The myth that we use only 10% of our brain power has been rightly reversed among scientific circles. Of course we use 100% of our brain function, else we would not be whole as human beings. What is now becoming a more important part of the conversation is the activation (turning on) of multiple strands of DNA, leading to a more awakened being. The question is who is doing the ‘turning’ on? Some over-lord that controls this part of the universe perhaps or maybe it’s the god that we pray to, the god created by man to serve man’s will. 

Okay. This is just part of the illusion we bathe in every second of every day, as we stay [dulled down and mired] in the waves of unconscious living. Now that the Mayan calendar has come to a close and the new cycle has begun, it’s time for us to get our molecules together and add some amperage to the currency of life. With the help of Conscious Evolution, which is an ongoing process of the Soul’s creative force, we can turn on some more light. 

I have excerpted this passage from Book Two – Portal, which describes they way we can start the process of seeing beyond the illusion. I hope you will take the time to try it out. After some  practice you will see a new world before you. One that has pure intelligence, living and breathing all around, and within our grasp. Here’s to Day One of the New Exploration…Happy Journey…

“Being able to see into the Void is the most urgent matter of all in the coming years of your time. Your illusion will be crumbling all around you in many ways. It obviously needs to. This is happening right now before your eyes—in your news media, in your politics, in your personal lives. Behind all the crumbling lie other illusions, ready to replace the one you’re currently in.

“If you do not comprehend what lies behind all the illusions, you will simply substitute one of these others for the current one. It may perhaps be fresher, shinier and more comforting for a while. But it will still be an illusion. The opportunity you now have, as a species, is to realize reality! To enter true empowerment, you must be able to touch the Source of your power. That means knowing the Void!”

“Would you please tell me, then, how can we see the Void more clearly in ordinary life?”

“Here is a simple way. It requires no great technique or practice. Relax. Breathe. Hold your gaze on a single object, one that is not moving.” You point to a paper clip lying in front of me. I look at it intently.

“Do not blink your eyes as you stare at it for a minute or so. Blinking or moving your eyes is a reset button. Do not reset your eyes or mind.

“As you gaze at the object, notice what happens to your vision of it. Notice the distortions that begin to appear around it. It is partially your motor-perception making this happen, of course. But soon the distortions will be apparent within the object itself. The image will fluctuate as it comes into and out of focus. It is not just your eyesight creating this phenomenon. The quantum physicality itself is fluctuating, coming and going, vibrating in and out of existence continuously.

“You are observing the transiency of form—both in your eyes and in the object before you. You saw this in our hands upon the altar outside my house. If you were to stare long enough at any object, it would disappear completely. Without the continual ‘reset’ to physical reality, the forms of the world would be much more transient and transparent. This is the way vigilans see reality. The Veil of Forgetfulness, the curtain between the realm of spirit and mind, is the mechanism for circumscribing your incarnate awareness. The Veil is programmed, in your species, to continually reset itself.

“Now, back to the object. As you see the fluctuations in the image before you, understand it as a portal beyond form. The opening is there right before your eyes, right within the object itself, and right inside your eyes as well. The Void is in the eye of the beholder. Take only one small step toward that portal, and there you are—in the Void, feeling the Void, sensing that it is all around you, beyond time. This exercise can be speeded up, with a little practice, to mere seconds.” You pick up the paper clip.

I blink and the image is suddenly reset to solid. “Thank you, O. That worked for me. I wonder if it will work for anyone else. The Void is right there in front of me, and within me. I like being able to sense it like that.”

“Sense it and use it, my friend. Use it to touch your power and find your presence. Knowing the emptiness that embraces all things is to know the Source and destiny that embraces all things. This can be known by anyone with a strong enough resonance to do so.

“You are now ready for one more clarification. Going within is actually not what the mind thinks it is. We say that reality—truth, power, the whole Cosmos—lies within you. What that means on a more subtle turn is that within you is a portal into reality. It is not that the universe is actually contained by your individuality; the individuality archetype is your icon and access point into the great, ‘undivided’ nature of creation.

“Lying deeply within us all is the Oneness, wholeness and emptiness. This is accessed by means of portals. Study of portals is a major science for vigilans. These portals exist at the quantum level everywhere—non-locally. They are the thresholds to formlessness. In truth there is only one portal everywhere.”

You gesture broadly with your hands. Your facial expressions are captivating me in a way I haven’t sensed since we were with the old man in the far future.

“I guess that makes sense. So, when I enter the Void within myself, or perhaps have any transcendental experience, I am really passing through that portal. I sort of get it. Can you explain a little more about how that works and how it is relevant to us now, during the Great Storm?”

“That portal is, of course, how I communicate with you. You have felt it before as a tiny, subatomic point within yourself. This has been described by some of your scientists as microscopic black holes, lying at the center of every atom.

“To repeat myself in other words, it is actually the non-linear, non-local Threshold of the Void itself. There is no distance you have to travel to reach it. You do not have to seek it ‘out there’ somewhere. It is everywhere—in all space and time and matter. It has no form and, therefore, is not bound by any of the laws of the form world. It is the presence and point of you in each manifestation of consciousness. When any creature realizes this point, it awakens—the creature awakens, and the point awakens!”

Copyright ⓒ 2010 Robert Lee Potter

The Hidden Tracks continue their hiatus since recording the Laxative Attitude album however, their debut album “extrumentals” is now available to stream and download at Bandcamp.com. Laxative Attitude may, or may not be released this coming year.

Minus Floyd is getting prepared for recording again at Black Band Aid Studios after a slight shift in the earths axis.

Hunter Green lined up a band and they played their debut live show in Duncan, B.C. with local legends No Don’t Stop and The Void. Check out the video for Mayday below.

That concludes the 2012 highlights from FreeDumbMedia. Thanks for listening, liking, following, watching, subscribing, and all of your continued support over the years.

I was in the bathtub with my then boyfriend.  We were listening to opera music with candles lit, just relaxing.  For some reason I was able to relax so deeply that I left my body & went a black void in which I could look down & see myself & other people on earth, but I was aware that I was actually a limitless, bodiless being with access to all knowledge.  Anything I wanted to know; I instantly knew.   There was no light that I could see there, but the darkness was not scary.  I was also aware of many others there with me.  I was having an amazing time until the moment that I had the thought that I was thinking beyond my ability as a human (if this happened again now, I would no longer have that thought)–and then I was instantly back in my body.  Trying to bring all of that knowledge back with me would be like trying to fit the entire universe into a thimble.  I was only able to bring bits & pieces & the memory of the overall experience back with me.

Over the next few months, I would unexpectedly remember more glimpses of the things that I knew there while going about my ordinary daily activities.

“When you can’t tell the truth, you cut the bonds that tie you to other people, bonds of shared emotions like pain and joy and fear and happiness. You start building walls around you instead of bridges. So you turn to food. Again. For solace, for comfort. And the walls around you become walls of flesh.” –Geneen Roth, Breaking Free From Compulsive Eating, p. 46.

When I was about 10 years old, I was significantly heavier than I was when I was 7 years old. In three years my body had changed dramatically. I remember being 9 years old at elementary school and wearing big ugly t-shirts to hide my fat body. And I stayed plump for many years, until I got to high school. I still thought I was fat though. I still do to this day.

