Sunday, November 28, 2010

Fly Agaric and Shannanigums Wave Music

Shannanigums Wave Book 1 Chapter 1 d by flyagaric23

Zen Trickery, Part 2 by djflyagaric23

Shannanigums Wave Book III Chapter XII by flyagaric23

Shannanigums Wave Book III Chapter 11 Page 67. by flyagaric23

Steve Fly 33.

Monday, October 11, 2010



Come on come on, we're havin a picnic
Come on, come on, you don't need no ticket
Come on, come on, it's marshy's picnic
Come on, come on, no time to nit pick.

Picnic, Picnic, just you and I and the purple sky,
Picnic, Picnic, eat with me baby, forget our trials
Picnic, Picnic, must we ever leave this hillside
Picnic, Picnic, spreading ten thousand smiles

Marshy, masrhy, get the fuck out of bed
Marshy, marshy, its not a drill, use your head
Marshy, masrshy, put a Mallow in your sack
Marshy, masrcy, don't swallow, mind the crap

Dr, Dr, look, Police in Helicopter
Dr, Dr, look, the Web's off the hook
Dr, Dr, I think the Governments Crazy
Dr, Dr, I think I'll fly through the book

Dr, Dr, please prescribe me, don't bribe me
Marshy marshy, I think an alien's inside me.


Listen fuckers, this is word to your mum,
Banging the drum, sucking my thumb, breathing hard
Breathing, hard, thinking of a fascist state, in every back yard,
Nightmare history, death and dying,
Banker fraud abroad, always abroad, never at home
Not yet, don't fret the board room meetings are in progress.

Local yokel glocal
Yokel Glocal Local
Glocal Local Glocal
We're all gone Lobal

Coalition fascists shd/ be under lock and key
Art, crafts, poetry and design are the tools to anarchy
Liberty and freedom of expression and 'freedom' from their
That has no freedom at all, at all.
Controlled freedom, like a dog on a lead, or a cat in a box
With a poison gas pellet.

Local yokel glocal
Yokel Glocal Local
Glocal Local Glocal
We're all gone Lobal

The resistance of the people defines the Government
Will it. Will it. will it.
Define the ideology
Dwell, sit, dwell sit
Globalism can be a good thing
on a good thing, a good mighty good thing
Corporate Globalism can be a bad thing
A super mighty bad thing, a bad bad thing.

Local yokel glocal
Yokel Glocal Local
Glocal Local Glocal
We're all gone Lobal

Local yokel glocal  baby
Local yokel Glocal honey
Local yokel Glocal romance,
Local yokel Glocal people
Local yokel Glocal dance

Local yokel glocal
Yokel Glocal Local
Glocal Local Glocal
We're all gone Lobal

Think Global act local
Think Glocal
Act local think Global
Think Lobel
Shrink Glue Ball,
Thank Low cow.


Marshmallow, marshmallow
Marshmallow, mashmallow

From a Martian base in your Kitchen
We travel to mallow thy name
We sit like a Cubicle sybling monk
And melt minds when we spit out the flame

We ride in a candyman caravan
Floating along a toffee terrain
With a truffle liquoire and a bag of manure
The journey leads far down to Spain.


Where do they go?
When you,
Where do they show?
when you
Where do they flow

Thoughts, oh, thoughts,
Where do they go when
We think of them,
I think that you stink of them

Where do they go?
When I
Where do they Show
When I
Where do they flow
When I

Thoughts, oh, thoughts,
Where do they go when
We think of them,
I think that you stink of them

Thoughts, oh thoughts,
Spilling out from my shorts
Thoughts of sports
Spilling out from the courts
Thoughts of naughts
Rolling out of the Forts.

Where do they go?
When you,
Where do they show?
when you
Where do they flow


Hatch a spore, match a draw scratch and gnaw at the floor,
stand up and spit wood, spit  leaf and spit keef.
Turn over a new cliche',
touche' tooth ache can make the stake turn hard in the mouth,
Don't fake
a month of bad breath catches the weekly take.,
 the daily squeeze and quest for cheese and dairy lights,

Catch a thought, hatch a sport
Its Zero history, back to naught.

all and nothing for something, anything and everything gone 'monk'.
Things in motion, potion in things, fresh bee-stings, songs a lonely child sings,
weekend flings and tings, swimming holes and freshwater springs,
upward fountain and spilt rainbow arches,
gift to the eye with peaches from Iris, and a 'H' to make Irish,
Osiris Oh Char us.

Catch a thought, hatch a sport
Its Zero history, back to naught.

O'Irish blue spill over the algae, white algebra of men,
burnt bras and burnt toast, butter and breasts,
Butter the breasts
Biggles' and Snoopy, shopping for death culture coupons,
palms dry without coconut oil, picnic all over town, get down
on, and on and over the hill with the yellow rays and orange glow
 'Terry's' choco-wrapping invades the beach head, oil barrels roll,
oil barons running on ice to Antarctica, penguins in bondage,

Catch a thought, hatch a sport
Its Zero history, back to naught.

Seals sleek heads in cages, while writing these pages,
cities swing in plant pots, chocolates, carrots
soil dries hard around the edges, knife voice cuts the cake,
Wake and bake, its marshy's picnic
cherry and fruit salad makes new headway to the breach,
first shots are fired and its fritters, scallops and blue cheese away.

Catch a thought, hatch a sport
Its Zero history, back to naught.


