Improvisation with 12-string tuned cCgGcCcgbbdd, recorded by Charlie Brookhouse 14/05/2012.
I’m Angelia Murray, we have been chatting for a long time, I want to meet you in person and pet your hot body.
Repeated the inmost recesses of spirits.
Grimwig with many times in question.
Great number one or less than never.
(private message from Angelia Murray, 03/04/12)
Carousel out new torque new friendship, heart-speak, fall button – you knew
about the boy he went every day to the water
he balked at the sight of you pant-
warm, heaviest with tongue on gland.
Across the bed quite reckless
Wheeled in together speak
arrested heartland, you and me stop heavy cart
it was written is the language of warmth?
Careful history makes thorough outdoor exploration
seems inevitable. This message is unseemly.
The high-wrought flesh sound on tulip brakes.
We should hasten the work, talk
around the possible negotiations proper place
return and mark out back.
Playing with circle, the fire of rash gasp
flowered laugh-attack, narrowed on skin.
Maroon in hazel. Flesh-trip. Why
not just let the fall happen, through reins
on bum blast
reach sighting and withdraw crude funds.
I’ll have to bring a hipflask, lover.
Fucker didn’t send the correct slate.
Why not just trip down and swap rain? Art drop,
bittersweet. A sign on the rear end.
The walk took us right by the sex-house!
And you took yourself and positioned
lights where the planes had been. This is behind
every nuance between the mons pubis
I have work to do, bitch. Quit styling my fettles.
It does not mean we have to paw over
cloven hash washed up out there heart-talk
or smell-breeze that earthen that is
that it so out there and years can’t squeeze. Muscles
squeeze. Yes, that is a muscle. Crawl-shaped.
Alone in the grass. Extreme happiness.
Stallion. Remember the scansion,
sex ‘tense-music’, old hopper. Brimming
with alliance. Several polyps, that’s the way, not
too strong on the scruff. The triumph
of cliff-fall, red to brown and the white
of your scar, above the soft.
Take another numerate the rise of space, helmet
so search plain text on the resolve quiet roll
of tremulous attention sly marrow bedown
lengthwise; you are across
the bedspace but I want you here.
Darling, I want you here. Fake it and rest.
Say how tall we are, shrimp. Last time I sense
new and if it so scrap
high chance of new position. Fall day, the root
of moist inertia, food-smell. You: edible; me
the crust of lick token, warm mouthpiece.
Time at the old bean down press-up yes! A favourite:
talk to me as if I had a chance.
It said about and what is the reason she could not
help it was not her please bring cadence condense
Significant analysis, I wanted you. Extreme
nosing in the marsh-fuzz. New love-words,
red, redred, frankly, buttonwillow, Joanna
does not quite do it for me. She’s
a tall cross: too good. Your turning
creates a new diction, a wet sub-speak
that alone in space. Untalk
that shit with him. He doesn’t have central
heterochromia. Being nice is not the staff of a kind of
lovely, active healing. But I do want to understand.
Refrain from having too much; too little
in the night-glass. Eyes
on the stream. Wander by the fences, bent over
that is a memory right in the castle
that keeps me in the heat of wedding. Too
soon, my lad. Sunshine tasking out the new divides
should not take so much chancing; it seems
that it was me, taxiing too fast without formula.
I admit to too much teasing. I admit
that I sometimes thought something
that wasn’t quite in keeping with a real sense of our
life in high markings, swallowing final terrain.
This is not the beautiful Turkish girl, holding the fawn.
There is not enough occupied love. It is your words that dress me.
montag Is the day mere months chrome
continue merry dance I suppose Run
with your bottom in the lamp nether-
blade sickle me this; I’m back Sunday night
but where? don’t neglect
this old conspirator, fond of lovely horse
cider-grass long walk champ
up and discover
cold in the sea-line
water on your eye hand
me the wiring. Hand
me the wiring. Winning
the salt-fire, finally is
this what, darling? I am missing
frost on the glade
bring me the tail
sup at my fingers, love
station at faults; loose island
beckon me out
fuzz of purloin shift holds
rattle that way again once
more just? You shouldn’t have
scarp force rain to edge
winning the salt-fire
perplex wrap solidly I will
wait for kiss him take
silly take the wheel take
new heathen the place
running out of silk I want
I may need to reassess.
Chair buoy. Chair buoy!