What happened in those years that changed my body? My sister stayed skinny, so did my brothers. But I plumped, like Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

My parents divorced when I was three years old. I don’t ever remember what it was like having my Dad around or my parents being together. Which I guess is a good thing because apparently, it was pretty bad.

I was about 7 or 8 years old and my sister and I were coming home from our usual every-other-weekend-every-other-holiday visit with our Dad. I remember very little of the context. It was nighttime. Dad had dropped us off. And the only thing I really remember was the long, drawn out and emotionally charged conversation we had with Mom. It was like the flood gates had opened and Mom could finally tell us the truth about our Dad. We must have asked her about Dad’s behavior or some sort of comment must have sparked it. She related every detail she could about their marriage, how hard it was, how crazy my Dad was, how he abused her and my brothers, the weird things he would do, how angry he would get…how he kicked her out of the house in her night gown and threw all her clothes on the lawn.

I remember feeling so much pain for my mother and all she had been put through. I felt righteous indignation for her, I felt sad for her. We both did, my sister and I. So from then on it was our secret, between us and Mom, that we knew everything that my Dad had done, but we were never to tell him that we knew. And we secretly hated Dad while with him, openly hated and made fun of him while with Mom.

It felt good to be in the know. But it must have been painful too. I remember one day, after a visit with dad, I must have been 12 or so, feeling really confused about my feelings toward him. I mean, he is my father. He didn’t abuse us or do those things he did to my mother. Sure he got angry occasionally. He threw pots and pans and yelled, but never hit us, and he always said sorry. He took us fishing and camping and hiking. He took us on vacations and had fun with us. So one day I asked Mom if we could stop talking bad about my Dad, since he’s my dad and I have to be with him regularly. Boy was that the wrong thing to say. She blew up at me. She felt betrayed, abandoned. I had converted to his side and refused to understand or acknowledge her pain. How dare I? You don’t even know the hell I went through with that man. How could you defend him like that? Maybe you should just go live with him since you love him so much. I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. I’m done.

The door slammed in my face. I felt so much pain in that moment. I felt so alone. And I just couldn’t handle it. The pain was so raw and so intense that I would have done anything to make it better. It felt like my whole world would end forever. I begged, I pleaded for Mom to come back and open the door. I said whatever I had to say to make her feel better, let her know I was on her side. I’m so sorry Mom, that was so inconsiderate of me. Please forgive me, I had no right to disregard what you went through. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please just open the door so I can talk to you and let you know how much I love you, how strong you are, and how awful I know Dad is.

It was like I had no feelings. They didn’t matter. They were too painful to deal with anyway, and no one cared about how much pain I was in. Not even me. All that mattered was making Mom feel better. And it worked. She finally opened the door and accepted my apology. And we moved on with our lives, like nothing happened.

I could be wrong, but maybe I learned to self-medicate with food? Perhaps that pain never went away like I thought it did. Maybe I mindlessly began to cover all that pain, stuff the void full of food, over and over again. I remember eating way more than I wanted to because I wanted to be cool like my teenage brothers. And mom would make me finish what I had on my plate, I imagine in an attempt to teach me to only get what I could eat. But to this day it is my habit to always finish my plate no matter how full I am. I stashed frosting tubs in my room. I ate lots of bread and pasta when I came home from school, and then when mom got home and we all ate dinner, I pretended I was hungry like I hadn’t been eating all afternoon.

This experience I had was one of many. That pain I felt, collapsed and broken at the locked door of my mother’s bedroom is The Deep Pain.

Just heard this one on Walsh & N-Type’s set on Rinse, and I was instantly hooked on it. Widowmaker absolutely smashed it with his last release on Wheel & Deal with both Tunneling Wurm and Forgotten Ruin, which had a very deep and dramatic vibe. However, his new track, The Void, really changes it up and brings a much more techy sound, while still having a rather intense feeling. Really excited to get my hands on this one, keep your eyes peeled for it!

Hello to you, anonymous and quite possibly non-existent reader. Welcome to my blog, Minimum City. Ah, but no, I’ve already written my first fib. That personal pronoun, that my, it has no business being there. Must watch for that. I sheepishly admit to a weakness in that area.

You see, this isn’t really my blog, except in the most superficial sense. I mean, yes, I set it up, certainly. Earlier this evening, in fact, I sat down in my new Herman Miller office chair – ridiculously expensive but stylish and comfortable, although when you get right down to it, rather more stylish than comfortable – a glass of fairly good Merlot at my side, while my excellent fiancée busied herself in the kitchen, and I conjured Minimum City out of the void.

No, there I go again – that’s wrong, I’m no magus, no Prospero, and this blog isn’t the product of my arcane art. I must watch for that. No, better to think of me as a humble midwife, yes, that works. Because while I did indeed attend to the thousand and one delicate little agonies that help bring a blog kicking and screaming into the light of a new day – manipulating the widgets and so on – the baby is not mine.

No, Minimum City belongs, in the most profound sense, to a man who has not the least interest in writing a blog. Nor, it would seem, in any of the forms of communication available to the contemporary human animal. You won’t find this erstwhile friend of mine on Facebook nor Twitter, neither will you glimpse him joshing beerily with a gang of pals in a hearty pub somewhere.

This 40-something drop-out, our wandering star, is as absent from Flickr and from Tumblr as he is from his home and his job. You won’t even find him surprising his excellent girlfriend with a city break to some European capital, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as they take lunch at a pavement cafe on the Champs Élysées or while away the afternoon in a succession of vodka bars along the Unter den Linden.

You see, as of September 18 this year my friend – who I shall refer to by his initials, DB – has, for reasons I am scarcely qualified to guess, abandoned his life, slipped his moorings, gone walkabout. Left behind are:

• His home, a one-bedroom flat in a district of Cardiff that currently teeters on the very brink of gentrification but is in the meantime awash with (a) skinny, red-eyed men perched on suspiciously shiny mountain bikes outside convenience stores trying to cadge the 86p they need to buy a packet of cigarettes, and (b) discarded takeaway cartons smeared with lurid yellow sauce.

• His job as a vending machine supply operative, driving his van full of Cokes and Sprites and energy drinks to architecturally laughable business parks and leisure villages, designer retail outlets and private hospitals along the M4 corridor between Cardiff and Newport, here in the post-industrial paradise of South Wales.

• Very little else.

    

But don’t worry, dear imaginary reader – my friend is not on a suicide trip, DB is not – if you’ll excuse my Pythonic levity – an ex-vending machine supply operative. He is alive and well, if slightly strange, and I know this because every day since September 23 I have received from him a little something.

Fig 6: Chas Smash.

Sometimes it’s a text message. My BlackBerry will, mid-meeting, suddenly utter Chas Smash’s immortal ‘Hey You!’ (from the arresting come-all-ye that ushers in the Madness classic One Step Beyond, as you already knew, dear informed reader), causing me to make that face, you know the one, the face you make when your phone goes off during a meeting, and mutter something like, I’d better just get that, might be head office, only to find another strange, gnomic message from DB. Here’s one that arrived last Tuesday, for example, while I was drawing to the conclusion of my presentation at our department’s bi-monthly bubble-up group:

Gulls cross salt marsh – low – from silver strip of sea – above wet rushes and sedge – frost glitter – perimeter fence – wings still – gliding – white car park – blue bread vans unloading – gulls invading – winter morning – at Asda

It’s hard to know what to say to that kind of thing. I tend not to reply, to be honest.