Hamsterjam, Hamster Man, Hamster Stan, gangster man
Ham Steak Jam, for Prankster Flann, and Damsta Jam
and Hamster-Jam make Ganja Ham

Jam, hamsters, Ham, and Ganja
Slam, gangsters, spam and Ginger

Welcome to the Dam-age
Holding back a torrent of Ham,
Greetings Dr. Flann, is that fresh Ham in your Jam?
"Ham! Ham!... I'll have you know its prime Hamster, man!"
Hamster, Hamster, are you out of your wig?
"Ham's not from hamster's dude, Ham comes from Pig'

Jam, hamsters, Ham, and Ganja
Slam, gangsters, spam and Ginger

If Pig Jam makes you squeal
Hamster Jam on your next meal may
Make your feel dam sick as a pig, you dig?

Jam, hamsters, Ham, and Ganja
Slam, gangsters, spam and Ginger


meat sauce, meat sauce,
Slurry of a nation in a hurry, it ain't funny

meat sauce, meat sauce,
Dirty rotten shit, dip it slurp it swill it, spit.

meat sauce, meat sauce,
with a carbohydro-hippo spice, drink a pint, hey that ain't nice.

meat sauce, meat sauce, meat sauce.


Step into my cubicle
hey sweet baby, take of your shirt, honey
you can loose the shoes and loose the tights,
The panties and the skirt sugar, sweet!
Hello, hello dear, my names Doctor Marshmallow,

The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings

I know it’s a little cold, baby ruth
Sorry, my new instrument must warm up.
Your breathing very well, let me see,
Ah, yes, you have healthy lungs,

The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings

Just relax dear, sit back stick out your tongue,
Yes, ah, uh huh, oh, yes, just one marshmallow,
There we go honey, close your eyes now,
And... Swallow, think of candy now, and
Dr. Marshmallow

The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings

Welcome to my kiosk dear, but hush we must be quick,
Yes, we’re doctors, and lovers too.
Travelled here from Europa in a milk-chocolate helicopter,
Powered with golden syrup. Listen honey,
Listen, close your eyes, I have a story ,
A mellow bath for you. Relax.

The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings
The DOOBIE Cubicle Syblings


A marsh dosage box of meme juju served static
A beat box of electric spores.
Mellow temporarily, loud shock cell-smash and warped edge,
cubicle syrup and candy up the walls. Sound splatter.
Marshmallow claws to the valve amp through swamp under full moon
'taste this noun honey-pie’ and now follow me to the Marsh room.

Sugar coated mints and faces glow mellow, camera flash,
study of alien war box noise, step into the cubicle. Step out.
 Increase dosage outside the noise box.
"Dr please prescribe me Marshmallow. 
Marshy Picinic, we all eat for free, be mellow
Marshy Picnic tripping ball's on LSD playing cello

Coffee store shaft to the spongy echo-box.
So stay mellow as a Dr. get whipped-up daily in sativa gelatine,
step into the cubicle room of Marshy Taste Dr. Escher cakes
and the dutch health spore system, Sewn into the lives of a musical cookie jar.
Step into the slagroom, the candy box kiosk, where drugs and alien-dreamtime are
served up in a Dr. Mallow booth. A head-set in each booth, a fire in the room-jelly.

Monopoly on Culture, more syrup, stuck, even swords move slow,
walls jammed, the flow stopped. Dr. Candyman eats a government
treaty while taking a bath in his Shed.


What new cookie of government? wave goodbye to money walls,
what you know ain’t so. Cheese & Chives, woe, step into the kiosk,
look at our wide confectionary, lick the walls in the cubicle,
but, government next door sells hemp-fuel logic.


Dr. dosage and the shaft-monk box, sweet drugs in schools (syrup cafe syrup cake)
rank of cookie? government turkey and slurry like cubicle gelatine experiment,
music like spores, chemical workings with bonds to break government.
Drugs don’t mix. Cheese confectionary meets spam canning factory,
 who knows the dosage Dr?


Game set and spores, Cell growth, slow to share out of the box,
music and shared value (camera corn beer and shaft)
sponge cakes are coming. Women sewing with Hemp-fibre,
Dr Marshmallow in fondal parks, Amsterdam Office of hugs and squeezing.
Oi, oi, Huygens glow of spores, snort these LSD spores mate,
woe be shaft you up Chi-oops. Hemp-fibre, what, News, who’s, what?
Coffee, news, TV, news, what, coffee, TV, what, news, when, tobacco?


But, which whipped Shed, Shed, Monroe Crow,
coffee syrup and syrup Monroe prompt owe cookie box, slow,
a cause&effect study in alien sword in shouler, money Booth,
Cell, box, grow box, grow.
A rank • is fro, call whipped library Culture row, with Joe,
whipped syrup rank Cheese Marshmallow slagroom,
1609 sativa prompt for rank, prompt for beer. Value, tonight?


This cubicle contains freedom, and the outside too.
 Pro-set monopoly confection Judo, gods and Escher,
the sugar coat of government arms, prompt the spores to fall,
shaft of church down black-hole avenue, to shift of government,
shaft shift, shaft shift. Great Spinoza box-zone of taste flow,
honey dripping hemp-fuel and the alien dosage from
 opium government UK.


News room booth locked. Safety in Judo, spores and fire,
outside the JFK Cubicle Howard Hunt counts chickens.
Those alien drugs from New York work Dr, what coffeeshop on sixth avenue?
The shed next-door to mallow cafe
Put a Marshmallow in your ear.
Put a marshmallow in your ear.
Put a tear in your beer, eat this dear.

Composed and Decomposed by Steve 'fly agaric' 23.



