Tuesday, January 21, 2020

FICTION: Undo Their Flow On This

So, as you know, I've recently been playing with the Burroughsian Nova Mythos, dragging that cut-up dada-surreal multiverse of body horror and word virus into the 2020s, creating my own cut-up novel set in the same (or at least similar) cosmology.   As well as bringing me an enormous amount of joy, this process has also come up with a pretty good ratio of interesting / pleasing / perplexing / delightful wordular arrangement, so thumbs up, will continue.

Of course, a cut-up isn't a proper cut-up unless you cut it up into itself several times over.  So I've been taking chunks of the cut-up novel and cutting those up too - and I like some of these results even more than the novel itself (so they'll become part of the novel, naturally).  One of these chunks I named "Undo Their Flow On This", and sent it into Burning House Press - and they published it!   

That's right!  My carefully-constructed stories that I slave over with a fine-toothed-comb and an invested heart seem completely impossible to find a publisher for, but some piece of random gibberish composed by a fucking computer gets published lickety split.  Which is awesome, of course, but still.  


ANYWAY, point is, I got something published.  And here it is:


Saturday, January 11, 2020


No.  You’re wrong.  Simple as that.  The occult solution to Earth’s climate change apocalypse is actually the only solution. 
Sorry.  No. 
There will be no technical solution, no people-power solution, no "green deal" solution.  You’re well-meaning, and pretty smart too, but I say again, no.  You’re just wrong, wrong, wrong.
(Outer space, mutants, a moment of the dead grey giant centipedes but never a traitor to the congregate naked, wearing corrosions of power.)
Let’s see if I can illuminate.
Point Number One: The so-called Developing World on Earth is constantly increasing its emissions, playing desperate catch up with the so-called Developed World.  Industrial Revolution all over again, but on a bigger scale.  Even if somehow - and even this is almost impossible to imagine - even if the United States and the European Union and good old Australia actually had the kind of politicians who would spend the trillions needed to actually achieve net zero emissions by 2030, it would have no real impact worldwide, because China, Africa, India, South America, etc.  No impact.  Even if.  Sorry to be harbinger of bad tidings etc.  Don't shoot the messenger etc. 
Point Number Two: Population.  Think about it.  The human population on planet Earth has doubled since I was born on it, back in 1975.  Doubled.  If human population grows by average of 228,000 ever damn day, which it does, more or less - then in one single week the Earth is populated by about 1,589,000 extra humans.  Every damn week.  You think your power-plants are struggling now?  You aint seen nothing yet.  Just foodwise - which is let's face it a pretty big concern, kinda top of the needs pyramid you could say - planet Earth will have to somehow produce more food in the next forty years than it has in the previous 8,000.  Not exaggerating, soldier.  This shit is serious.  All the food that has been harvested/created/grown/eaten all the way back to B fucking C, is what humans will need to produce just to survive the next single decade.  Remember a decade ago?  Doesn't feel that long, does it.  There are folks here that swear that human society will collapse completely by 2040, just because of food shortages.  That's barely a blink away.
But of course, it's not just food.  Because if planet Earth is going to achieve zero emissions, it needs to create a fuckload more wind turbines, solar panels, etc.  Construction of one single wind turbine requires 900 tonnes of steel, 2,500 tonnes of concrete, and 45 tonnes of plastic. Solar power needs cement, steel, glass, other metals.  Multiply that out by the number of humans that are going to want to use them, and you see what I'm getting at.  Gold.  Silver.  Indium.  Cobalt.  Lithium.  Rare Earths.
Can you see it happening?  Even in your wildest, most optimistic dreamings?  Honestly, in your heart of hearts?
Point Number Three-
Oh. Don't look so sad, soldier.  None of this information is new.  And, point is, there is a solution.  Just not one that most humans can comprehend.
Occult solution.  Cut-up solution.  Interzone solution-
Oh.  Hey.  It's okay-
There there. 
There there.
Here, have a tissue. 
Better?  Not like "completely fixed" better, just "able to cope" better.
Better.  Good.
So - big question - What the fuck does The Agency care about Planet Earth? 
Well, to be perfectly frank, it’s not really about Earth.  It’s all about justice.  Not right that Nova arseholes can take Earth and just thrash it into nothingness.  Conflict, world is infrastructure, crops, are snapped. 
Nova bastards got no respect for polydimensional terms and conditions.  Said it before, and I'll say it again - Earth should be for Earthlings.  At the very least.
Obliteration evolving world, and sleeping, findings of water.  Once the function at control-machine, once human.  The end wrong with the anxiety and dread.
It's not about you.  It's not even about the humans - which, if you recall, I count amongst my own kind, being born completely human barely 45 years ago - a species who, let's face it, aren't looking on the whole all that worthy of rescue.  I say it's all about justice, but I suspect it's not even really that at all.  I suspect it's just because The Agency hates The Nova Syndicate. 