What are the chances of busyness? Will it contain
peaty folds of sex-house
character in the slump? Slink, fall on me. Attend
the shrinking. Don’t break it! Forgive me, sir.
I am coming to the age when sex are things
that hold potatoes.
Let’s play anuva game. What is the smoke?
Who is this new embrace? I am solidly
creating another series of breaths to dance to.
Ignore the ice and suspend the correct
temperature in the folds. Lemon, chance
it and see how I am felt. Soft as the perineum.
Slough it back out, wonder at the levels,
the spin that you thought might go
with everything else. I don’t remember him
saying the kind of solemn, lovely things that I
used to. Very odd. How hopeless is the search
for our feet! What a canter the man exhibits!
Such cold, wet features. A nose in the snow.
Hand me the shoes. You told me how you suspected
that the child was otherness, the sweet idiot boy
you wanted to consume. Yes, changes. I
understand. But I wanted your head on
the stone, your fingers on the mast. A moist
resting, the moon in a slow fall meeting
the Mary Celeste. The aurora game. Go.
Compacted deal, I have never should not want to subsist
only another you wanted to take wanted to ignite
please planted cruise rest collected anti
another inside, break it through tendril high market kiss
the subtle proposition I report I think you not
should you assume the backward autograph, miss
the shift breeze
lung on the swell of your best
reason to throw the seam at your
Yes parade routine puncture but you
I support, little miss, little eye
rendering me. I applaud the lift hot body
hard attire; long wires. Wondering me
you fruit on the tongue longing at
corner, I admit false nuance simply to demonstrate –
It won’t bedone. Bed behind the water.
That wasn’t the malediction. I’m getting lost
in your curls.
New spectacle, harrow slight nose me out corset sleep – naughty
sift reason fall, touch yourself to rest
The grass is longing, sweet liquid nestles
its throat. The actual time
when said actually how was it begin? I went,
crush axis on nether, slip against me
and take all of the garment.
The star, what sort of flicker in the child there is nothing like you
there is nothing like burn wires, glance
head thrush a game in the sound, night
folding its hero, out in the water.
Sand find cracked voice. The missing
of channels. I shouldn’t expand like this. You
are juice. Let’s animal the gate. Can we
take out sort of another afternoon perplex
share the bolete outside? The neighbours might see
your hourglass. You are finding out
return mirror pull out my glaze the start
is like ranging, rage find
I did not discover am not the ship,
saw the glitch from the lighthouse and did not turn back.
Roughing the felt garment travelled, new hole.
(your mathematics make me smile
your cock amused me for a while)
and there’s no way to remind me
flick stop and willow round
circle drawn around notation, eight
time seated climax
and there is a bad dream and
there is a staff that aligns follow there
acute time face breathing, garden
with new men total
don’t compare / compare again
ripple me this hold rock behind whelm begins
chemicals that’s your din
mine is caked
full drive won’t sound. remind gelding,
lit up but caught wondering? really walk
Keeka I am stuck in day’s waste yet another
embellishment program lover
you are so serious today, climbing there blue boots
soft as the hair
bell me out remember
it has been some time darling
and I feel like some honey can
and there is a bad dream and
the walk took us right by
sealing the puncture, yes I am the soldier
painted sitting here for this. I should
reactivate promise but there is
escape I don’t know
it seem like trot out regret and hatch out glade
I want this now
my father wrote his will today
shuffle out, remind and return
to heart on some garden
that comes in a dream
Reflections, list of contributors, and a big big thanks:
Approximately 48 hours ago we were preparing for the start of this project, wondering if we would get any submissions at all.
A few hours later, we opened up the inbox, and right away submissions started coming.
Then we were RTed by Margaret Atwood, and…well…stuff started to get crazy.
We started to see more and more people promoting it on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and personal blogs. We got RTs from many lit mags and prizes, from total strangers, from people excited as we were to see what would happen.
And what did happen? In 24 hours - well, 25, as we ran a bit over schedule due to the number of submissions - we succeeded in our quest to make an arts zine, bursting with talent and enthusiasm. Our inbox was full of not just submissions, but messages of support that kept us going as much as the coffee we were mainlining. We received submissions from all over the world, and we were constantly in awe of the level of talent.
Why did we do this project? Because we wanted to explore the possibilities of creative connection within social media. And we felt like giving ourselves a challenge. Tumblr was a perfect medium, because things can be reblogged and spread easily. We’ve got people talking, and we are so happy at the sense of community that this project seems to have inspired. Everyone pulling together to create something kick-ass, just because.