Thursday, July 8, 2010

2010 words on the Gulf Oil Spill (edited from a previous poem)

2010 words on the Gulf Oil Spill (edited from a previous poem)

Us clams must stick apart” –Feudal Baron Periwinkle III.

Aphrodite rose from sea foam in film.
A centrifugal waterspout, sucking out the poison.

A Shell and a Sunflower are branded,
Sucked of meaning.
Twisted arms of godsoilmen
Workers, investers, safety chiefs,
Some work with sludge in hands
Some on the tongue, others dodge

Meet the supermajors
Finance and business from sifting Oil
Gulf scoop past oily Slick Cheney
Eating Warburtons with Shell fish

We roe past energy task force positions.
In still of night, calm waters, we release
The mycelium.
From the world Clam.

The Galloping Scallop clad man of greek myth come up
Knights of the Periwinkle clown swimming,
Bejewelled with clam lips and kisses.

Rich blue Oil spill or mother of pearl?
Like blended parrots and dead plankton,
Mixed emulsions. Beautiful Miss Oil Spill?
How can I find beauty in this Oil terror? I tried
And reality slapped me across the Horizon

Crude awakening to the spill-age.
A Collosal squid princess come's up
Riding old Jakobsschelp, a Mycelium Goddess
To help a Hutch load of old scallops rise out
The Seafloor Blues
And infiltrate the slick.

The Deep sea Mollusc speak out:
“Lo! Scallops of the ocean,
Down by the great rising Chiefs of coral.
Take this Big Periwinkle into your earshel and Smell the sign
Touch the logo and ask:
How many ridges does a dream have?

Who regulates the regulator’s.
Dead Plankton in the paint
And the city sewers flowoil
Heed the clam of commerce and the
Cockle-shock shimmy of stock.
What sea-shell, what Sunflower?

Up comes a horse covered in Scallops,
Prince Periwinkle gargling:
“Skullops for one shelling a dollop”

Sea wave-wind Mussels flex into fossils.
The smell of oilamp from the limpet.
“Lets Oil the Oystery of Oil and stir with a staff,
Lets foil sharks with electric shocks,
Struck coil!”.

“Swim with the titanic Semantic shift,
Up out the shell flower.
Again, to tell a snail tale of the planetary shaft.
Rock Drill. Oil Men. Usury. Greed.
Son’s of Thunder Juice, Snel, quick up
To defend the word.
A sea slug with untold feet runs with you
On a hyperbolic plane.

Hoily Tools of the Big Petrol scoop
Walloping the marine scene with oil sheen.
Another spellage. Ocean deep n' blue and
Black rusty red, bloody.

Petrochem generation X. Drill here.
Die here. Who makes the plans, the cuts,
The safety checks, who sets the profits,
Who banks in the cayman Islands, and
Exploits every loop-hole, who, now who.

So wee rise up like foam,
Mycelium to eat the Oil
My thoughts on it: I ride a bike.

Waxy Parrot Snot in the sea bank
How to dress up a death spill?

Casting Shells from my hand,
The wavy lines trace a swellmighty calm.
His Holiness the Buddhaclam Caliph of Pearl
Comes up, out of the Santiago Shell mound gate
To tell us of what fate?

Great clam emperor of the
Mollusca lineage comes up
“By nature the sign, 500 Million years of geometry spun
Into this Sunflower, into this Shell. What lies?”

The Duke Periwinkle of Clam tissue
And the Ivory Sheen realm
Comes up
“Look down the well. Oily DEA and ivory salt newspaper
Scalping truth, their lies litter our vessel,
Truth and beauty from underwater vents”

Meanwhile oilmen pollute the ocean-Green with
Sculpted Pipe lines, crime lines, below
Waves of DEA projects, No Oildea how sticky
the handshell shakes over the Sunflower.
Ode to the Great Old One's,
Please hear us and help a sign-sailor resist
A super-major temptress,
Ocean blackmail.

Oil spill, pipe-line, spoil, Usury, coercion,
Interference with natural deep sea black smokers

Oyster Gods of ancient oceans sculpt the wave
And weave pearls
Serpents teeth sew
Sew Sew an oil net to stop the leak.

A solution in the name of thy snakeoil potion,
Rise up Sea-meat wonders with one hundred eyes
You that dwell upon Old heraldic shields,
Rise up like bubbles and show us your shape.

If only Molluscs could grow wings?
Dutch English American Oil statistics?
More scallops?

Now our chariot of sea gods roam the ocean wide
With the Sigil of Galloping Periwinkles,
Sea weed tales of a great green whale and
A clam with hinged jaws.

Big Blood and looting operation disaster
After disaster, after disaster.
We charge the water and turn the planet
Back into a healthy paradise,
In this poem.

Our Seal: Coningklick.
We raise a toast to Scallops and the food of Godzilla,
And celebrate the marvel of Clam propulsion.
Bio-technology is trying to show us HOW.

Venusa comes up
Surfing on a scallop, leading with a shell in hat
And staff in hand.

Ms. C. Scholar and her mussel
Swimming down Saint James's glory-gate to
Oil Cow & coo

“Now Scoop it. What News Independence.
Who distributes it, how?

And the church wants TTOTTAL Informollusc awaveness.
Sculpt a skull and crossbones in the Crude
Awakening to sea Pirates.
Send in Jack Sparrow to help waterworld.”

Cockoily and Crude Millions scalloped out
Of the earth's body PO.
To the Botticelli Shell-mex
Mix of Soupermajor Bumbling Patroilmen.

Heart of calcite, home of crystal, listen,
I Toil to swim with the Amateur Swimming Association
Esso sponsored swimming, like
Greenpeace sponsored Oil Drilling.

