Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Post Digital Daydream (For John Trudell)

post digital daydream (for John Trudell)

I pulled these words into chunks last night, today i intended to post them, but paused after hearing that the great activist poet John Trudell had passed. On second thoughts i should post these chunks as is, mistakes and all, and dedicate them to John. Peace.

remote like far away
or under control
a human eye
foreground back

skynet caught moon
with the hand
firefly glow

glass marble yellow
rockpool potted squid
post digi
stuffed wheat ego

wear he go
into pavement
grey lid dustbins
wet steel blue electric
faded digital prints

the crash the war
the crash the war
and over until value
depleted in the minds of
the people
perhaps zen will catch on?

more than boring
horrific to my mind
the masses blood lust
the chicken hawks and
pro killers in remote hawks
made boring by firegusting
new media

reducing war to a fight
for a games system
a memes system console
viral flash bang know how
is king
for today
king needs consoling

tomorrow the
toffee banana squid
returns to dazzle tank to
wowwow those projections
in your pink face

sweets glazed soft cracked
azure tango blackcurrent
dancing in airspace
airstrikes of colour

rainbow boom bop
over the top sherbert
with lemon grind
pouring out gun barrels

cheescake sauce
dripping from missile cases
oozing like lava into hungry
mouths of suited hoglizards
licking cold white metal
shells with their fat
pink tongues

tanks full of strawberry
jam explode
pushing soldiers out the hatch
laughing as they land with a soft
rolled jammy jacket of strawberry
lamb cushion

bullets: stop the metal
start sponge bullets
gel in turquoize
see-through layers
in between look

waterfall of digital empires
business driven into the floor
outlived over and over
which tribe do you choose today
collective maddness

spreading viral shadows
empty just after reading
gone like a thief in the night
someday found
drowned in the torrent
a washed up novelty
again giant

handgranades full of petals
rockets made from marshmallow
bullets of flompystuff
tough to sweeten the killings
in the name of mad profits
spongecake headed politicians?

for arms tradespeople
those who profit from wars
bombing killing and pain
parasites and the leading
urnaium tipped

edge of modern
"go get them contracts boys
suck a cock
do not question me
we need a new war
every week you scumbags"

lights dim with thought darkly
cloud and lightning
tongues snap like snakes
poison darts fly
curses black magic and
prayer congeal

metal and explosives
fling apart things that rip
flesh and bone no
discretion of age sex race
social status
killing kills all in vicinity

land mine your own mind
step on a bomb and blow
your stupid fucking brain
to smithereens
bits and bytes in synapses
beyond words and pictures
the pain
to explain the game again and again

seeing the planet
whole agiain like
holiday postcard images
always and without concrete
steel and glass cities
beyond the digital castle door
into the crypt
into the crypt
under the floor

see through the mess we made
and out the surf tunnel
full of waste
grasping plastic tesco bags

cola cans and mcdonals litter
out the surf
grasping for the sun
flying out again post

fully knietworked and
unique and trained for change
constant one and only
after 2030

survival and innovation
ability to share pathways
calm with improbability
heal by using awe of possibility
room for a thousand
narrative voices

to negotiate an agreement
obviously beneficial
to all parties
food clothing shelter
seat in global
local super nature kids

the scene goes black grey
cold water on gunmetal
street lights bounce from glasses
to gun briefcase car and keyring
keen blue laser beams shoot
camera pans backwards

the cityscape loud with sirens
fire in the sky
rats in the street teeth white
boots polished snapping
arms and legs of homeless folk

and up higher into the sky
we see small missiles
leave an arch in the cold air
off toward the middle east
we follow the bomb

like a chanpange cork
the missile charges high
above europe
christmissile time
the target tracked by
drones built nearby

by university graduates who
love skrillex
locked into jinglehellfire
reins down on the rooftops
thousands immediately
die of incineration
thousands more blown

sights once viewed
non erasable
human waste
wasted by some sick
trick shop of horrors

who makes this made up stuff up
and do real killing stuff
the propagandist puppet
front mask moment has come
acrillic figa ink on the run

statues made from body parts
in bronze gold and silver
real portrale of casualties
at the public expense

now birds of paradise
burst from their crafted ears
in slow motion
flapping against the dying sunlight

each bird
exhibits beauty of feather
eye beak and breast
a quality-street box of disco
feather colours

