Wednesday, 24 October 2012


Perhaps it is possible we set something loose when we opened the door to mushrooms, to totems, to wolves and coincidences blossoming like fresh blood in the dark.


Perhaps the chemical was a key. Not like a lock, not like a solid metal shaft in the palm of your hand. I am talking about encryption and encoding.

Listen: we found the blueprint for the allocation of symbols and the undoing of syntax.

We tipped our lids and we summoned Ob.


Everything inhaling and exhaling and the tall grass licking round our calves like snake tongues. Everything flipping colours through the spectrum like a loaded deck between the palms of a Tarot reader.

I howl my dalmatian lungs and feel the tremor of my ancestors’ paws padding across a mountain range crafted of silhouettes and distant houses.

“It wasn’t a hallucination,” says J. “It was that the moon and the trees were wolves.”

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