Pick a Shell and drink our James Juice.
The word can plug that sucker up.
The word, the vessel of communication.

The sacred periwinkle proportion.
Now sea gold and Periwinkle Cockle
And aragonite Shillyshellying,
On land we're all out of gas?

Crashing oil and Blood in synchronous waves,
Half-mollusc, half man with vulva comes up,
The crowned Cuthulu cult riding a clam to shore,

To soil on past British Patrolingmen.
We and the sea leagues of 93’000 species
Of Mollusc, and cuttlefish, calcium from sea foam
We are the froth of Saint James Juice.
We lament the spill to blunt the drill,
Gather and think to cap and fill.

Rock Drill and Throne.
HOLY Scollop of truth Swim on your way!
Scooping the word and sludge, selling lies.
How deep does the drill hole go?
Blue Black pills sp'ills?

Up comes the Count of cockles
To calculate fossil fuel foolishness.
Re-shore em’ that Oystery contains Pearls.
History is ours, oceanic.

Hollow Earth Krewe come up to protect the crust.
Don't drill, hear!
Listen, HEMP!
Pull down thy vanity,
Pull up thy drill rig.

The silver pink flesh of salmon
Emerald sea weed and Electric blue
Dance on our Shield.

What pearls lie in the sign?
Schaaldrake Unreeled from the Well,
The conscious net.
The day of the Dolphin Gulf prayer,
calling all Oystery’s hero’s.

Winds blow above the abyss of humanity
Deep space
Mind link sleeping beauty on the sea bed.

A clamber of underwater shimmers
“What the devil’s covering you, old directors?”
Holy floor, must be peak oil time!

Fisherman on fire, Oil brigade, fire brigade
What Sustenance?
Entangled oil pipline artery of earth rot?
Well well well, Oil be damned!

The dead seamen-oil-blood transfusion.
The workers that died, the injured?

Investigative poetry safety bill,
The profit margin and depths of energy mob

The TAX dodge.
The Tectonic shifts and shafts of geopolitics.
The ocean gods versus the greedy monkey man.

Swallow the shilly-shally sea
And go a’ rummaging
Through tears,
Craft a dam good idea.
Boom, boundary and boundary dissolution
Be A solution

The ocean, the salt.
Oil and sea water mixed.
A mussel bound with a wisdom tongue in a Dutch
Pit, Venus in shell, A tongue enters shell.
That feminine Scallop.

Yes, make love, and drill for love
In a land bed, not a sea bed,
Drilling for oil, making death.

Beware the starfish and oystercatchers
The Condi Rice tankers,
Our boat enters the earshells of Leviathon.
Invisible on a mind wave,
Seers are feeding,
We meditate on bivalvia underground chants
We grow new ears from our Gulf of tears.

Total germs and a fake Sunflower
A suspect Shell and five sided fuel mob are
Apprehended by Sea worms.

Please dive off the Euro board, twist and tuck pike
Summersault in James Juice.
Send word, make merry love.

Hoily Houses Haunt the Oystery sauce.
The currents of Oysery in the Musselmen’s mind.
How to Oil the machine and then stir, sir?
Who distributes it, how?

Scallop filtration of nature’s Mouth pit.
The Dogon Dragon’s of ocean deep
Breathing black smoke
The mouth to hell.

Up comes,
Hermaphrodite of the black-gold waters.
Global eyes of the oceanic gleam
Where Ibskal speak of sea diamonds, pearls
Nommo booty.

Do not disturb the Calm mud.
Look Deep, look well , Deeper.
Lick the James Juice-oil, drink the poison
And ride the snake to the pit of Saint DEA,
Eat them all, spit fire and burn off.

To planet Exo-Clamboil.
Go drill land if you must drill.
Elders send word of Hopi,
Inducing Amanita Mollusca.
Sometides wash nutrients up Ripples of the great
Allrudy wish-ways, ripples and
Baron periwinkles dimples.

Chevrollop, clamswallop, wham, Bully Peakoil
Big Shh’ galaxy, in silence.
Sit ans send ‘word’ shaman styles.
Get roots, touch and ingest earth.

And inside the noble clam chamber
Mr. Mussel finds shelter from transfusions
And Cockledoom on a dinner plate. He says:

“Oh shil, you supermajor logo shystirs.
Rumble of waves around scalloped edge
Where Venus teleports - to visit ecstatic ten-thousand
Million hundred gallons.

And Brand new standards, drink the ocean ink
Of clam soup, Ingest the Hoily Ocean Extracts
Spit fire and burn of excess Vapourdiz

Wade through the bauxite,
Don’t step on our eggshares
Show foresight. Transparent business
Transparent waters, in soiled by fuel addiction.

Juice the wellwell markets, be merry,
Ppeak into these eggshawls. Schelp,
I need some clammy mammy?
Muscle and sperm of capitol, testoss and hydrocarbons,
Spilling on land, sea and air. Who’s share
Who...and how?

Thankyou, the pearls really shine.
500 Million years of Scallop evolution
Sculpted from chalk with tyme.
Real Crotch Oil spread and royal flush
Roe Smoothie ripple?
The synchro-swimming around,
Mixing a schaal Pink into the rusty current.

Shellfish swim for Global ecosystem
And it’s edges.
Interconnected, balanced, shared biological systems
Ecological logic and example, begging to be copied
By Human industry, ECOnomic.

The taste and the Zap,
Filtering compost on a sea-bed,
The underwater awakening like Fungus,
The Clam infiltrates the swill.
To Clam the cap, and Clam the leak.