not a joke but a
disruption of the
plain old
truth illusions

angry men and fussy women
in support of a war machine
fueled by hatred
misguided weapons
to bomb sanity
to pieces
man machine mind
war-headed bastards

after thousands of years
of fighting
many still remain
locked in violent battle
Godfather and Mario

revenge over again
retribution and
inability to figure out
another way

the scicilian ways
like the last wild panda bear
fighting to the death
over bamboo shoots
and chess

and Dyonysis
networked with natures' god
plugged into

to hum a lullaby
we all need to hear that
calling calling cali

a call to imagination
unity city to city
camp to camp
shoulder shoulder
joining arms
inspire with tales to
tell again

the dog that
saved a baby girl from fire
a horse that caught
a falling princess
the bee that stung a
kings nose

dawn nears
lights flicker the webticms over
splutters a hurricane of
ads spy operations and
brainwashing gear
any heads left are tuned out

inner-space where
neuro engineers coagulate
for the rights to remain

maybelogic genes
memes and equations
tricky with such unpredictable
dot dot dot

here lies the
illusion of some truth
seeping from a gas grenade
consciousness like
chasing willow the whisp

a village gone
now virtual existence only
in camera footage of destruction
blown apart into pieces
meaning mangled

among the dead bodies
the ancestors crawl too
in dingy caves on hands and knees
just to catch a rat to feed
a dying mother and father
a dying culture awaits on

the otherside of the glazed red
mountain five days treck
back with only a few
rats and some dog meat

the camera cuts to a family
huddled in a cave
smoke in the distance signals
the death cult is close

death cult in the air
on the ground and in the water
death cult the destroyer of
worlds the ultra mangler of meaning
missguded vile masters
of war

may you rot with the
bodies of your victims
the share holders and super rich
wealthy war sports personalities
and hench men
those who forget to teach
the way it used to be
and what we can do to claim
something back
not least culture
here we stand
at the end of digital
rot and roll

fly agaric 23
a name to signify
a species of fungus
beneath a tree in 2023

revision of timewave zero
end of moores law again
end of silicon based chips
end of 3D and parallel fish-tech
post digital wasteland

what you thought
fungus grow on deathbeds
signifying the shitty cycle

fuck your war
fuck our war
fuck my war
fuck the war

warships sail toward
each other shooting
hand painted
greetings in socks

missiles hurtle toward
local islands droping
seeds and nutrients to help
stabalize any inbalance
due to previous mishandling

2015 years too late
human violence to each other
must decompose like
funghi all around

barbacued fast
on your plate
does it trouble you to
watch all friends and family
die slowly

to turn the imagination
sideways on mass killings
compared to doctors
killing patients with wrong
prescriptions drugs
the terrorists are
your best mates but
statistics always were a

the drama and cop gun
kung fu of terror pricks
plots foiled and deployed
on screen or in street
bang boom of it
the drama rules
of the rough knuckleheaded
grey seas of popular
unquestioning sleeping dicks

nightmare of history
over a-fucking-gain
are you kidding me
inside my head are you
serious again fuck me

here in this writing
to capture reader
with a stagnant ballbag of
outmoded blog

no image or gif
flipping past
skim the fat
the fact floats or sinks
shake em' out now

half caught in a TV show
half conversation
not all fully here but
somewhat outside
waking life

floating about social
media messages
recalled in mind
imaginary responses to
half remembered
broken paragraphs

splintered glasses and
icicle shards in purple wax
honey mead and feathers
fusion earth blue to
heart red the beat
blast of comfort my hand

pulse of nobody
a strangers rhythm
7 billion strong kidd
pull down the digital
curtains of thy vanity
soil and water
leaf and flower pull through
dreamers tarmac road
cone perception now

white and orange cones
misdirect mind missiles
in the wrong directions
strike back

with violent force
"teach them lesson
they will never forget"
scorpion thinks

fighting without fighting
overlooked too advanced
over the lumphead of a lumphead

the cold war game of
military build up
to feed the financiers and
backers over and over
and over again
too complicated for X-Factor goons

when will they ever learn
when shall we rise up
when will i stop writing this shit

old stones
berries brews and
starlight twinkle dazzle
crinkle of fern
frosted hands cup the juice
no word scripture or orders
follow the inner path

back to claymo worlds
back to imagine
trained to give benefit of doubt
yet going further
the joke
the fucking joke

to stay cheerful
grateful and think up
funny stuff is a weapon
without boundaries

like a suicide bomber
without explosives
but vegan sausages strapped
around his chest