Other times it’s an email, wherein my absent friend can expand on how the steady zum-zum-zum of a busy motorway heard through the hardy hedges of a service station is the modern translation of the sacred Sanskrit mantra sound of Om, symbolizing the beginning, duration and dissolution of the universe, Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva.

Fig 8: Have it your way at BK – you got it.

Or, indeed, how sitting bolt upright in your driving seat and gazing, unblinking, at the illuminated, elevated, circular, revolving Burger King sign at the same location – the services at Junction 33 of the M4, just west of Cardiff, which like all motorway services is a nowhere place, liminal, neither here nor there, and as such an intimation of the space between being and non-being, the void – can take you to places that beardy weirdy bloke The Beatles used to hang around with could only dream of.

I’m paraphrasing, of course. DB, as far as I can tell, is entirely serious about this stuff. These places – the out-of-town retail parks, the hypermarkets and drive-thrus, the ten pin bowling and cinema complexes erected on reclaimed land in the middle of nowhere, and above all the motorway services – I personally find depressing, ugly and soulless. They spread like a virus, cover more and more of our land like a hideous rash. Give me a nice old pub with rambling ivy, real ale and a bit of history any day. I’m sure you feel the same. Who could love this modern plague?

Well, DB, that’s who. These empty, plastic places hold a magic allure for him. Their very emptiness sends him off on some kind of crazy Zen vibe. He looks across a windy car park at endless streams of families drifting through the multi-coloured haze of a retail park and sees not what you or I would see – a  chance to pick up some inexpensive gifts for people to whom you feel more duty than love – but the endless cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth, the ever-spinning wheel, samsara itself.

So it’s into this existential void that DB has driven, in that battered green Vauxhall Astra to which he has long been so irrationally devoted. And for some reason – please don’t ask me the reason – it is to me and me alone that he is sending these enigmatic dispatches from his M4 corridor of the mind. Not to his mother, nor to his sister, certainly not to his excellent but very much ex-girlfriend.

No, to me, Robin Steele, friend and former colleague. Yes, we have known each for a number of years, but I can’t honestly say we were that close. In truth, he spurned most of my advances. He was the constant no-show at every boys’ night out I organised, not that I took it personally. I understand that DB is an asocial animal.  Man delights not him.  Nor woman neither, as far as I can see.

But I suppose some part of him must have sensed that, beneath my bluster and bravado, I am a man of rather rare sensitivity, of a certain human empathy that is actually far from common.  And while it’s true that the workings of fate or luck or what you will have sent our life paths, DB’s and mine, careering into each other in a most unfortunate way this last few months, I think it’s clear he knows I remain his friend, perhaps his only one.

Fig 10: The latest in Kompakt’s long-running Pop Ambient series, although hear one and you’ve heard them all, if I’m being honest.

I wonder where he is tonight, this stormy December night, as I sit here in my fancy chair in a warm flat overlooking the park – distant city lights are twinkling through bare branches – sipping my Scotch and soda, listening to a playlist I compiled of my favourite cuts from the Kompakt label’s annual Pop Ambient series, my excellent fiancée curled up on the Chesterfield, softly pink and freshly robed from the bath, reading her Alain de Botton, and the wind sends the rain in urgent rivulets down the glass.

I imagine him at the secluded far edge of some car park, where knotweed pokes through the fence and brambles sport festoons of discarded receipts, nodding off to the rippled reflections of illuminated store signs in the oily, windblown puddles. Equally, I suppose, he could be tucked up in a narrow bed at a Premier Inn just off the motorway, lulled by toilet flush and trucks’ rumble, anywhere between here and the Severn Bridge.

Finally, I take on board the idea that what we’re dealing with here may be a nervous breakdown, and that instead of setting up a blog to publicise his ravings (and also his photographs which, as you’ll notice, show signs of severe Photoshop abuse, a fact that implies two others: (1) that his skills as a photographer remain, despite my patient advice over the years, wretched, and (2) that wherever he is, he has his laptop with him), instead of giving his rambling nonsense a platform, I should be thinking in terms of some kind of intervention. His mother, in fact, has been quite emphatic on this point, in a series of increasingly ill-tempered phone calls, to the point where I’ve stopped picking up when she rings.

Fig 11: Severe Photoshop abuse.

But who is really say? Who is to pronounce on the sanity of another? It may be a breakdown, but might it not also be a breakthrough of some kind? And if my monkish wanderer really wanted to vanish into silence, to cease all communication with the world, why would he be sending me all these car parks, these corridors, these endless reveries?

I feel that, all appearances to the contrary, DB wants to be heard. And, in his own way, he has trusted me to be his conduit. I have no ego in this. I am merely the Boswell to his Johnson, or perhaps the Brod to his Kafka. I am convinced that, one day, he will find what he’s looking for out there, and then he will return, and see what I have done for him, and on that day we’ll go to the pub and he’ll say cheers, mate and buy me a pint.

Oh dear, I see this post has gone rather long and, worse, I’ve included barely a handful of words from the man himself. Not a good start. I must watch for that, I sheepishly admit to a weakness in this area too. To bed then, where my excellent fiancée now sleeps in her lilac vest, most deliciously tousled and tangled, snoring with a surprising vehemence for such a willowy woman.

Goodnight, dear illusory reader, and to you too, DB, wherever you are.

There are billions of items that can fill this void. Believe me, I got into a great deal of debt in a discovery to try to fill this hole. Clothes, make up, videos, DVDs, and even sex. Money cannot fill that void of suffering.

This morning I woke up tearful. I thought about how far I have come in my layers of forgiveness. How is it possible to forgive someone when you have never had an apology? The hurt still aches. I realised today that people I trusted have abandoned me, and this happened to my mum. She was abandoned. My father left her when my sister and I were children. She drank to numb the pain. Nobody understood her pain, but over the years, I have been trying to.

Her family have never understood her. My Nan has even said that she is a shame on the family. No wonder there is always an element of resentment between her and I. She is a very bitter woman. She has said horrible things, and many times behind our backs. Money is far more important to her than her daughter’s health. I still think that if my Nan just admitted that she is at fault, if she truly apologised to my mum for her shameful behaviour, then maybe it could help my mum to heal. I also think mum deserves an apology from my father for his cheating. So while mum may be comfortable in her surroundings, and she may not be able to cry away her pain, it will always be there. She has been abandoned. She has felt lonely throughout her life. How on Earth can one take away such incredible pain?

I think back to how I used to react when I got home from school and she was drunk. I reacted with anger, not realising why. It hurt me to see her in such a way, but this selfish on my part. I wish I knew then what I do now. I don’t know why this keeps repeating itself, but I want to try to understand, rather than to ignore. Many past issues continue to cause my pain, but I like to think that my mind and body body knows what it is doing.

Every little thing we do to one another can either cause great healing, or great pain. It is no good going through life without learning from those mistakes. If you have ever wronged someone, say sorry. Humility is a great gift. We do not always have to be strong. This morning I feel incredibly weak, but there is always a message in those dark moments. Saying sorry can be just the medicine that we need.