Shell shaped filler, nature’s way has your answer
Physics of plugging.
Heaven and Hell,
The birth canal off Lucifer von Periwinkle and his
Turned Kingdom of Oilmen! Lo,
The Darth Vader, using modern technology:
The force,
To extract fuel from our mothers vitalorgans

The chatter and Swell at the centre of the Earth.
The Venus Princess and the Vulva of life,
New birth.

Up against the rig,
Marian’s well like a Mermaid's pool
Moist and as a peachy love nest.

Master of devices and of painted Green weeds.
Help us Grow. Overcome Oils vices.
A Pilgrim Artefact slyjacked.
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers stolen by British thieves.

Marian! Murmur and maid,
With comb and mirror,
Homeless, bedless.
Comb exchanged for a clam-pick to pluck
Our Lyre songs of ocean goddesses vs.

Merry tinkles of shells and deep-blues for heads.
Shimmer of garments, skirt trim with coral.
Oh yeah, to schell the proof to buy the truth.
Can’t buy these shell shoes sir.
Only our boat is for sail.

Sea Red and sigil read
Backwards. Michelle, and her pink mantle.
Swimming with our vows
To explore the edges of the Sun behind
The sun, the Sirius star system of
Galactic ideas, focused on the Gulf Hole.

Elixir of Baron Periwinkle
To makes a tasty tipple.
A plug mixture, to cap the hole with a
Fungus cap. An intelligent goo.

A tale of a virus so vile to us! Oil.
With a treacherous hijacked Scallop
Snapping at your toe,
Hoily mollusc of Saint James,
Protect all sea life.

Claims the clams that a clamp down on
Periwinkle’s clump, a cap oer’ the hole to hell
Dive down and pry benearth,

The Venus Mermaiden’s
Have risen from the sea to show you how

Monday, July 5, 2010

Petition to try to save the What? Centre


After 25 years of The What? Centre being in the Borough and helping thousands of young
people and their parents and wider family, we will close in October unless we can persuade the
Local Authority to make a ‘U turn’ on their decision to cut all of their funding for our service.
Sign our petition either in the street or at the Centre
Help to fill our graffiti wall with positive comments about the Centre
Join our facebook
Take some petition forms and get them filled in by your colleagues
Email us with your stories about the What? Centre and how it has helped you on
6. Help us with writing funding bids
7. Contact your Local MP or councilors or leader of the Council Anne Milward
8. Write letters to the newspapers, i.e. Stourbridge News, Dudley News and Express
and Star expressing your concerns.
Thank you for all your help, without you it will be impossible to have any hope of turning
around this decision. Telephone No: of What? 01384 379992. Address : 23 Coventry Street,
Stourbridge DY8 1EP.

Petition to try to save the What? Centre

Petition summary:The Local Authority has cut our funding for advice work. This means almost certain closure of the What? Centre

Action petitioned for:
We, the undersigned, are young people and partners of the What? Centre who urge our council leaders to re-think their decision to cut 100% of the funding they provide to this service


Please return this petition to The What? Centre, 23 Coventry Street, Stourbridge DY8 1EP
This petition will be presented to John Polychronakis, Chief Executive of Dudley Council & Anne Millward, Lead Member for Dudley Council

Friday, July 2, 2010

Who What Why Where When? Stour CLAY?

Up the Stourbridge Glass cone went our lonely hero.
Up and out the top of great Glass factory where
Stourbridge Clay lead to a Crystal meme sale
Of Wonka.

Royal Clay from the earth,
Mud and clay people, clay artists
And what is Industry? Who owns it and how?
Sandstone and Rocks of earth,
Geological formations, coal, bones, calcium
Oil are from the earth, how can we own them?
Who’s industry and patent, who’s business?
Earth business and man business.
Trees and paper.
Rivers and River banks.
The Indus Tree
The Rowen Tree
The Great World Tree
Twig Drizzle.

What is money and how did it get that way
In Stourbridge
Who set the gold standard?
How are Royals majestic?
Why no Glass pipes in Stourbridge?
Who’s pencil that draws the boundary
Who’s eye’s to perceive the line, the divisions
And divisions.
Who’s visions and translations of God.
Who’s Christ Jesus story,
Who’s pen, who’s now
Who’s when?
What Gods give the all seeing eye?
Who’s shepherd and who’s sheep?
Where in the small print?
What authority do you claim on this earth here?
Who’s feet and hands walked and dug,
Work for who and for what?
God and Earth, God or Earth.
Who measures the weight,
How did the instruments get that way?
What is your margin of error tolerance?
What about humans who did not vote
How can you represent us, Oh Politician?
How can you represent Earth or God
Truth and sanity?
How do you represent?
What media do you share, what is private
And what is public representation.

All property maybe theft,
All things may lead back to earth
Why laws prohibiting Marijuana and LSD
And tax breaks for Monsanto, Glaxosmith?

Open source education, on-line schooling
Open Source Omniversity is underway
I am a proponent of the shared arts of
We are the Maybe Logic Academy
See Magick, NLP, and Non-Euclidean politics.

We are the representatives of the Black Country
We draw the lines and erase the boundaries
We are the creative heart of the Blackcountry
Writers, poets, painters, sculptors, dancers.
What Royal stamp?

Art is our shared language of resistance
To reshape and edit our worlds, shared worlds
Shared Inhabited realities, built by urban Shaman
Shared through voluntary risk and struggle.