a rucksack full of
baps and
boom 72 vegan delights
flipped script like a

crass to some
slightly amusing to others
a tiny nuke hidden
up David Cameron's asshole
going off

blood shit
and tory guts gushing
need an army of pool
attendants to clean this mess
after they speak
the vomit of war
fill oceans

to pretend to not see
the bait of the shootings
and timing of the escalation
like a hooded man
driving a nuclear submarine
into a city dock at full speed
shit's seriously
outof control

as i was saying
can be a good thing
23 percent chaos
enough to play with
remain sane and
questioning and
willing to always accept
new data

like a scientist
unphased by the giant dickheads
crunch of hitech corporations
they will crumble into
nano dustweiners
when the dusk settles

metals and
vegetables are naturally
abundant and will abide
the boredom sets in
and the majority using
innovation and quick
feedback response
may begin to take back
the crappy crown

let me begin

Steve Fly 33.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Somebody Blew Up France

Somebody Blew Up France

Thoughts on the Paris Terror Attacks, inspired by Amiri Baraka. With luck, leading one to question.

"We live in a world where there is more and more information, and less and less meaning.”--Jean Baudrillard, Simulcra and Simulation.

...who would want such a thing

to start fires in a world ablaze?

revenge for the prez' bombing Syr!a, a bomber said

indiscriminate killing on the streets

in restaurants and music clubs

how low a blow can go

who snatch away freedom

who behead on daytime TV and recruit on twitter

who want to destroy multi-cultures


Is!s the TV god preach

some mad Arabs bent on 

suicide crack, they say

and who is !sis and why

revenge they say and

revenge...they say 

eye for an !sis and we all blinded, i echo

the horror of grenades and bullets of

who made them who trade them

who train them 


like an unpublished Le Carre' plot

and a cheap Hollywood shootem' shot 

strategic targets maximise the sick spectacle 

who run the ops

who trust the cops

who blew 'emselves up

who encouraged them

who benefits

who fits the profile?


who can man the forgiveness trench?

who pray for more bombs 

and risk killing more kids and mums?

who making doe off Iraq! o!l drums

who shake hands on TV and be war chums

who talk of a holy war

'God is being repaired, as CĂ©line said.

who knew the identity of the killers before they killed

who mopped up the blood that spilled

who get thrills from security dr!lls

who made the bomb threats early that day

who got pictures of bombers remains

who remains at large

who wants to keep your mind in chains

who wants to destabilise Europe

who wants to unite tribes and desovere!gn!ze

who seen terror with they're own eyes

who did it and who tell it in biggest lies

who be merciless in destroying the bogeyman

who killed B!n Laden who shot the gunman


who made the fake passport, who paid?

who sold the vehicle

who had meetings about Par!s attack in Par!s last week

who planned a secur!ty dr!ll for Friday 13th, eeeeek!

who design the flags?


who benefit at the climate talks

who think money walk and bullshit talk TV

who sold and who bought that theatre

who picked at the eagles of death metal

who picked the France Germany football match

who cancelled the election

who gets excited by death with an erection

who got caught with guns at the border

who make chaos, who unmake order


...the sound of an owl or vulture screaming

in my ear, in the dark night wind, it calls:

the all seeing security service

the political vulture capitalists

fanatical religious misleaders

all faithful unquestioning followers 

the gentle homeless in the streets 

the skint student, still, smoking weed

who the trouble with?

Assad Putin Cameron Hollande

 Obama Osbourne Osama

don't forget to tell your mama'


C!A Thor with his hammer

some mad ill god or dark lost demon

NATO MI5 Mossad  

mars, or whoever operate death stars

militant clergyman, the DGS!

who rules war rules?

will there be support for Le Pen? 

Isis Dulles Hoover and Hitler’s men

Cheney Rumsfeld Bush Blair Saddam

curses upon the spoilers of human decorum

But. Stop. Hold on man.

without forgiveness what on earth are these

mere words good for, um?

who profit from WW2

9/11 and 7/7 who who who

who wanna’ be starting WW3

not you i hope

and indeed not me


“This is what terrorism is occupied with as well: making real, palpable violence surface in opposition to the invisible violence of security.” ― Jean BaudrillardSimulacra and Simulation

(Dedicated to all the innocent victims of violent crime and psychological torture, perpetrated by trigger happy militias and invisible government killing machines, everywhere. Hat tip to the late great Amiri Baraka)

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Shenannigums stuck between urban and rural dreams

Shenannigums licks his wound and paddles out to surf another wave, the blue sky above and darker deeper blue to green below. You know, i get with the flow out here bobbing about like drift wood, a current here, breeze there, waves crashing once in a while, a fish or seabird glance at my eyes, i stare back blinking, all the while wondering what its like back on the shore today. 