Have I been able to forgive? Sometimes I think I have come far, other times I feel back at square one. I see great pride in man, and it is also our downfall. Believe me pride has made me fuck up more than once, but I have learnt from my mistakes and I will always apologise where I have done wrong.

then

forever

still

ago

blood

tears

fire

“WHY IS THERE FIRE?!” Primanus yelled.

“WHY IS THERE WATER?!” Darus yelled.

“AND WHY DIDN’T ANYONE GIVE ME SOMETHING TO YELL ABOUT?!” Giantfishy yelled.

Fire and water gushed from the Mesa, smothering Voxelboss in multiple elements.

“This is lame!” Nadiae said.

“Guys! You just have to–” Total was blasted by a jet of fire. She tumbled down the Mesa.

“NO!!” Primanus screamed.

“We have to move on! If we stop now–” Nadiae slipped and plummeted down the Mesa.

“WHAT THE HELL!” Giantfishy yelled. The three remaining members of Voxelboss climbed as fast as they could. They reached a small outcropping where they rested for the moment.

“Mehmehmeh, Total and Nadiae are dead… I can’t believe this…” Darus said.

“We need to reach the top. We’re almost there, I can tell. It’s getting colder,” Giantfishy said.

“This is worse than that time with Gary. Remember Gary?” Primanus looked at Giantfishy.

“Yea, I remember him. Poor Gary. Went into Crafter’s Mine and never came back,” Giantfishy answered.

The three agreed to keep climbing. They crawled up the cliff, and finally reached the peak.

“Woah! Look at the view!” Darus exclaimed. She peered around in all directions, taking in the massive expanse of desert.

Vryan and his team materialized beside the three.

“Hey! So it looks like you’re only three that survived. Well done to you! Now for the second challenge,” Vryan said.

“Second?! Are you kidding?” Giantfishy blurted.

“Well, it’s not really a challenge… It’s more like a massacre!” Vryan pushed Giantfishy off the edge of the Mesa.

“WHAT THE COFFEE!” Primanus yelled. He reached into media and pulled out a Aurum Blade from Kid Icarus. He swiped at Vryan, but he leapt over the sword and kicked Primanus in the face. Primanus hit the ground hard and threw the blade at Vryan. He caught in midair and snapped it over his knee, which caused it to break into pixels that fluttered and disappeared. Primanus pulled a pair of Tiger Claws from the same game and began to battle Vryan. Soon enough Julius attacked and reached for Primanus’ backbone to snap it, but Primanus slashed him with the Tiger Claws and red pixels started to seep from his chest. He flew over the edge of the Mesa, tumbling to his death. Fluffy charged Primanus right away, and Primanus began to fight Vryan and Fluffy at once.

Meanwhile, Darus was battling Bobby and Alex. Alex slashed at Darus with her golden sword, Xarenan, but Darus parried with her own silver, razor sharp sword, Karreha. Bobby launched a potato at Darus, but she sliced it in half. Unfortunately, half of the potato hit her in the face and Alex took the opening to kick Darus. She landed near the edge, her sword slipping off the Mesa. Alex walked to her.

“You’ll never win,” Alex grinned.

“Maybe I will… PRIMANUS! GET ME MY SWORD!” Darus yelled. Alex gasped, and Bobby and her sprinted for Primanus. He began to fight all four all at once, and pulled a new Karreha out of media and tossed it to Darus. She leapt into the fray, back to back with Primanus.

“We are so screwed,” Darus said.

“No. We’re not,” Primanus said.

Bobby leapt for Primanus, but he dodged and kicked Bobby off the Mesa. Fluffy scuttled at Primanus next, but he jumped on top of the giant crab and thrust Ararananza into his shell. Fluffy snapped his claws in pain, and Primanus kicked Fluffy off the Mesa and grabbed his sword. Darus was clashing with Alex again, but Darus ripped Xarenan out of her hands and batted her off the Mesa.

Only Vryan was left.

“MUAAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAAAA!” he cackled.

“What’s happening?” Darus said. A massive blue portal materialized in front of Vryan, and five figures stepped out. All four of Korkas’ past personas were all led by Banman.

“DEJA VU!” Primanus screamed.

Korkas and Kori began to battle Primanus. Korkas swiped at him with some kind of stone sword which he shattered with his claws. Kori began to shoot death rays (cliche if you ask me), but Primanus blocked then with his sword. (watt)

Opinion battle time!

May leapt at Darus with her ruby sword (isn’t ruby kinda fragile?) and swiped downwards (swiping downwards is so last year.) Darus jumped to the left (left? Seriously?) and threw her sword (more stabbing please) at May. It went right through her (WTF) and conveniently (great) hit Vryan in the chest (of course). He screamed a little (wimp), but just fell off the Mesa (again?). Esther swiped at Darus from behind (okay) , and Darus flew off the edge (two in the same paragraph. Sad.)

“NO!” Primanus yelled. “I WILL KILL YOU ALL!” he swiped fro Banman (pathetic), but Banman just shot him with a ban ray (>_>) and Primanus collapsed without another sound. (wimp)

XXX

Below Nonic’s ship, something was very, very hungry.

XXX

“Oh crap,” Lapaka said as an offshoot of one of the Rainbow Bunchie’s ray hit the ground near his team. The ground immediately turned into some multicolored pixels.

“NO! PAUSE! PAUSE! TIME OUT!” Proto yelled. The multicolored pixels turned into a bottomless pit. “Better.”

“You’re definitely not making it easier for us,” Freekboy said.

The group, avoiding Final Boss of the Internet death rays, made their way to the massive blue tower that supposedly housed the Final Boss of the Internet’s prison. They saw no way inside the monolith.

“What if we need color powers? Like to make the tower a different color so it opens?” tta suggested.

“That makes no sense,” WoaM said.

“Oh yea! I remember the time when– INITIATE FLASHBACK COMEDY ROUTINE!” Jack said.

[flashback]

BEGINNING OF FLASHBAC NUMERO UNO

It was a dark and stormy night…

Screw it.

END OF FLASHBACK NUMERO UNO

[/flashback]

“Was that a flashback of a flashback?” Lapaka asked.

“Yes,” jack answered.

“FLASHCEPTION!” Freek shouted.

“Flashception is different from flashbackception Freekboy,” WoaM said.

“I reckon I see a spider ov’r der,” CrazyHobo pointed at the tower. He climbed up the flawless surface somehow and crushed the ‘spider.’ All of the sudden, a door opened at the base of the tower.

“Sometimes I do NOT get this comedy,” tta said. The group walked into the tower.

They emerged in a black expanse void of anything.

“What is this?” Freekboy asked.

IT IS THE REALM OF THE NARRATOR! I’M GOING IT REALLY HARD FOR READERS TO READ!MUAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHH AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA HHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHH AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH HAHAHHAHAHHHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAhAH AHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HhHDAHaHDuQW 31u8fbn 8f4búgy7bb9   fuwbf 3ui8 b24ugn nub 820 gb240bu8ubng3n3uhg 43cn34cq 8u4cmy7u8o g

The teams of morons began to swim up a reverse window of coffee. They barrel rolled through a catapulting lava bear and fell upwards into a math pie. All of the sudden, frisbee!