Artists and the equivalence theory?
10’000 hours of hard crafting and grafting
vs. 5 seconds it takes sign a contract?
And forward along the credit,
Borrowed from the Royal chest,
Bottomless, Jewel encrusted and in league
With the printers of the majestic paper?
Who makes the paper Majestic and how?

What economic knowledge?
Excuse me, usury?
Basic truth of fairness and equality
To have equal share of the profits
Divided honestly and equally,
Economics without distortion and the
Genghis Kahn virus:
The biggest and most powerful,
The richest and most brutal

I present Open Source Economies
Transparency and new Social Credit systems
Employment seems a kind of disease,
Spreading bad business practice, bully boy tactics
Lawyer Run Capitalism.
The core of Conservative Rule.
The core of Deaf Labour,

And even the liberals hate the poor
What of sub minorities?
Why highlight something as flimsy as race?
To base wrongheaded policy and funding scheme?
What do you mean?
You do not represent me, my friends and my experiences
Within the territory you claim to represent.
In fact everything you say it is, it isn’t.

British Labour danced in a conservative agenda dressed in
Blood Red bondage gear.
Another Christian evangelical called Blair,
In league with Bush and Cheney.
Hello...corporal Malvern.
We have seen your continued conservative trickery
Over 34 years.

Every day in Britain, under the boot of the Big
London Banks, the Christian American Business
The discrimination against minorities,
Against self owning ones, against social co-operatives

From Thatcher to Major, to Blair, to Brown and Cameron.
No change in the crying game, the lies, the support
Of military intervention for private interest
Continued useless and failed, failing
Multi Billion Pound
War on some drugs, and the Irony of British Opium history
Poppy fields and Government Heroin cartels.

Oh, don’t start me to talking,
And backing up my lines with historical evidence.
Labour/Conservative, what is the difference?
Politics has become a business game show,
Played by some families with large fortunes.

Why do we love our Royalty so much?
And so our political leaders and goons that beg pardons
Beg spies and join the privileged classes.
The language of Army Majors, the
Mind of a serial killer and temper of a psychopath.
The role of a modern representative is best described as
Henchmen of the Devil and his
Lawyer Run Apocalypse
John Adams came to Town in 1786.
Lo! The gravity of the situation
The measure of damage and death, destruction
Globally based on British rule
Balanced with the great help we give foreign nations?
Our Industry and Heritage is the double cross system.
Getting the otherside to work for us,
Laywer Run Capitalism and Banking Monopoly
American, Dutch and Swiss Banks.
Abe Lincoln say what?

American, Dutch and English slavery history?
Why make a man work for what is inherently his?
The Earth and God within, without and throughout all men
All space and time?
What of light? Who owns light?
Can you really buy a star and name it?
What if the stars named you?
What is a Stourbridge Clay Kitchenette?

Thursday, June 17, 2010


Foil Spill.

Prayer? is that all that is left now, to help fix the leak
Miles beneath the ocean floor.
Meanwhile wikileaks performs by example,
No secrets, we can handle it.
By the looks of things, they cannot handle anything.

Intelligence, Government and their media circus
Spins death and destruction with celebrity sickness
Anomalies cast as 'the common view'
The usual political shit flinging,
Bankers running off with the profits from a disaster
Over and over again.

Large corporations and intelligence gathering
Services combine forces, a fog of business
Enterprise, foreign finance interest, and
Defense of the sovereign, the flag, the logo.

In the name of profit and business
Money and power broking, we all go broke.
The ocean's choke.

Wild conspiracies rage about conspiracies
Just breathing together, or
Blowing out together, the earth conspires to

Mankind conspires to corrupt.
Truth and fairness the first victims,
Information tarnished, smudged and dirtied
Like a working mon's dungaree.

Cleaness and transparency share a bed.
BP and wikileaks clash,
Facts and spin can be distinguished,
And distinguished by individuals,
Smoke can be exstinguished by transparency
In communications, in economy, government,
And oil drilling operations.

Drilling for the truth,
Maybe deepwater Horizon struck wikileaks
And blew its top, the pressures getting so high
They blew all the covers and fail safe's
The shit is out and in the ocean
In the infosphere, and cannot be put back again.

The pangs and pain of anguish,
The death and destruction and disinformation
Spread out by those hired to help us,
Contrasting the bare sharing and open
Efforts to save humanity from the 'single
sighted' sleeping monster that is
Intelligence, Banking and Government coercion
Stalking the land, fucking shit up.

And yet,
We will endure further attacks on civility
And forgive mistakes blunders and accidents
Of the worst kind, and forgive the fleecing and
Bad reporting or (lack of fair reporting)
By any so called 'major' news source.

International finance has its fingers in
Most pies, newsmedia, TV and Oil business in particular,
A spectacular nefarious mix of power brokers
Money and beef men, Cheney and Bush types.
To mean Criminal terrorists.

And the US crime squad launches an attack on
Julian Assange, while the BP executives
Sit down for spilt cofee and biscuits.

BP profit leaks kill humans and fish
Wikileaks does not kill, it does the opposite
It informs and provides information,
The Life of the mind.

What of the hair booms and hay solutions
To mopping up the spill, not used by BP
What of the chemicals sprayed and the
Lack of testing and collaboration with locals to its use.

What of the deepest drill hole in the world?
What of other chemicals coming out with the oil?
What of dropping a huge block on top
What of the nuke and the dame done?

What of the miss-calculations and
Wrongheaded statistics, the lies and sly mistakes,
What of BP, and other oil companies,
And what of the governments that regulate them
And the people who vote for them?
What of blame, and forgiveness,
And what,
What on earth can we do to apologise
To the creatures killed, or dying
From this disaster?

