THE SITTING ROOM FIRE

I wrote down something about the Nirvana barcode and at last put it on the fire at the foot of the fell while my mother took this photo of that fire with her phone. Now, only now, can I be happy that I truly falsified the Nirvana barcode! Even then it is my mother's fire and my mother's phone on which my mother's photo of her fire is taken!

THE FALSIFICATION OF THE NIRVANA BARCODE

In grief I made the Nirvana barcode to be the rhythm of 'Scentless Apprentice' by Nirvana tapped out in approximate barcode shape using the tool of the qwerty keyboard, but by now I think it more interesting to write it down, put it on the fire, and photograph the fire. Unfortunately my mother is asleep in the sitting room so I can't go in there and make the fire up yet. In the meantime you might have to have my dad's photo of me standing next to a bin on the day I got my degree instead!

THE BATH-TAP

I like this photo of the bath-tap here because a) it looks like a face and b) there is a water droplet on the nose about to fall off like a reckless tear. It also reminds me of this piece of poetry I once wrote which I shall quote for you now...

Blessed may be the end at last,

under the sea,

below the soul 

in the upside-down 

Oceans above us 

(all that heaven sends is rain.)

CLOCK-TIME DOES NOT PASS, IT EVAPORATES

My reason for taking the picture of the clock in the kitchen here at Cumpstones, in Whicham Valley, on a really bad old phone years and years ago, was originally something to do with the brass camels you can see on the wooden beam just about, and the band Oasis too, and I think my original caption was going to read that the camels cross the real live wilderness to get to the oasis - or something like that. By now of course I have read my own seven year old homework and know what idea it encrypts so am tempted to say that instead; but will resist for the sake of not dictating scientific truth to you. 

A NICE PAIR

I was going to say "if mother's flower-press ending on cannabis = a dialysis a love poem hoping to impress poor Flora = more a motor," but I don't smoke weed nor did I get the girl on that front. Instead I got to walk in her footsteps, traipse up to the whisky bar to look for her, and find her long gone, and have to photo two types of beer instead, whom it would seem would strike up a conversation if they could. 

THE PURPLE-BLEEDING SCREEN

This is a picture taken by Dr. Robert L G Tucker, of me with a guitar. My mnemonic for the 6 strings of the electric b/t/w is too crude to say, and that is not why I bring you this photo. My reason for incorporating it is that you can still just about see the numinous, purple-bleeding screen. As my dad was dying, my screen bloomed a numinous purple light whose colour was co-aligned with mystery, sex, suadade, longing and shame to incorporate every vowel sound into a feeling. The computer died at the exact same moment as my dad, which seems to have something post-humanist about it. I said goodbye at that moment not just to my dad himself but also to a veritable data-tree and a machine that made every online film into a noir. Thanks to Dr. Robert L G Tucker for the photograph this time. He knows a lot more about computing than me, and helped me write the verse that goes: 

I. T. might stand for Instant Travel too, 

NHS for Lucy in the soul w/ demons,

H20 for hypothalamus tattoo, 

ESA for Extra Sensory Allowance. 

THE BECK

If it were my own idea (and it is not) I would probably present a kind of poetry where you write off the top of your head, with a no edits, New Beat spontaneity - and always about your current situation too - to Tap the beck in the back garden, here where our Plough alignment lives.