A massive lock appeared in the void. To open it you have to say the password.

The lock began to open.

Dangit! The password was password and I said it! Ughh.

“FOOL! YOU HAVE RELEASED ME!” The Final Boss of the Internet materialized in a flash of light. “I WILL WREAK HAVOC ON THIS REALM!”

“Oh crap,” Lapaka said.

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING? WHAT IS THE RAINBOW BUNCHIE GOING TO DO? WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO PRIMANUS? FIND OUT THAT OUT AND MORE MORE MORE IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF VOXELBOSSSSSSSSSS!

“You’ve got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down. “
Ray Bradbury

This is the first in a series of several blogs on the subject of theme.  This is an important part of process for many artists, especially since as we start to desire increasingly professional presentation, we need to have some cohesive themes that hold each body of work together.  At the same time, it’s important for a theme not to feel forced or uninspired.  So the question is: How do we, as artists, develop themes that feel natural and inspiring without cramping our style?

What I am finding is that themes arise naturally in the process of creating art.  There are three major themes that seem to be coming forward in my work right now.  They are wings, mountains and rock or cave formations, and portraits of goddesses and gods.  The final theme is the most obvious and is the overarching theme that ties all of my work together.  However, it is also important to also have minor themes that thread their way through the work, bringing it together.  Metaphorically, it might be similar to having a bass player, a drummer, a singer, and a keyboardist in a band.  All contribute their themes to the whole, to make something bigger.

One of the first pieces in my latest body of work in which the “wings” theme showed up is “Heart of the Mountain”.  In this image, the wings came in as a symbol of the divine feminine.  I was having a visceral spiritual experience of the void and with that experience came an image of the divine feminine as the container for the void, seen as a pair of wings that encloses and holds.  The wings in this painting also tied in with the Native American theme of “grandmothers” that I visualized as living within or being a part of the energy of Taos Mountain.

“Dancing in the Void”  also uses wings and the theme of the void.  In this image, I used what I thought of as Raven’s wings as a backdrop for the dancer.  In this image, like the previous, I envisioned the wings to symbolize the energies that hold the space for the dancer in the void.  I saw this holding energy as being similar to that of Durga, the Hindu mother goddess; and the dancer as Kali, a more violent, masculine form of the divine feminine.

This is a recent sketch, which in my mind I am calling, “Fallen Angel”.  It’s more gestural then the others, but the woman in this drawing also has wings.  If you look closely, she is actually holding the head of a bird- possibly a Raven, or maybe a vulture.  I’m not totally clear on what the wings symbolize in this one yet, though she is holding the bird to her breast, a strangely maternal or sexual gesture.  The jagged lines at the top of the image were inspired by the animated movie, “The Dragon Hunters”.  I was thinking about the theme of perseverance and a hero’s journey that was in the film.  Speaking of ravens, my work in progress, “The Morrigan” also features a raven.

This is a block print from a previous body of work.  It shows that the theme of wings goes back pretty far- this piece is dated 2004.  The original sketch for this piece was drawn during a staff meeting at the school I worked at- I was bored as all get out!  The idea behind this was about growth and rebirth.  I imagined a tiny seed, in the middle of a farm field, sprouting and reaching towards the sun.

Finally, there is the piece of work I decided to use as my logo.  It shows a beautiful, winged woman, perched on a rock, looking out at the sky.  She’s deciding whether to jump and enjoy the flight, or stay in her lofty perch and enjoy the view.  I envisioned the wings as Magpie wings (a relative of the Raven), which is one source for the name of my studio.

What is your relationship with theme?  How do wings show up in your life?  If you had wings, what would you do with them?  What do wings symbolize to you?

Now, you may not know the joys of medication, but I take GET ON WITH YOUR DAY drugs in the morning and GO TO BED drugs at night. That’s right, I am actually Alice in Wonderland but more boring, older, and a bit fat. So what I do, when I get my medication, is to put them in those plastic holders with the days of the week on. I have two, a clear one and a blue one, so the clear one can be for morningtime and the blue one can be for night time. Annoyingly they start the week with different days, but that shouldn’t be an issue. However. More than once I have taken the wrong drugs at night when I am tired, and I have taken the GET ON WITH YOUR DAY drugs before bed, resulting in staying awake all night. I have done it the other way round, too, but only once. What I did to help this situation was to put the night ones in my bedroom, but when you fill them up it’s easy to forget and just put the whole lot in the kitchen drawer. SUCH WAS MY LOT, dear reader, when last night I went to bed. It took me ages to realize my mistake. I can report that nights are quite long when you are awake enough to be bored but not awake enough to do anything about it.

So today was a bit of a wash. It had rained a lot of the night and it was still raining this morning. Now, some staffies won’t even go out of doors to pee if it is raining. Poppet doesn’t mind a bit of rain, though she gets a bit itchy and needs to sulk under a blanket if she gets too wet. Luckily Ten was here, and he took her out in a break in the rain and played ball with her. But this afternoon, she really wasn’t interested in going out. We finally persuaded her when Ten’s bike tire exploded and he had to go into town to a bike shop and decided he’d take her with him. She loves the train and she loves shops, and it isn’t actually raining right now. However, there may have been a little something extra in the mix, because as she jumped off the bed she also projectile vomited all along the floor! Nice! Still, better out than in, I suppose. She does like a little casual dining when she is out, and not everything is within it’s use by date… even for a dog.

And that is basically my whole day except playing words with friends and watching episodes of Parenthood. I can’t wait til I can take my GO TO BED drugs and finally go the fuck to sleep.

***

There was something else today, though. I was reading some blogs and I shared this shocker on facebook.

“Iain Duncan Smith launched an astonishing attack on step-parents, single parents and LGBT couples this week in a move that could see welfare to work sharks brought into the family home and even the bedroom.

Speaking at a conference on social justice, the Secretary of State warned that in future the proportion of children no longer living with the same parents from birth would be a new government measure to monitor the growth of ‘social problems’.”

I mean, targeting step parents? In what way are they part of the problem and not part of the solution? This government beggars belief, I can tell you. Any smugness in comparing the UK to the USA is pretty much over right now. I can only hope that they really are wildly out of touch and we’re not just about to be forced to wear stars and triangles and so on, because seriously, this shit is scary. It inspired a fair amount of swearing in the thread.

***

While we are being bummed out, this might be the time to share the news that The AIDS Memorial Quilt has been digitized in it’s entirety.

Sobering stuff.

So I’m in Oregon now. I think this will be my home. Currently, I can’t decide if i want to live in a small- no TINY- rural town and help develop a sustainable community with an emphasis on permaculture, or try my hand in Portland, where I’m sure to fit in, so I’ve been told…. I’d love to establish a new social circle filled with young artists and musicians. I’d also love to be a part of something special and meaningful, surrounded by people who value me. I think I might be trying to plan my future, and I’m just not wired that way. In my experience, I get the best results when I just let go and have faith. Ugh. The ‘F’ word hahaha.