In the store today, buying milk, bread and butter, on my way now looking for meaning in the gutter, among the salty potato chip bags and cheap lager cans, snooze-papers, scratch cards and fag packs. Rubbish the whole lot of it, advertisements none the less, and the pigeon cares not for reading. Carbon fuels burn all around, wheels spin and lights flash, some make good of the journey, the image and the possibilities for change in the direction of omnidirectional changes.

Slumped under a pine tree, pine top roots music comes and goes, as the mind blows, and thoughts fix into my bow, to know where they go. No sight to show the ebbing paths of electrical pulses, darting about my ear, yet i see the leaf, behind belief, doubt leaves: branching outwards like corral or crystal tendrils. So alive and so invincible dressed in green, to know what i mean is to have seen the sheen of the runner bean, and felt it at the spleen to the eyelash.

Reverse the car into space, roll it all the way back to the factory and disassemble the engine, the chassis, dashboard, upholstery (to uphold this story) wheels and windscreen wipers, lights and body. Siphen all fuels, liquids and oils, gather the grease and rubbers, the glass, metal, microchips and leather. Now, drive your mind onto a busy motorway intersection point, imagine all the vehicles reversing into similar states of deconstructed ingredients. Look around the world. Do same with a bicycle, and a pair of shoes. Welcome to the garage of my soul, my karma.

On a beach under the starlight, each grain of sand a star and each neurone one more. Contemplating 10 to the power of 18, red-shift, and some cosmological principle or other, meansigns and why words? seabirds, each a plane, a mother father brother sister, flying in delta formation, each knows their place in the pyramid seemingly without looking, flapping gracefully, oriented by sun, moon, stars, horizon and complex brain to body feedback mechanisms. Sun’s on beaches, bums on couches, get up with it, if your tide, cut some slack, get back to wire you wants, be long.

Jumped a taxi to the nightspot, bright as day, outdoor heating lamps, 200 foot screens, blade running scared of nonhumans or non humane humans, over half robotic, predictable, running programs, drink, fuck fight. Still, i had a good night, kept these feedback loops in my head, locked away until today, here, to write but not say yet. These words have no voice. Wait there, let me just roll another cigarette. Night life seems more like a night death, with all this wine breath and light life, half-life decay of culture, up the nose, down the throat into the cosmological complex. And the singer screams ‘booze, babes, gold and money, do you see the lights, do think its funny?’

The forrest canopy animates a diamond dance of fishes as i pass. Each leaf in the best place to get a little photosynthesis going, but not cover up the others. Remarkable, i note in my book. Green now going yellow and speckles of black grow stronger, a full blown autumn leaf catches my eye, which slips down the trunk, across each caramel ripple and chocolate crevasse, landing with a slight bounce in some purple flowers gathered on the forrest floor. A cream and orange butterfly expertly parks on the largest petal. Nobody else around but a thousand eyes on me. The process together boggles my crown point jailed mind, to break out into the invisible channels these lifeforms inhabit, wow.

Standing at the bus stop counting cigarette ends, versus chewing gum, in a six meter radius. The bus map and its plastic covering do not mix well, the graffiti turns roads and destinations and the timetable into a milky way. Layers of exhaust fumes and road dirt skirt the lizard green metal frame of the shelter, families huddle together in the wet wind, like those forrest critters but dressed in synthetic hides and alternate furs (probably manufactured on the other side of the world by slave-labeavers.)

The pristine silver spikes on the park bench rise up when the sun goes down to deter park dwelling critters. The domesticated primates no longer hunt but stagger, living on a dagger, edge, and just there past the hedge, a hog dances in the muck, and if only the man-o-stagger would look, walk the duck and follow the only path out toward the pastures, beyond the reach of the pastors, to learn to become ones own masters, masters of reality engineering, via the ecological matrix. Word tricks and utopian dreams, splitting hears at the seems, as it seams to bee in the hive-land. 

Steve Fly 33.