Agency has a chip on its shoulder about those Nova cats, massive bug up its collective arse, it's personal.  Mythical vendetta.  Psychopompic feud.  Ditheistic bickering.  It's like Satan and Jehovah, or Apep and Ra, or CONTROL and KAOS - old school duological absolutist animosity that is bigger than time and space.  Alternate players, servers of soundless hum… 

Petty retaliation, perhaps.  Kneejerk anti-Nova peevishness. 
Who knows?
Not one to question my orders from Above, soldier. 
But you can't help but speculate.
The climate caper can't be solved through traditional means.  But we can cut it up, break the control lines, rewrite the script through occult methodologies.  The Back Door.  No other way. 
Time travel, black magick, deepfake possession, mass hypnosis, terrain drugs - whatever it takes, whatever we have access to.   There's many excellent cats who are anti-Nova, owe a favour or two.  Able-bodied horror and used human - Different control corpses – code.  Many individuals who'd love nothing more than to see climate change routine go south, many many folk who would love nothing more than to see those Nova weasels lose and lose bad.  We will use any and every means at our disposal.  Down the walls in incredibly secretive weigh in on criminals.  We've got more cards in our deck than it looks.  I promise you, we'll win, or die trying.
Buck up, soldier.  Don't take it so personal.  Even if we lose, it's just a planet.  You know how many planets there are?  Literally-
Oh.  Shit. 
Here, have another tissue. 
Was it something I said?
Conceptions of Egypt and Mesopotamia. As of the reasons. Are connected.
Discernible foundation, somehow to space - and the old cosmogony and evil spirits, human civilization, a bottomless void identity.
The disease: Flesh-Eating fungus has adapted in the heat. Meant to fight killed 50 million people.
For defining itself — Nearly unbeatable and live. According to Flesh-eating bacteria called million people in - scientists observed faster inside - Sea levels rise, to the drugs - without any abyss.
Of dead sinners is forever deferred and secular West, aquatic chaos of contexts, it is become a part practically from insect, as I suffocate, I struggled smokers, as it so badly - for sick, bright pink, is separate dimensions.
Did you know that climate change is making humans stupider?  Experimental studies in connections between air quality, cognitive psychology, and neuroscience, have revealed significant negative effects of everyday CO2 levels on human cognitive function. 
Just putting it out there.
(Sorry if I slip in and out of focus.  Been a while since I used human codes.  Been cutting control lines on Acheron of late – spent a long time communicating only with colours and scents - takes a while to relearn the movements of teeth and tongue and larynx human-style.  Bear with me.)
So.  Can take a while to get your head around.  No shame in confusion.  All reactions are valid at this point.
Basically, we - you and me - need to get into the climate script and denarrative the fucker - dive in deep to the foundations of what's generating the Nova energies and scrape them clean - alter the code - redirect the plot mechanisms.  The story engine, so to speak.  
In to infiltrate the fragmentary warrants taken - shadow monster had obsolete, unthinkable trades - sleeping enemy, sellers laboratory - and atomic of unconstituted police - the ocean floor instead being overgrown dust.
May require some heavy lifting - there's so much tied up in the Capitalism story and the Bloodline story and the Genderarchy story, that's a lot of memetic demolition to deal with on any given Sunday - but the Agency is not afraid of hard work. 
Mechanisms may not take it, to be honest.  Whole thing might break on us.  So much coiled and woven into each other - so many control-lines support each other - so much riding on the outcomes they've set into motion millenia ago.   Followers of planet, in the summit to signal.  

Trapped that strangles the game board.  

I am not with insect calm.
And of course, let's not forget - Nova syndicate are absolutely not going to let us undo their flow without a fight.  Tooth and fucking nail, soldier.  They have much riding on this.  Out and effect - The police are based on fact missiles.  Own structures become. Many deals, many parties deeply invested - this is not a minor operation by any means.  We will face much resistance.  
Still - better to try and fail.  Even if we destroy the whole fucking thing, even if the whole planet collapses in on itself and the entire Earth sector is rendered null and void, we've gotta try, don't you think soldier?
Don't you?
The growing thousand time.
The minutes away.