--Baron Von Periwinkle III

Steve Fly 33.

Monday, June 7, 2010


Mark Pesce recently released 'the book' version 1.0, of 'share this book' it has been an on-going project (share this course) that a group of web entities and "I" participated in, somewhat, over the last 6 months. I have taken the liberty of reproducing a small part of his text, taken from a presentation he made titled 'whatever happened to the book' and a part of particular interest to me as a 'Joycephile' and student of 'maybelogic' the many lives and ideas of Robert Anton Wilson.

So here I have added a sprinkle of 'hyperlinks' to those already added by Mark. (Hope thats cool?) Most of them link to 'wikipedia' entries, some connect to external sources and 'Joycean' articles and sites...Plus works by Mark Pesce...the architect of these words, thanks, steve.

So what of Aristotle? What does this mean for the narrative?
It is easy to conceive of a world where non-fiction texts simply
dissolve into the universal sea of texts. But what about
stories? From time out of mind we have listened to stories
told by the campfire. The Illiad, The Mahabharata, and
Beowolf held listeners spellbound as the storyteller wove the
tale. For hours at a time we maintained our attention and
focus as the stories that told us who we are and our place in
the world traveled down the generations.

Will we lose all of this? Can narratives stand up against the
centrifugal forces of hypertext? Authors and publishers both
seem assured that whatever happens to non-fiction texts, the
literary text will remain pure and untouched, even as it
becomes a wholly electronic form. The lure of the literary text
is that it takes you on a singular journey, from beginning to
distractions, no interruptions, unless the author has expressly
put them there in order to add tension to the plot. A wellwritten
literary text – and even a poorly-written but wellplotted
‘page-turner’ – has the capacity to hold the reader
tight within the momentum of linearity. Something is a ‘pageturner’
precisely because its forward momentum effectively
blocks the centrifugal force. We occasionally stay up all night
reading a book that we ‘couldn’t put down’, precisely because
of this momentum. It is easy to imagine that every literary
text which doesn’t meet this higher standard of seduction will
simply fail as an electronic book, unable to counter the
overwhelming lure of the medium.

This is something we never encountered with printed books:
until the mid-20th century, the only competition for printed
books was other printed books. Now the entire Web – already
quite alluring and only growing more so – offers itself up in
competition for attention, along with television and films and
podcasts and Facebook and Twitter and everything else that
has so suddenly become a regular feature of our media diet.
How can any text hope to stand against that?

And yet, some do. Children unplugged to read each of the
increasingly-lengthy Harry Potter novels, as teenagers did for
the Twilight series. Adults regularly buy the latest novel by
Dan Brown in numbers that boggle the imagination. None of
this is high literature, but it is literature capable of resisting
all our alluring distractions. This is one path that the book
will follow, one way it will stay true to Aristotle and the
requirements of the narrative arc. We will not lose our
stories, but it may be that, like blockbuster films, they will
become more self-consciously hollow, manipulative, and
broad. That is one direction, a direction literary publishers
will pursue, because that’s where the money lies.

There are two other paths open for literature, nearly
diametrically opposed. The first was taken by JRR Tolkien in
The Lord of the Rings. Although hugely popular, the threebook
series has never been described as a ‘page-turner’, being
too digressive and leisurely, yet, for all that, entirely
captivating. Tolkien imagined a new universe – or rather,
retrieved one from the fragments of Northern European
mythology – and placed his readers squarely within it. And
although readers do finish the book, in a very real sense they
do not leave that universe. The fantasy genre, which Tolkien
single-handedly invented with The Lord of the Rings, sells
tens of millions of books every year, and the universe of
Middle-Earth, the archetypal fantasy world, has become the
playground for millions who want to explore their own
imaginations. Tolkien’s magnum opus lends itself to
hypertext; it is one of the few literary works to come complete
with a set of appendices to deepen the experience of the
universe of the books. Online, the fans of Middle-Earth have
created seemingly endless resources to explore, explain, and
maintain the fantasy. Middle-Earth launches off the page,
driven by its own centrifugal force, its own drive to unpack
itself into a much broader space, both within the reader’s
mind and online, in the collective space of all of the work’s
readers. This is another direction for the book. While every
author will not be a Tolkien, a few authors will work hard to
create a universe so potent and broad that readers will be
tempted to inhabit it. (Some argue that this is the secret of JK
Rowling’s success.)

Finally, there is another path open for the literary text, one
which refuses to ignore the medium that constitutes it, which
embraces all of the ambiguity and multiplicity and liminality
of hypertext. There have been numerous attempts at
hypertext fiction’; nearly all of them have been unreadable
failures. But there is one text which stands apart, both
because it anticipated our current predicament, and because
it chose to embrace its contradictions and dilemmas. The
book was written and published before the digital computer
had been invented, yet even features an innovation which is
Finnegans Wake, and it was Joyce’s deliberate effort to make
each word choice a layered exploration of meaning that gives
the text such power. It should be gibberish, but anyone who
has read Finnegans Wake knows it is precisely the opposite.
The text is overloaded with meaning, so much so that the
mind can’t take it all in. Hypertext has been a help; there are
a few wikis which attempt to make linkages between the text
and its various derived meanings (the maunderings of four
generations of graduate students and Joycephiles), and it may
even be that – in another twenty years or so – the wikis will
begin to encompass much of what Joyce meant. But there is
another possibility. In so fundamentally overloading the text,
implicitly creating a link from every single word to something
else, Joyce wanted to point to where we were headed. In this,
Finnegans Wake could be seen as a type of science fiction, not
a dystopian critique like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World,
nor the transhumanist apotheosis of Olaf Stapleton’s
Starmaker (both near-contemporary works) but rather a text
that pointed the way to what all texts would become,
performance by example. As texts become electronic, as they
melt and dissolve and link together densely, meaning
multiplies exponentially. Every sentence, and every word in
every sentence, can send you flying in almost any direction.
The tension within this text (there will be only one text) will
make reading an exciting, exhilarating, dizzying experience –
as it is for those who dedicate themselves to Finnegans Wake.

