the weeping teat. What is comfort but a numbing of the senses? Certainty provides comfort for the foolish (where utopia seeks to reduce perfection to the singular, existence remains unbiased). Life as a book of poems. We are vacant bubbles floating in hot mad lava, random access intruders. Pierce the yolk dawn in Hypnos' nest: oh wandering, waking dream of ganzfeld - rest. Feed the unicorn on the shores of Lethe, inhale the cuneiform of somnambulist breath. Existence as waterfalls: the long plunge, then sudden, new depths. Conditions for collisions: the impact of multiple flows moulds mutants, partial representations collected to form a new beast.

I cling to the teeth of the behemoth, vigorously sharpening fangs as its mouth closes around me. War cries and death screams in the morning traffic - a thousand deafening soliloquies. Solemn sunset resides in argent mourning bed where I collect fragments, images and sounds. Ripples of the wind trace hieroglyphs abundant. Attempting to locate experiential hapax legomenon. Lir bathed my anabiosis in mesonoxian foam. Motatorious roam beyond selcouth regions; my delitescent home. When I looked up I noticed an aeroplane had painted a beautiful motif across the sky with fuel and fumes. Trace the story of your life onto hopeful shadows and be done with story telling - a diary of translucent autopsies. The windows of my old school are boarded up with cast iron sheets but early education still finds gaps to regulate my existence in society. Backstreets like creases in the wrinkled face of the city.

Labyrinthine tunnels beneath the streets reinforce ancient relics of architecture that stand bold and uniform in red brick. Today we found fragments of discipline long forgotten and practiced them in new unknown ways to celebrate the difference within repetition. Unchangeable, ultra constant, anchor in space-time, vital reflexive grounder. Is this so, or are we all hurricanes? Experience as oceanic flotsam, reality washes up on perceptual shores, categorise, quantify, qualify... why build alters? Let flotsam be flotsam. Life is living, survival instincts, social constructs, detours from reality. I walked the city for days manic routes making patterns with footsteps and now with one wing only I circle the skyscrapers and bathe in smog.

Fragments of coherence in everyday life trailing through endless virtual potential. I see reflections of dreams in the fogged window on the top floor of the bus. I read runes of futures unseen on the inside of my eyelids. The first thing I see today I will take into my heart and cherish forever. Forgive everyone always! Property is carnage! Demolish purity! Transcend communication! Compute divinity! Let them feed (industrial genesis)! Throwing visceral pebbles upon abstract pools. Judge your judgments (judgment reduces reality to predetermined texts). Music for life preservation; my acoustic arsenal, but my head no longer attached floats like the last petals of autumn and dreams and fears spill out - are we tracing shadows on the floor as the sun sets? There is nothing to be done except carve trenches in the sand and mould manic chaotic calligraphy and chant to the approaching sea.

Only when all is lost will it begin. I bade farewell to the womb and ate the living heads of beasts. Perceptual jigsaw, endure perpetual realignment. Long shadows of lost memory in high noon of now, floral borders on the desert of yesterday and scintilla of tomorrow. Genetically engineer new bodies of music into sonic chimera of sweet songs with lunar improvisation. Dismember, rearrange and duplicate. I am reborn every morning and I dip my hands in grease before attempting the trapeze. Condensation on windows of the morning bus as an aquatic union of our unseen selves. From swimming underwater to surfacing, walking on land: you are entering a new aquatic ambience. City growing concrete chimera, sea sways invades recedes, wind pulls puppet trees that seed. I run in circles and never see the same thing twice.

Sewer angels dry their tears on golden blankets of yesterday laughing at dreams of redemption, caressed by ergot and rams bones. The railroad is well built but still doesn’t lead anywhere. Translucent figurines bathe in preparation for morning cataract of diaphanous connections. Dream feeders insert exotic waste and I transcribe the sunlight with pale, knife-edge wings. Allow my passage through your alien scented orgy, dazzling eyes and crazy puppet arms, hypnotised by some imagined grandiose rhetoric. The gradual realisation of oblivion. Eyeless, bald mannequins slow waltz to corrugated sheet symphonies. Hundred headed stallions howl at every corner to satisfy the carnage. I am in some crazed world; insect voiced drone banter, wide eyed monsters and coughing, sneezing half dreams. Red eyed demons cower in their shuffling buggies in endless rows and the aluminium sky births endless razor sharp tears. Pigeons chew cigarette butts in ceremonial feasts, manic typing surrounds me like an army of hundred legged plastic spiders and I can see heaven in the fluorescent lamp. There are long toothed eels in the water and passive spectators observe slow destruction. A multitude of vibrations echoing in endless night need no signs. Help me ingest your scum (hope for the hopeless) and mountains are tombs of past worlds.

I am an infinite alien. I chose to live in this body for its lifetime. Wander on the nighttime bloom, soothe the song beneath the moon, daybreak lost, forgotten noon, come again and maybe soon. Seek the wide sea that sleeps in a snowflake: a new cartography of flesh. I enter the swamp, skin immersed, heels in silt; I sink, naked in the moonlight, bathing in the flames, full of whispers: I am nothing at last, summoned to rejoin the dust. The abstract reverie of infinite flux where dusk limns moon drops on the horizon of my lethargy. I greet the abyss with a warm kiss (she has been waiting for me).