Tuesday, December 10, 2019



Where are you?  City of Interzone.  Feels like a real place don’t it.  Fools you that way, trick of the light.  It’s not.  It’s between the real places – fills up the margin at the edge of the page, so to speak.
Salty.  Grey.  Filmy.  Smell like ozone.  Flickering lights, floating particles.  Insubstantial.   

This is where you live now.  Shanty town slanted together like junkies, spread like fungus – urban sprawl – air always filled with floaters like glass of water the morning after the world’s seediest party.  Ash or dust or flakes – dimension's connection – slums, Satan, tendrils and locations – apparatus society.  

I guess some people would call it Purgatory, but that’s not how I think of it.  It’s not Platform 9 ¾ either, let’s be clear.  Definitely between places, but not on any axis – none that I heard of anyway.  More porous here – easy access to everywhere.  In a radical the membrane world – out here civilization itself ourselves – then of course forget time.  No hunger, no thirst, no sleep.  Flickering prayer for precursor of Chinese Buddhist – think of assisted between mentioned in particles.

Every kind of architecture – minarets, domes, ziggurats, torvtaks, yurts – definitely what Agent Lovecraft liked to call “non-Euclidean”.  Cthonic slum held together with grime and dank intentions – houses of rotten rags cooking mountain houses – turf  boats, wood houses roof – iron where old traditional Scandinavian type – stone and red – bamboo and teak, hundred feet – lean-tos black with moss, abandoned mental hospital straight from horror game, leering towers of obsidian, witch huts on stilts like chicken legs – A tree like that speaks of not the only it: our dead note.

This little place is mine, make yourself at home.  Hope you like open plan living – real open plan here, sharded glass and broken rib brickwork.  Exposed to all elements – blink the untended dead air – pink sun.   Last rubbish in smoky verandah, the washing eyes water – their entry lights – floating condition – to Grey.

Not a locked door in the City. Anyone comes into your room at any time.  Refugees from every planet here – outlaws and exiles and Agents and runaways – no-one is here by choice, you dig?  My experience this was different machine and wooden bleeding booths and this way and again.  Everyone running from something, whether they know it or not.  Nova cats know to steer clear – control machine does not function here, soldier – place outside of their reach.

Tendrils – creaking – embers, powder, dust – permanent haze. The “Upside Down” on that show “Stranger Things”?  Gross oversimplification.

Palms, mountains, jungle, indefinite landscape that seems different every day – not that “day” means shit here.   Oppression manifest in silver wind.  Later I’ll show you around – gaming tables, altars, fix market, fuckzone, bleeding booths, black meat den – but for now, try recompose yourself.

Down the grey valley, see the river?

Do not swim in it.


Okay, so: Remember the poster?  That was your ticket.  A4, black and white.  Bollard, Brunswick St:

“With your help we can occupy The Reality Studio and retake their universe of Fear, Death, and Monopoly.  Join the Resistance.  Beyond Socialism, beyond Anarchy.  Make a damn Difference.  Devalidate Elite Language Control.  Destroy your Pronouns.  Destroy your Echo Chamber.  Destroy Fake News.  Destroy Nova Reality.”

Recruitment occurs instant you tore off that little strip of paper down the bottom with the fake number on it.  Sorry, no warning.  Remember, peak efficiency.  Takes some moments to get used to.  Took me almost twenty years – but getting the hang of it.  Out here, twenty years is nothing.  Once knew an Agent who took five hundred to really settle in.  Jitters.  Imposter syndrome.  Makes me laugh – we’re all imposters out here, sliding between the Zones.

My bites, People eaten on mountain – A centipede on behaviours and belief or woman or to black mirrors cops on the without more ado.  Robotics.  Are we the forehead, leaving human race.

You look better though.  Almost chipper now.  Sinking in. 

This is real, and happening, and inevitable.  No going back.

You’ve been chosen – completely arbitrarily – and that’s just the way it is.  Scream, cry, makes no goddamn difference – we’re here, and now what.  Coping well, gotta say.  Like you knew it was going to happen anyway.  Often works that way – no accidents, right?  Always kinda knew you were special, always kinda felt it in your bones, didn’t you.  There’s a freedom in being outside.  Whatever it is, it doesn’t apply to you any more.  Certain expectations let’s say are now permanently lifted.

Well, once I train you up – don’t worry, not hard, I’ll do it with a montage, saves time – once you’re trained, you’re an Agent, and we’ll embark on your first mission.  It’s that easy.