Well I’ve been trying to hone my video editing skills, something I became super interested in not too long ago while witnessing a girl friend back in Atlanta. I have her to thank and blame Why blame? Let’s just say, I’m not catching on so quickly- No. I suck. I have this software called ‘Lives’ that can produce professional looking results, or I can use Youtube, which is good enough, but tedious. I hate their “cropping” function- you have to sliiiiiiide the ends down to the part you want. Why not just a scissor tool, Youtube??? Hm. Perhaps there is such a thing, and I’m just too much of a doof to have found it… My point IS, that as soon as I can figure out the finishing touches, I’ll have my next adventure posted. Thats right. I’m too OCD to go out of order. After Texas is New Mexico. Then SoCal. And so Forth.

I’m on OkCupid again. That’s how I found my last boyfriend… when was that, like four years ago? Gee I’ve been single for a while. Throw a girl a bone? Ah. I suppose I’ve pushed away a few prospects on my own accord, so I have no one to blame but myself. I’ve turned into a bit of a commitment-phobe with really high standards. What? I heard boys love that…. : /  LOL So far, nothing promising has happened. I went on one, very bland date (he totally didn’t look like his photo! and called Donnie Darko a douche! Blasphemy!)  I’ve gotten a few numbers. But someone always shuts down at the last minute. … yes me, ONCE. But them MORE! Grr. My aunt says all I have to do is love myself, and it will be reflected back in my life. Well, I love myself plenty. Sometimes twice a day. (wah wahhhh) But seriously, I’ve worked really hard to come to terms with who I am. In fact, I’ve pushed loved ones away to protect my love for myself. Not that I’m proud of that. It just happened that way

So what’s up Universe?…Huh?… When will all my dreams come true, huh?…

…heh?

….h-hellooooo…..

Sigh. Nothing but the Void. You know. They say the longer you stare at the void, the void starts to stare back. Hm…. I just imagined a metaphysical comic strip portraying that concept- Nietzsche and Void are children screaming at God, “he’s looking at meee!” “stop looking at meeee!” “you started iiiiiit!”  …. hahahaha!

(Then God says, “don’t MAKE me pull over.” And they are instantly silent… As we pan out we see Jesus in the back. He says, “Hey Dad… *I* wasn’t fighting…” Everyone rolls their eyes. “Yes we knoooow. Now go turn the other cheek or something…” Neitszche scoffs and continues staring at the Void, but the Void just sits there and… and… exISTS… and stuff….its slowly driving him mad…)

Scratching in the Dirt: No Problem-Living in the Void ep (Debt Offensive)

For the inaugural review I decided to choose the best band in Edmonton, the city where I was born. It’s most likely a false kinship I feel due to growing up in a desolate wasteland but I owe it to the now long blown ashes of my childhood spark to acknowledge that city. That and also because No Problem are a fucking great band.

What the hell is the void? I don’t think you can live in the void, but instead be suspended over it. It isn’t an emotional state. The void is not darkness or depression but a gap leading towards maturity. The void is what we see when we cross that bridge and become wise and the men (this band is made up of entirely males) we are destined to be. It is impossible to fall into the void because we either die young or we die as men. This ep is standing on that bridge with its hand out reaching for the rope handle and measuring each step as to minimize the sway.

Uncertainty takes many emotional forms, not the least is anger. I believe that’s why hardcore is categorized as young man’s music (although this is a false assumption) because we are unsure of how we are to make a mark on this planet before moving on. Uncertainty leads to mistakes and the strength of our character is measured in response to mistakes. Personally, I react with rage. Once I realized what has happened I begin to feel it within myself, beginning in the core of my body and eventually overcoming all the humors while my thoughts put out the fire of potential harm done to myself or others. I am not an angry man but I know that it’s there and it’s not as bad as it once was. That feeling was on my back at one side of the void and is gradually being discarded into it as I cross. Both the songs ‘Living in the Void’ and ‘What Have I Become’ channels this spirit of anger caused by the uncertainty in both ourselves and our surroundings.

I believe the void is crossed with work, love and learning. Eventually all three of those elements begin to suck. Shitty jobs, dead end or elusive relationships and excessive cynicism are the winds that sway the bridge above the void and all three are addressed on the ep. The cynical song is ‘Happy Family’ and it is close but misses the spirit of proper nostalgic cynicism. Nostalgia has always been popular as the recent history of style can attest but nostalgia in and of itself is not a bad thing. Raging against it (which is the subtext of the last song) is as pointless as raging against a photoshopped picture removing skin blemishes. The thing itself doesn’t matter; who cares if you have somewhat nice memories of your childhood but now once you’re older you think that they were bullshit. It’s the same as if you find out Natalie Portman isn’t that pretty (except she is and will be mine, fuck you Mr. giant-dicked Fassbender). It is only something to be cynical about if you actually strive to live the falsehood and it seems like No Problem have no intention of replicating their parents’ lives (this is an assumption, I’m just working with the lyrics). Damn, this is turning into a half assed lecture on nostalgia (something I will touch on in the future because it is a large part of our baggage and I need time to reflect on it) but I think the song misses the heart of the matter which rests on a once genuine belief that you were raised on a certain nuclear family way of living and strive to replicate it. The cynical part comes from discovering your dad beat the shit out of your mom or something but I don’t think No Problem ever gave a hot shit about imagined American family ideals and honestly, nobody fucking believes that shit anyway. The song is also confused because it’s battling with the idea of family being in and of itself a form of oppression. Lyrically it can be taken two ways but whatever; whether it’s about a rejection of childhood or the most basic power structure it is still the weakest on the ep because there isn’t full conviction behind it, which the great spirits of hardcore demand, your soul on my turntable is all we ask.

Straight forward review time: It’s good, buy it. It doesn’t reach the heights of the Your Eyes ep but it’s still damn good. Also be sure to see them play if you can. I once drove three hours to see them but missed it because I got blind drunk on Kalua and lager in the alley behind the venue, but fuck my war stories, this band is better than that.

RING RING………..RING RING…………..(I say RING – it’s actually the Charlie and Lola theme)…..Who the fuck is this ?  It better be good.  Oh shite – the caller ID displays Matt Bellamy.  Surely not ?  On a Wednesday ?  I only ever hear from this one if he needs money or a lift to a gig.  I, like a mug, answer it………”We’re playing Glasgow tonight and need you to help out as our mechanical pyramid operator has broken a metatarsal” or some shite.  Bloody hell Matthew  !!  I’m on it I tell him. They organise a flight from Dalcross for me and I book a taxi – bloody Muse – piss ups, brewerys etc etc.  Mrs houd looks over, raises an eyebrow and reminds me that The Winter Tradition are playing in Mad Hatters tonight !!!

What ?!!?!!?

Dilemma ?????  Youre not wrong !!

“Matt, old son, apologies but you and you’re wanky Queen-based pomp rock stylings will have to excuse me this evening as we have a proper band from the country of Scotland playing up here in the Highlands so, basically, you’re oot the windae, gimme a shout when youre ready to make another Origin of Symmetry and well talk then, eh.  Kisses”  - it was a voicemail – he was probably doing vocal exercises or some other wank.  TO THE HOUDMOBILE !!!

The Winter Tradition

Ok I walked.  Here comes the really wanky bit though – instead of ipod I’m using phonepod or something or other – music on ma phone.  Just as I’m walking into Hoots – I kid you not – on comes the very album that these talented chaps, The Winter Tradition, are touring to promote.  Uncanny eh !!