Friday, July 17, 2015

In Banks We Trust - Stourbridge October 2008


Doors Freestyle Splurgeon

racism like an infection

slowly infecting the host

the language user turned

naive realist

since Plato and Aristotle

the language virus infecting

the domesticated primates

to be or not to



lies of nations states and

genetic family chauvinists

the great conceit

the big fuckup and shitter

the ability to define the difference

and the sameness with

equal truth

a product of the environment

and a product of genetic heritage

both forever tangled and swaying

like a pendulum

so racists for starters are sure

racists are cock sure they are right

about the prejudice they hold

solid and unchanging perception

unable to update their system

stuck in outdated modes of thinking

racists are static

stuck in a closed loop of

self centered wrongness

wrong due to the fact humans are defined

by the ability to suspend judgement

all the fucking "ists"

you dig my drift? eh?

the fucking "ists" those who

invoke hate on some group

defined with the "ists" sufix

or for that matter define any

group good or bad with the general

group-think catch

the trouble starts with the word

nouns and humans do not mix well

or mix very well at all at all

it starts with the words

before the words we are trouble free

no label to carry preconditons

no pre-judgement but moment

to moment feedback based on


the racist likes a tidy box

a neat and fitting system and idea

a foundation for group think

to justify itself

a bed of blatent false pretenses

a good place for the meat head to roll

break out of the linguistic

prison that you guard yourself

find the key to doubt

the key to doubt turned left

opens new doorways and paths


racists and most "ists" seem thick

thick and stuck in the mud of hate

self centered ignorance and without

a creative pulse left flowing

all knocked into shape by authority

delusions of the sovereign


language is a virus from

outer space Burroughs said

and racism can infect slowly

through words then deeds

in league with greed

group think and generalized

prejudice on the up

thur. 17/07/15. The Doors. Amsterdam. 21:42

Steve Fly 33.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Amsterdam Battavia Writs July 2015


human rights
robot wrongs
books burnt
rain comes
symbol traps
language shitstems

heart to mind it
body bliss dis-
the octopus on our back
octopus tentacles
poking and prodin'
our prejudices
the octopus rift
(Occulust Splift)


the music plays on
film and painting panting
too dimensional
but the word savaged and beat
butchered beyond

use the network nitwit
dont fight it
stop fighting now
chill your beans bro
spill your beans
in a semantic kitchen 
with extraordinary


cats make friends
with horses
dogs pigeons and elephants
animal tolerance
in the gene-expression
fearless and playful
butterfly backstroke
breastroke crawly creepy

open to new partnerships
cats burying shit in soil
pre programmed to
recycle waste with grace
four paws for pause
human uploaded vids are just
highlights and freakish odd fails
little did humans know
of cats nightails


viconian thunder
cloudburst boom
fathers voice
growing feint 
loss of force of that voice
at 40 years old

and the rain with wind
cycling tears i imagine
every natural metaphor 
now reflects the sorrow of man
war profit greed
machine mandness



to say no
but to revise often
resist temptation
each breath a battle
to contain all this
are you content

all this dear 
reader all the time all
the clocks and calendars
at once
how do we know for sure



we all have a right 
to natural abundance:
that which grows and reproduces 
on earth
for all living things

none should have to
beg for what abundantly grows
freely across the planet
natural abundance
berries fruits of all sorts
woodlands and rivers
the sun moon stars
caves and shelter grating weather
at the least 


the fucking bounty
of all human achievement 
throughout the ages
our cultural inheritance

if you don't want
to share
but please do not force 
the entire fucking planet
to obey your
rules of restricted access
to naturally


poems in glasses
on floors or in the air
what might have been
the mist in what must
error of judgement
mind cemented
to a plasma screen
the scream
frozen mouth agape

the comprehensive guide
to the incomprehensible
my dribble space blabble
swimming skin beater
from blackcurrentcountry


in faces and 
lifted voices
here spliced with
literary devices
damsterhome for now
'international' he sighed

the blues exploded
the bulb exploded too
shards and filament
flew in all directions
time slowed like a spinning

the percussion of collision
played loud in the corner stone
a pattern in flux 
darkness crept in
like a cia agent
paranoia eats at guilt
art ink blood and dreams
washed in silt