It has been said that all of human culture could be
reconstituted from Finnegans Wake. As our texts become
one, as they become one hyperconnected mass of human
expression, that new thing will become synonymous with
culture. Everything will be there, all strung together. And
that’s what happened to the book.


Steve Fly 33.

Sunday, May 2, 2010


Last year in 2009 I was kindly asked by John Sinclair to contribute to a upcoming HEADPRESS book project about the great Astro Black enigma: Sun Ra. I jumped at the chance and set to work on writing a piece that became 'The Myth Art and Music of Sun Ra'.

I received two copies of the book this week (28th April 2010) and am thrilled to be included within a bounty of Sun Ra research and galactic feedback, to be among literary hero's of mine such as Amiri Baraka and John Sinclair, who together have been tirelessly promoting Sun Ra for over forty years, and Black Music and culture generally for more than five decades.

I added some 'hyperlinks' to details provided at the HEADPRESS website page for SUN RA: INTERVIEWS & ESSAYS. Edited by JOHN SINCLAIR. (2010)

  1. By way of an Introduction by Peter Dennett
  2. Sun Ra by Amiri Baraka
  3. Sun Ra Visits Planet Earth by John Sinclair
  4. It Knocks on Everybody’s Door by John Sinclair: Interview with Sun Ra, Detroit Sun, 1966
  5. Cosmic Catalyst by David Henderson: Sun Ra in New York City, Oakland & Philadelphia
  6. Word from Sun Ra by Amiri Baraka
  7. Their Space Was My Place by Ben Edmonds: Sun Ra & the MC-5 at the Grande Ballroom, Detroit, 2009
  8. Life Is Splendid by John Sinclair: Sun Ra at the Ann Arbor Blues & Jazz Festival, 1972
  9. Interview with Amiri Baraka by Lazaro Vega, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1999
  10. I Know Everything You Need to Know About Music by John Sinclair: A Conversation with Michael Ray
  11. Arkestra in Residence by Rick Steiger: Sun Ra & His Arkestra at the Detroit Jazz Center, 1980
  12. Sun Ra Memories by John Sinclair
  13. Twenty-first Century Music by Pete Gershon: The Sun Ra Arkestra under the direction of alto saxophonist Marshall Allen
  14. The Great and Wondrous Sun Ra by John Sinclair: In Conversation with Wayne Kramer, London, June 2008
  15. My Night as a Tone Scientist by Wayne Kramer
  16. Cosmic Engineering: Jerry Dammers & the Spatial aka Orchestra / Part 1: Interview with Jerry Dammers by John Sinclair & Dylan Harding, London, 2009 / Part 2: Concert reviews by Paul Bradshaw, John Mulvey, Ian Harrison & Jack Massarik
  17. Schwartzegeist by Sadiq Bey: Live from Berlin: The Sun Ra Tribute Project
  18. Sun Ra: Myth, Magic & Music by Steve Fly Agaric 23
  19. The Mystical Estate / Part 1: Standing in the Shadow of Sun Ra by Dylan Harding / Part 2: Interview with Haf-fa Rool by David Kerekes & Caleb Selah, London, 2002
  20. Sun Ra on Film by John Sinclair & David Kerekes: The Cry of Jazz & Space is the Place
  21. Sun Ra Obituary by John Sinclair: New Orleans Times-Picayune, 1993
  22. Photos & Comics / Part 1: Sonny’s Last Song by Mat Colegate & Dan White / Part 2: Scrapbook
  23. Contributor notes
  24. About this book

Some photographs I snapped of the book:

Steve Fly 33.

Available at CITYLIGHTS bookstores in the U.S

Composer, bandleader, pianist and space philosopher, Sun Ra was a unique individual and one of the most colorful and enduring of musical legacies, transcending time, place and culture. From the mid 1950s until his death in 1993, Sun Ra led The Arkestra , a fluid collective that lived and played together under the despotic tutelage of their leader, who claimed to hail from Saturn. Their music was jazz, but avant garde compositions in which players were instructed to adhere to a space key improvising without regard for conventional tonal centers was symptomatic of an altogether different direction in sound: electronic music, space music and free improvisation.

But Sun Ra's legendary status was earned as much for his eccentricities as for his unique artistic vision. He developed and propagated a mystifying sci-fi mythology which he weaved into both the music and Dadaist performances of The Arkestra (performances which inspired artists as diverse as George Clinton and MC5). This book collects together for the first time interviews with Sun Ra, the people that knew him, and his contemporaries, alongside illuminating essays and conversational pieces regarding his prolific musical output, mystique, philosophy, fans, and much more.

Publisher Headpress
ISBN-10 1900486725
ISBN-13 9781900486729
Publication Date October 2009
List Price $19.95


SunRa Jazz Freejazz Experimental Astroblack

Selected and recorded by dj Phly Agaric 23, May 1st, 2010. Amsterdam. In resonance with the recent launch of the book SUN RA: INTERVIEWS & ESSAYS (HEADPRESS).

Track Listing v1.


Mix Release date: May 1, 2010.