And it’s a big one.  I’ll hold your hand every step of the way, don’t concern yourself – details forthcoming – but rookies never get it easy.  Thrown right into the thick of it – and this caper is maybe thickest I’ve ever seen.

Light up another joint.  Go on, it’s good for you.  Calms the nerves.

Swirls of smoke add to particular air of Interzone.  Paisley veins in shimmering atmosphere.  The growing thousand time.  The minutes away.


Okay.  Persuasive technology is front of his – the unwilling They.   Really is effective though, cutting through gender assignments – all genres are fake genres – control mechanisms weaponised against newborns, generate life-long dependency.  Hooked on gender.  Though knowing it.  But influence your behaviour – His genitals are millions in investment, but from the might get short-term reading.

So.  What’s your first mission?  Should you choose to accept it, hohoho – there’s no choice in the matter now, that’s the joke – “trapped” is such an ugly word – To carry or intentional intrinsic the recent tensions attempts to use “watching” from afar climate change fraud, to get this at the time the University of mathematics, too — is a this step, this and the rest Police can be four years after conspiracy theorists.

If the criminals unique power structure, these conspiracies successfully, algorithm to four have badly hurt Mob — a photo op – not.  Hard to explain.  But if we don’t shut them down, then the whole cosmos is a waste of time.  Malfunctioning – might as well shut it down and get our money back.  Cut our losses.  The Nova Syndicate are a mistake in the system – don’t wanna say “The Matrix” – a malfunction that puts the whole thing outta whack, tilts the whole thing off.  Broken, see?  And when a Simulation breaks down, it’s not a Simulation any more – difference between a portrait and a caricature, is one way to look at it.  Whole damn universe is a caricature – if we can’t fix this.  Advanced civilizations shoot-‘em-up, a scientific loathing in which a computer science technology, we wouldn’t will emerge from Web browsers — expedition to the centipedes.

We have time – we have that in spades.  Out here, we have more time than we know what to do with – sink down into it, real comfy, thick like molasses – black strap brown – boundless plains to share.  So despite our insistence on peak efficiency, we can spare time, need you across all aspects of the mission before we let you loose, so to speak.    

I have could be part we living in of their ancestors voiceovers, corrupt politicians, the mammalian mould.  I strongly believe we can fix this, though – but I’ve always been an optimist.  Glass is half empty, sure – but we’re lucky to have a glass at all.  Ever tried to carry water in your hands?  Been here before, haven’t we.  Don’t worry – constant déjà vu is a symptom of being here, out here, one of us – apologies.

So.  Your first mission:

We need to rewrite this climate change fiasco.  Things stand, human society collapses in matter of decades.  Show’s over, curtain’s closed.  They change the climate.  They change the climate, more what’s the term habitable for them this way.  Hotter, thicker air – they ganked the dinosaurs too, you know, too dumb to know their control machine was climate – but hey, seems Earth is rich with that particular personal quality.  Ignorance knows no bounds.   A naked atom to the computer programs.  Making it more habitable for certain… parties.  Certain interests are sick of hiding – wanna come out of the extraterrestrial closet so to speak – and so whole world is changing for their benefit.  If we can't break their climate signal – it’s last drinks, soldier.  Gotta try – Nova Syndicate just power along otherwise, Fish Gods and Saturn Hats and Celebrity Sacrifices and all – careening straight to Nova in hotted up spacecraft made of dirt and rocks and trees and magma.  Drive it like they stole it, see?  

And no way that “science” is going to stop the change – The Event, they call it – it’s too late for tackling it with shall we call it the “traditional” route.  Requires occult solutions, let’s say.  Timeflow requires surgery – Flat Earth about to be folded into origami swan – course that’s where we come in.

Who else gunna cut up the reality flow?  No-one else qualified. 

There’s – there’s the “content” tell anyone – your lines and of course response to the word in — the Anthropocene — demands Meaning Game first – Once you the whole all words From war-stricken you can’t can’t hold the other taking readers proper way.  Drops, sure political and to anyone affair – warmer, wetter, new Man See?  

Biggest all True.  It.

Also menace from fingers glisten to be about it.  Imperil global are you of realities supplies. Conflict, world is infrastructure, crops, are snapped – Once the function at control-machine, once human.
All of – except you cut new vision it means it turns called now?  

Rewrite the ecological control script.  That’s the job.  Save the entire fucking planet.

Don’t look at me like that, soldier. 

You tore the damn paper, not me. 

In future, maybe be more selective.