--Steve Fly

Steve Fly 33.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

for the river stour and all rivers rolling onwords

And the streams trickle down
toward the lower point
top down flows
surplus overflowing
the return home by way of
replenishing those dry
those brittle with thirst
the river forms and brings
water to the lands and to life
to the river banks and the
truth of a field or a forest

natural abundence 
the abundence of nature 
without tax of man's ways
no abstracted credit system
no banking chicanery
just the truth of what grows on
earth by sun, moon stars and
soil seed dung and fungus
yes, here are the fruits 
your natural inheritance as
a human being on planet earth
a human fucking being man!
you dig

before alphabetty language
casts the spell of beingness
in objects
before that
back back back when
way back
when the feel of a leaf
can indicate the date
time season and current
pulse of all things connected 
by DNA life forms
as standard
hyperconnectivity in the field
a return to the primordial mind
just for a moment here,
hold tight

As a cat can hold no race card
or a dog claim no religious denomination
domesticated primates are joking 
with this abstracted word wild mild
way of lulling one into a dream
world of invisible forces and 
ideological stuff and things
of no significance to a dolphin
or a pig,
a crow or a bonobo

these words cast their spell 
and we believe and we join in
with the totality of our body
mind interface
we eat the words and then
as if by magic
feel the effects of them
name address bloodline 
forever interchangable
forever fuckwitable

and the vortex turns
shuffle spin mix it up in a 
mind shake and we believe
and vote and engage with the
word games 
blind to the natural abundence
unable to understand freedom
freedom from ideological
the tabla rasa each morning
until we engage with the
language games
playing us through a 
sub-conscious tricky trick
playing those mind games
and on and on the river flows

next time it rains just watch
the route the water takes
the general principle of taking the
path of least resistence
the path of sharing resources
no concept of ownership
that game can wait
let the monkeys play that card

the sun shines bright with no charge
the waves crash and swell gratis
plants and animals grow and 
reproduce without claiming
anything at all at all
in alphabetic silence
yet still communicating 
in the chemical biological 
language lost to most 
urbanized primates
and outlawed by the 
power crazed law makers
enforcers and game rule

The earth, 
water wind and organic lifeforms
are truth
words lies 
statements distractions
yet somehow
despite all the spells
story and the language of poetry
struggle onwords

Steve Fly 33.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Selfish and conceited ways of muddle-class

Home or not home
that is another question
how far back can you think?

How wide is your gaze
your sources and resources
how comprehensive
how varied
how pluralistic?

measure it motherfucker
your gaze is narrow
thoughts well
generally selfish
self centered
still stuck in a 17th century
two conceits in fact
the conceit of scholars and
the conceit of nations
the latter whats the matter

lacking in compassion
these are the patriotic traits
of the new Britain
the Genghis Khan economy is back again

but know sense
no language of order and truth
no thought for the natural abundance
of nature
the cows milk
the fungus
the sun and water
all this for the benefit of 
all humanity,
all beings, animals insects and
sentient creatures
no your god-damned

Steve Fly 33.

Friday, May 1, 2015

Waywords and Meansigns: A Journey into Finnegans Wake

Waywords and Meansigns: A Journey into Finnegans Wake

mix himself so at home mid the musik--FW, pg.437

Shortly after discovering the Waywords and Meansigns project, linked from a blog called tailored by Tom Jackson, I sent an email expressing my interest in contributing to the musical ceremony.

I received a swift reply, informing me that the first edition of the unabridged Finnegans Wake has been delegated to the early contributors, but, due to such a positive and large interest in the project a second full edition is underway, and that I would be welcome to work on a chapter. 

I was given the choice of 3 chapters, and picked chapter 2 of book III (pages 429-473). My deadline was mid' June 2015, I made a slow start, recording perhaps 4 pages in 4 weeks, while making notes and working the musical ideas through my minds eye. The second word of the opening paragraph "Jaun" sent me on a brief trip around the inside of my mouth until I discovered "YAWN" not "JAYUN" and laughed out loud at the hidden, perfect fitting name of the dreamer, carried about this whole chapter like a sleeping baby in a Pelican's beak.

Right around the Spring Equinox I received a surprise email from the project Illuminati, informing me that a space had opened up in the first edition for the chapter I was working on, and if I would like to take the spot, and...could I get the chapter completed by April 15th (my 39th Birthday). I said yes, of course, yes yes, and quickly set about making a plan for getting the 40 pages recorded, and busy creating some new music. 

Thankfully, the reading itself was boosted immeasurably by support, encouragement and spirited performance by my friend, actor, comedian, scholar: William Sutton. In roughly 3 recording sessions held between William's kitchen, and my front room, here in Amsterdam, we managed to get a good half of our assigned chapter in the bag. These recordings feature various street traffic, the occasional siren, the pitter-patter of a small doggies footsteps on a linoleum floor, giggles from William's son Liam, and his partner Sassy, the crinkle of paper, the ping-ding and whoosh of street-trams passing.