Now young Stuart of the Nelson has already fired up the acoustic and is playing nice tunes and having nice banter with the audience when I slope in, late, sorry.  Hes a very talented wee fella is Mr Nelson and I don’t see enough of him or the band he fronts, He Slept on 57.  I shall attempt to remedy that over the coming months cos they’re bloody good !  So, a digital setlist (on his phone rather than on the traditional sheet of A4) went down well and included a HSo57 cast off but no Phil Collins tribute (you had to be there – where the fuck were you? No Hue & Cry excuses tonight……..)

Stuart Nelson

The Winter Tradition next – pyrotechnics, smoke, lasers and massive fucking spaceships were not necessary.  All that shit was in Glasgow with Mr Bellamy and his cohorts.  Tonight in Mad Hatters we were treated to a set of good, honest rock n roll with no frills.  Not that the audience wont have got that with Muse its just that we could see The Winter Tradition without the aid of binoculars or masseeeeeeev video screens !!  I hadn’t seen these guys since 2010 when they were the Void.  Missed them at goNORTH earlier this year so was really keen to see how the new album tracks sounded live (and really hoped Id get Game of Ghosts – I did – its was brilliant – I danced a little – happy houdi).

The set list was (and this is from memory -  I pride myself on knowing these things and would never, ever ask the band for a copy of their set at the end of the night like I did with Purple Divide a few months ago.  Ok I did), right – the set list was Gradients, San Diego, From Afar, Game of Ghosts, Frame, Send the Waves, Tides & Telegrams, Firelight and Nightscape.  They sounded brilliant and received a damned fine reaction from a smallish audience – it was Wednesday after all.  Genuinely nice guys too – they put up with me talking shite at them (not to them just at them in general).

Anyway – enough drivel from me here’s where you need to go to find out more and hear things from all the acts mentioned above apart from Muse – they don’t need any help from me nor would they get it.

THE WINTER TRADITION          HE SLEPT ON 57           PURPLE DIVIDE (they did get mentioned – its only fair)

The Winter Tradition are back up this neck of the woods at Invergordon Arts Centre on 3rd November supported by Purple Divide and the brilliantly named Silence to Medicate.  Definitely worth a look !!

It is often the shortest journey, undertaken with least expectation, that offers up an excess of possibility beyond what we expect to see.

It’s always worth exploring the other side of the barbed wire fence.

Never keep to the path.

(Extracts from FPC Field Guide).

Time constrained by commitments later on in the day and yet compelled by the need to go for a walk, we settle on a local part of the Fife Coastal Path.  The very short stretch between Inverkeithing and Dalgety Bay is a narrow tarmacadam / cinder ribbon of a mile, or so, that meanders around the coastline.  Whilst  offering fine views of the Forth Rail Bridge and over to Edinburgh and Arthur’s Seat it is unlikely to trouble any tourist brochure. Indeed, the walking guide for the Fife Coastal Path devotes one short paragraph to it. There is a clear implication that this is a space that you can simply pass through.  It is also a functional path, popular with dog walkers, leisurely strollers and is even lined with street lighting. However, as the sign above indicates, the traveller is asked to keep within the marked path. We cannot help thinking of Little Red Riding Hood but can only read the sign as an invitation to stray …

There is a distinctive  topography to the land along this stretch of the path which edges around Inverkeithing Bay with sloping scrub and wooded elevations up to Preston Hill and Letham Hill behind. These factors and lack of road access, has prevented any urban coalescence between the nodal points of the old industrial harbour of Inverkeithing and the 1960s new town of Dalgety Bay.

Looking towards Dalgety Bay from Inverkeithing

However, there is also a distinct feeling of crossing a threshold, as you escape the gravity and material ephemera of the human settlement, and move into this zone from either end. A feeling of the wildness encroaching, long forgotten histories written into the land, whispered stories at the periphery of perception. A freeing up of the rules.

~~~

Lock-ups – Leaving Inverkeithing

Leaving from Inverkeithing, we walk past a row of lock-ups, that are not without some semblance of aesthetic beauty in their irregular order and contrasting colours. You wonder what is behind these out-of-the-way closed doors? Some have obviously not been accessed for some time given the overgrown vegetation in front. We also notice that as soon as you pass the last lock-up, the wild space is already there, encroaching green fingers, edging into the human space and into the photo frame. There is also a rather cryptic graffiti announcement:

Oot It

Entering / Leaving The Zone – Dalgety Bay

We are not sure whether to read this utterance as a comment on some existentialist predicament (“Out of it”) or a marker post to signify a transition point of moving out of the urban setting.  (Moving oot it). Later on, when we reach the Dalgety Bay end of the path we find more graffiti on the first inhabited house. There is a clear sense that both of these graffiti bookend an entry – or exit. We read these signs as an intimation that what lies between these threshold markers is a different place – a zone. Not urban, yet not rural. Not even ‘classic’ edgeland.  Instead, an indication that what lies within is an escape from the ostensible order of the settlements. Possibly a play area, a hidden place, an out of sight place, a gathering place, a wildness.

Follow the Desire Path

We are not far out of Inverkeithing when our advice to keep to the marked path is quickly discounted. We are drawn to the barbed wire topped, chain wire fence that we can see across a flat area of post industrial wasteland off to the left. It’s a pretty feeble attempt at preventing access as a whole section has been removed and most of the barbed wire has been snipped off.

We follow the well trodden desire path through the fence to find ourselves in the heart of the abandoned Prestonhill Quarry, now filled up with water. There is a compelling, uncanny beauty to this place. A void gouged and hewn out of the Earth, with the remaining dolerite walls reflecting weak sunlight like a cubist canvas.  The acoustic ambience has also noticeably changed. We are in a huge reverberating chamber so that the slightest noise pings around the walls. A distant ice cream van sounds as if it should be coming from somewhere within the quarry, possibly submerged underneath the water. At the same time swallows dart and zig-zag above our heads, whilst magpies hop and skip around the top rocks, observing us with curiosity.  A couple of buzzards circle in the distance .  There is no one else around.

Prestonhill Quarry – Cubist Walls I

Cubist Walls II

What is noticeable is that even in these most barren of conditions, non-human nature is restaking a claim with outcrops of growing vegetation, clinging to the quarry walls, thriving in the most hostile of conditions and the thinnest scrapings of soil.

Cubist Walls III

We soon find the ubiquitous discarded fridge. Lying face down, its broken body surrounded by other accumulated fly tipped debris. The human stain of the dumping ground. It is always a puzzle to consider the time and energy it must take to fly tip a fridge in an ‘out of the way’ area, such as this, compared with taking it to the recycling point. Perhaps it’s for the sheer visceral thrill of throwing a fridge into a quarry. We assume that it has been pushed over the top and has been there for some time.

~~~

There is perhaps another attraction of the quarry. It is an unseen place with very deep water.  Every surface has another side. What else lurks underneath the skin of calm blue water?  What is submerged down there in the green depths with the little fishes?

~~~~~

g

o

i

n

g

~~~~~

b

e

l

o

w

~~~~~

t

h

e

~~~~~

s

u

r

f

a

c

e

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(c) Zibi

(c) Zibi

(c) Zibi

Fish in Prestonhill Quarry (c) Zibi

All underwater photographs of the quarry are by ‘Zibi’ and can be accessed here along with many others. Whilst we have attempted to seek permission from Zibi to use these images, we have not received any reply to our request.  Clearly if our request is subsequently refused we will remove the photographs from the blog but in the meantime were are grateful to Zibi for their inclusion.

