Deeper into the night, swimming slowly down the underwater tunnels where the light reaches pitch black, torches held but not yet in use, batteries are low and we will need to use them sparingly, remember? Diving equipment is lightweight, less air in the packs but small enough to squeeze through some of those tight crevices we heard about. I turn round to see how far you are behind me, having felt the guide rope tug a bit back there. I turn around and you are gone. Flash-light quickly turned on. Breath. Stay calm. Somewhere near. There is no place to go except forward and back. The rope is clean cut, a knife cut. Had you had enough and gone back? Why didn’t you say anything? You could have told me you wanted to go back, I would have agreed. Would I have agreed? OK, we would have argued for a minute or so and then you would have won. A black shape falls towards me, your knife, threads of rope caught between the serrated edges. How long have I been alone? Fuck you. I’m going down alone, I’ll get there on my own, no-one has ever done that, and I’ll be the first. And I get to make you feel jealous when I get back. OK, it should be another hundred feet this way and then it curves to the right. An other black object falls down towards me through the cold water as I shine the torch back, just in case, and I lose it from the beam after a few seconds when the battery dies. How long was I looking back for? I thought it was a minute or so but these batteries are new, they should last four, five hours maybe. Shit, it’s dark. OK, fuck this, I’m going back. I start to swim upwards when I hit a roof. What roof? There is no roof. Fuck, why doesn’t the torch work? Shit, is the tunnel getting smaller or did I miss this detour on the map? This shouldn’t be here. OK, downwards it is, into the black.

Half-arsed shrugs and “I supposes”
Forgiveness grunts for gifts of roses

Just as long as you’re sure he knows his
Limitations and if he goes his

Own way once more
Then there

Will be
Consequences.

Head, hurt with hangover
Hung heavy over knees
Like a babies
Sofa sat with slow movements
To test the waters of the morning
And gage the damage done
By last nights indiscretions

Please be still
Please be quiet
Please let the light be dulled
And progressively pull the duvet
Ever closer

Once
There would have been curses
And promises such as
Never again will I…

But we are all older now
And the small wisdom we have
Tells us that this is not
How we grow wiser
There is no new knowledge here.
Only the recognition
And endless repetitions
Of life’s follies

Comment:
Blue Lantern
sadly true…

Slipshod manner of making this safe
we toiled away for twenty-two days
and lost out on points
to peace-corps on shore leave
who, with training, ensured that
their boat endured storms
of a full force eight
that left all our efforts looking shoddy indeed,
seeing as how all those people died.
But boat building is in our blood
and we’ll beat those bastards next year,
should they return from digging wells
and establishing plumbing in far off countries.
I felt the twelfth day between my shoulder-blades
and the pain ran down my back
like an instant stalactite
and so wheelchair bound I was soundly defeated
by hard work
A curse on my luck!
But amends were made,
spirits reborn
and within the week I was walking once more.

The Aliens – Happy Song
Moronic pop song from Gordon Anderson, ex-beta-band-er-er that performs its ronsealian duty with few of the Beta-weirdness’ that would normally excuse a pop song by numbers operation. This is a group who could kick all the so called nu-rave groups in their fluorescent balls and give us some really great hand aloft type indie dancing with a 4-4 beat and enough strange noises to fuck with your head just the right amount. This is not that track, check out the last EP for better, weirder songs or flip over the record for the non-pop of B-side kemfu. Better still go see them live, last time I checked they looked like the troubled offspring of that infamous time when Kiss got wasted and impregnated a heard of 60’s obsessed zebras.

The Walkmen – Louisiana

For a band that always sounds like pure desperation this is something of a departure, and not a successful one. The rhythms gone all lounge-shuffle but the voice has remained in a state of late night drunken pleading and it doesn’t work. The B-side Lost in Boston is much better and hopefully more representative of the new album.

The Killers – When You Were Young

This took me a few listens to love but I think that that has happened to me for every Killers song. I didn’t like the idea of a new direction trying to incorporate classic American rock like Bruce Springsteen but whatever they have been doing then, by god, its working wonders. I really hope that by the next album they’re playing stadium sized gigs in the US because they really deserve that size and it’s perfectly suited to the massive sound and showmanship that they’re capable of. B-side Where the white boys dance is a bit dull though but then I’ve only given it the one listen so could be a bit premature…

There is a ball tied by a thin piece of string to a cube that sits on the floor. I throw the ball against the cube and watch the path the ball takes as it bounces off, away from the cube until the string swings its path back towards the cube. I notice two things;

1. The angle of the bounce of the ball is often a reflection of what you would expect. E.g. I throw the ball at an angle of 45 degrees to one side of the cube and instead of the ball bouncing away form me at an angle close to 45 degrees in bounces back towards me at the same angle.
2. The potential speed of the ball is pretty constant. It does not seem slowed down by gravity or friction. There is some loss of energy but far, far less than you would imagine.

As the ball spins, bounces, and flies around I see its path as a line, a line that seems to be coloured and so an abstract pattern emerges in reds and blues.

The starting conditions of the throw determine the path and even a tiny difference in angle, position or force leads to wildly different patterns.

Thisisalloneword has escaped from the claws of fashionistas in London Docklands and the Beer Boys sat around the picnic tables under the canvas walkthrough area who would look to start a fight with him, especially after the recent horrendous make-over that was inflicted on him – skinny rib t-shirts, mesh tops and clip on metal objects – well, exactly…

…later he finds himself outside on the plains with family and he follows the path of the sunbeam as it crooks and turns across the land. This only works on one day of the year, walking the sun-path has always been family tradition, for generations and generations. Even when the sun dissapears behind clouds the path is easily recognisable because it has become so worn away over the years. The path wends its way, strangely backwards and zigzagging up the hill towards the old stone castle. The family Foster follow as they have always done. Thisisalloneword finds comfort in this slow, friendly repitiiton. This is his religion, this is his path.

http://tribes.aspects.net/

went on this and I got called a Goth with Emo undertones.

Bastards.

No idea how the hell I got that. Ho hum.

Ok. Ok. Ok. Lots of connections again, some revisited. I once was called Fnords first of all back in maybe 1994? Again in 2001/2. Then again this year. I never knew what it meant – I swear this – but I think that I might have had a good idea for what ever reason. Anyway last time I researched the name I ended up with a few references to the Knights Templar and the Masons and I think that it was something to do with big ice crystals. Now, I find more fucking Discordians which annoyingly fits in too fucking perfectly with everything else that has gone on/is going on. Worst of all there are a bunch of nerd references which I really fucking hope are a dead loss and not worth looking into. Balls.

It’s been a week or so now since I last had a dream that I could remember. What happened? There’s still plenty going on there, I can feel it, and I am still pressing my snooze button within a second of the alarm buzzing so that I will hopefully fall straight back into the dream – but when I’m properly awake I have no idea what it was I was just dreaming. I’ve never had this problem before – I hope that it’s merely a small blip. I even ate cheese last night in some hope that it might help. Is that an old wives tale or is it true? Let me see…

This is a great article; http://www.britishcheese.com/news.cfm?page_id=240 so there you go, its scientific fact! So, Cheddar or Red Leicester before bed this evening? I’m not much of a soft cheese fan mores the pity…