The pages were coming in around the 3 minute 40 mark, so bearing that in mind I started working on some percussion tracks and guitar jams of equal length. As the chapter grows I generally move from single brushes on snare drum, and brushes on cymbal tracks, to a faster paced rhythm track, introducing the kick drum and some recordings made at full drum-kit. 

I recorded some samples of Gregorian Chanting, from vinyl, both backwards and forwards, plus some light scratching patterns using an early track by Sun Ra called 'dreaming' that I applied to the percussive template. Next I applied vinyl static to each page to give the impression of a phonograph recording "Lps. The keys too. Given!"--FW, pg. 628. Lastly I applied some other effects samples of ocean waves, water trickles, winds, fire and the sound of a typewriter, all strategically placed to echo associated parts of the text. 

On the 15th of April, my copilot and audio wingman in Amsterdam, Tim Egmond, managed to find time in the afternoon to re-stitch all the pages together into one long track (2h:38m) and apply some vital mastering. And that's what happened, and that's what you hear here.

healing music, ay, and heart in hand of Shamrogueshire!--FW, pg. 472

Friday, April 24, 2015

'ay muse'--toward a mayday poem for 2015

ay muse
sing into my ear
sing your song of spring
spin your harmony and
trans-love vibrations
along these lug-holes

pull me out from the
nightmare of white-mare
rich white male marriage
to the fake queeg liz'
and her diamond-trade carriage
off-shore operations with
war-goddess and thunderbolt
boyishness twinned
princes of darkness and
lords of war
kings of finance
and sons of whores

the bard on his pony
draped indras' net
eagle feather quill
and a pouch of blue honey
no money
no horse
no moustache
72 hares
60 bees
30 salmon
20 flies
12 spiders
8  toads
6  cats
5  mice
4  hounds
3  trout
2  Otters
1  Dolphin

ay great triple goddess
to me to me
sing a song in my ear
come near come close
whisper your tune
of sun moon earth and stars

to be continued.....

Steve Fly 33.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

They Came To Starburg by Steve Fly Agaric 23

Steve Fly – They Came To Starburg – Digital Release – An album of spoken word

November 4, 2014 by  
IMB6025 Steve Fly – They Came To Starburg – Digital Release – An album of spoken word (31st October 2014)
Steve Fly - They Came To Starburg
Steve Fly is a native of Stourbridge UK, now an Amsterdam resident who plays drums, spins vinyl, writes novels and literary and cultural commentary. He maintains a flock of websites and works in various other art forms without visible restraint. His other music projects have included New Flesh, Garaj Mahal, Temple Dragon band, John Sinclair and The Cosmic Trigger Stage Play.
Release Date: 31-Oct-2014
Label: Iron Man Records
UPC: 859713588714
Primary Genre: Spoken Word
Secondary Genre: Alternative
Language: English
1 Nightmare in a Bottle – 
2 Mountains out of Moleverns – 
3 Every Man and Every Woman Is a Tsarburg – 
4 Trans-Atlantic Partnership of Rites – 
5 Fleming Bridge to the Underground – 
6 Tentacles out the Door – 
7 Terror Horror and Tesco – 
8 Halloween Sales Business – 
9 Tesco Ultra Body Snatchers – 
10 Zombie or Not to Zombie – 
11 Them and Fungus Together – 
12 Credits –

Steve Fly 33.

Waywords and Meansigns project

With luck i will be included in the second edition of this project. Over the coming months i will be engaged with readings and musical interpretations of Finnegans Wake by James Joyce, the obvious inspiration for shenanigums Wave (World Piss).
Steve fly

Please visit the website, get involved.

Waywords and Meansigns is an upcoming audio version of James Joyce's famous text, Finnegans Wake, to be read in its entirety. The book will be divided into 17 sections, and there will be a different music/reader/performance group assigned to each section. Featuring established as well as up-and-coming artists, Waywords and Meansigns will offer a version of Joyce's work that is stimulating, accessible, and enjoyable to even the most casual of readers and listeners.

Expect recordings to begin surfacing in early March of 2015.

Interested in contributing? 
Get involved.

To receive email updates about the project, subscribe to our mailing list in the contact section.

Steve Fly 33.