It would appear that the quarry is also a favored disposal spot for stolen cars, making for an ideal symbiotic relationship with the diving community who find the quarry an attractive destination for underwater exploration. There is plenty to see and investigate below the surface. We are also told later that local fishermen stock the quarry with fish which they then try to catch again, fostering a fledgling underwater eco-system.  There are rumours that someone may have introduced a pike.

~~~

The quarry is also clearly a gathering place. A hidden place of escape and unregulated recreation.  We walk around the void, recording some of the many tags that have been written on to the rocks.

FTW – Mr NIce

JC Waz Ere

Billz, Coco, Jamie, SKAK

Anarchy

Staring up at the quarry wall and contemplating the material passage of time ossified in these rocks. The play of light on the angular shapes conjures up dynamic planes of movement and appear to imbue the rocks with an almost animistic quality. We can eventually see a cubist rock giant, emerging from time with right arm raised:

Emerging Cubist Rock Giant

~~~

Back on the path, we head off to the right hand side this time.

Stretching out over the water is a fretwork pier of rusting metal which we find out later was the old industrial conveyor system used to load the quarried stone on to tethered ships.

We stand for a while to listen out for the lost sounds of this place. The kling klang ghosts of the industrial machinery, the heft of monolithic slabs of dolerite rattling down towards the waiting ships.

almost silent now

now almost silent

only the ack-ack-ack

of a solitary gull

riding the wind currents

overhead.

A large steel plate has been placed across the structure presumably in an attempt to prevent people from climbing out along the pier. It’s unlikely to be a deterrent but it no doubt satisfies some health and safety regime. The plate has rusted and weathered into something resembling a Richard Serra sculpture:

Richard Serra ?

Once again, we can see how the wildness is staking its claim with tendrils of green growing up, through and out of the lattice structure. “Shugg and Leanne” evidence the human urge to make a mark. The basic proof of existence. A name recorded. A demonstration of love?

Running parallel to the fretwork structure is another abandoned jetty. The pulleys remain suspended from the cross beam conjuring up something of the gibbet or perhaps some form of cosmic launch mechanism to project the traveller up and into the pillows of cloud:

all of this

abandoned history

lost stories, forgotten stories 

sounds of absence

whispering in the wind.

We decide to explore a bit further underneath the conveyor structure sensing that this may yield possibilities.  We are not disappointed when we alight on this gathering site:

What is noticeable is that there is no rubbish strewn here. It’s as if this is a place of respect. Strangely enough, the atmosphere evokes a similar feel to another outcrop of rocks that can be found on The Binn (Hill) along the coast at Burntisland:

Rock outcrop, The Binn, Burntisland

Humans have also made their marks on The Binn stones, albeit some 4,000 years earlier

Cup and Ring, The Binn, Burntisland

~~~

We pick up a bit of walking pace to take advantage of the seascape.

a sounded wave, persistent and seductive -

plays the shoreline.

flux and flow of sea brine -

a spilling over

of elemental energy.

Once again the unusual topography is such that we can hear a mash-up of field and hedgerow bird song against foreshore waders and gull talk.  A chorus of crows, darting finches and tits; a wren bobs along the wall before taking refuge in the trees. What looks like a falling red leaf is actually a robin. On the foreshore, oystercatchers, and curlews wade and waddle whilst fulmars, cormorants and herring gulls dive and swoop. Symphonies of birdsong and gull chatter.

It doesn’t take long to reach Dalgety Bay, but just before the threshold graffiti we come across this:

Abandoned House Dalgety Bay

Roofless and abandoned, it looks as if all of the surrounding land has been sucked away from the foundations leaving it sitting like an old tooth stump.

Doorway to Nowhere

We try to piece together a narrative here but fail. Why has it been abandoned? Why left to ruin? It was clearly a property that had wealth behind it at some point, sitting in its walled garden. Enquiries are made of a few passing locals but yield nothing.  “It’s always been like that” says a man who looks to be in his forties. “Ever since I was a wee kid”. He doesn’t know the story though.

~~~

We are on the reverse trip back to Inverkeithing when we spot a small opening in the stone wall with a signpost:

How could we resist? Off up the rickety path which didn’t appear overly well trodden.

We find a beetle on its back on one of the steps clearly distressed. A multitude of legs. flailing wildly, unable to right itself. We soon tip it on to its feet and the little jet black shell scuffles off into the grass.

The path ascends fairly steeply and it’s not long before we find ourselves on a high ridge which slopes away towards Letham Wood. That will have to wait for another day. Our immediate area of interest lies off to the left. Another barbed wire fence and it’s as easy to circumvent as the last one. This is what we had been leading up to. We could already feel what we were about to witness but were unprepared for the sheer scale of it.  Compared to the ground level, water-filled heart of the quarry, we could now gain a perspective of the entire void and walk right up to peer over the edge.

The Void

The Void II

The Void III

Peering over the side, into the void, it’s as if a vacuum is trying to suck your insides out. I’m reminded of Aragon in Paris Peasant and the ‘suicide bridge’ in Buttes Chaumont park – coincidentally built in a reclaimed stone quarry.  Before metal grilles were erected along the side of the bridge, it would supposedly claim victims from passers-by who had had no intention whatsoever of killing themselves but found themselves suddenly tempted by the invocation of the abyss.

Our photographic skills are unable to adequately capture the scale of this almost mournful absence, hewn from the Earth. It’s a place to simply sit and stare for a while.

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It’s often easy to forget to raise our heads to the horizon. Having escaped the seduction of the void, we now realise how high up on the ridge we are. It changes our sense of the whole topography of the area. We can see how connected we are to the East side of Inverkeithing and marvel at the long view over to Dunfermline. We can see Spinner in the distance with the distorted perspective making it appear as if it is growing out of a housing estate.

Spinner

We later discover that there is also an abandoned WW2 radio station complete with intact pill boxes not too far away but don’t see them today.  Another time.

We descend back down the hill to the coastal path and reflect on our experience. What we had anticipated as a short, local coastal walk had been transformed into something else. A journey through a zonal space teeming with encounters and traces of the human, non-human and even the animistic.  A co-existence of dumping ground, liminal playground, gathering place and nature sanctuary.  The transient narrative of human activity inscribed in the abandoned house and the mute quarries and jetties a reminder of how financial capital abandons one exhausted void to migrate to the next site of profitable extraction.

Above all of this, the continually changing drama in the sky:

Sometimes it’s in the sky when you look – Buzzard dots

Looking to Arthur’s Seat and Edinburgh

Eye in the Sky

And as we return to Inverkeithing we can smell the sweet wood lying in the still functioning timber yard and take one last photo. It’s only later, that we notice that in this photograph, and almost all of the others, there is some intimation of wild nature straying into the frame.

An alert wildness, observing, perhaps patiently waiting for its moment to come.

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This has been a little slice of:

From The

Now Playing: James Plotkin : Mark Spybey – A Peripheral Blur.