We’ve received many messages asking us not to take this journal down after a week, but we said at the start we would, and we’re sticking to it. We entertained the idea of making some kind of anthology out of it, but we also said we would not retain people’s work, and again we’re sticking to that. Everything will be deleted. But this was such a success that we’ll definitely do something similar in the future, so keep your eyes peeled. We welcome any suggestions, though - just send them to firstname.lastname@example.org, or drop us a line on Twitter.
To summarise: 24 hours. Over 170 posts. All collated by 2 people - myself, Sophie Mackintosh (@sophmackintosh), and my boyfriend, David Greaves (GMGreb). Say hello. We want to stay in touch with you. And more than anything, we want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts. When our eyes felt like we’d been rubbing sand in them and we were getting caffeine jitters, your amazing submissions and messages of support kept us going.
Below is a list of all our incredible contributors. We have under a week left of this project - so read read read, get others to read, and share all the goodness that is up here.
Sophie & David x
LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS (sorted by genre, and in order of appearance)
There is a man and there is
a documentary about him on Channel 4
a short film about him
and it was abouthis brain
and we saw him with the rocks
the chalk red chalk sandstone
and every day
he colour-codes the rocks
thousands of stones
he places them in order of size and colour
into large piles
and no-one knows why
no-one knows why and
his brain is a place
and something is wrong
but we like it
like it a lot
he loves the stones and
he protects them
he uses them to protect the world
support the palace
and we could never do that
so we look at him
but he never turns around
you blow him a kiss
but he does not blush and
I can’t talk to him
his brain is our place
and when we are near him
we feel warm
Some gestation, water through moon-dive mus-
ic, upstart with her trousers not without
but always within, upskirt moisture bead-
ing, a pillow of land between us my
mine, but it is the other’s pillow, warmth
in our otherness, tongues idling the scent,
kitten, the French girl you mention so lov-
ingly, the innocent hairbrush dancing
wolf power longing paint and how we drink
is similar to the crying of the
Earth and our breath is the screen’s pastel wash,
the frisson in simple dance-moist air, and
this is the THOUGHT that beginneth heat, a
heart, no-place, sex-water, reckless dancing.
Buttonwillow tall, fire on some night-wave,
tea in the acupuncturist’s house whilst
our thirst played with itself in the garden,
some moon-objects play the spin, rotation
of final knowledge, final products. Wings
not more a shield, actually one with
Jack the kitten, his playing, his silence,
“mute Jack the cat” said the scientist, at
the quick OH at the turn of centuries
let him be mute, a windowless house falls
down a mountain because it was there, cut
down through out over therein is hollow
chasers burn outwardly and you are terr-
ibly outward and unaffectionate
and it hurts me to see us like this but
Jack is mute now and he had our stubborn
words, Jack the mute kitten, aural hygiene,
the scientist said you might do this, I
love him, and Jack the kitten, laddie, he
was not there to see us deserving this
so you must give him your story, in a
way that might possibly compromise THE
MOVEMENT, but do not worry the kisses
can sleep, an exercise regime, full glass
and the wherewithal to do something with
a thing that wants to be nothing, said Jack,
he had loving eyes, a loving heart had
Jack the kitten, now mute, now lost, voiceless.
Sleep Tiger Dream
“But I loved you first!”
It does not make you feel better
when you look through into the other room.
Let us put it in clear terms: things after things
and within things, and there was some dancing
and there was a collection
but I couldn’t be involved. I breath and you are there.
This is not a repetition
or a choreographed set of movements,
it is something that someone might put into words one day,
words inside a church on a smiley evening.
There is not a good enough recipe, but there is wine
and there are things to be sung,
and there are children that will hold your hand.
I remember you putting something on me,
something warm but I cannot describe what it was.
A bell is sounding and it is time to eat.
There are dark waves and our feet in the sand that stopped me singing.
There are nice ways to feel lucky for what we had.
Another boat, but further away. Are we nearly old enough?
Am I close to anything anymore? It wasn’t about control,
it was about the twitching finger in the taxi
and the time when we knew the same words for everything,
how loving makes you better than everyone,
how love can only be defined by what it does to you.
The water is over the stone and I can’t help but think
about what might be done, how
one day I might have the correct amount of electricity
to power our movements. I have sat here for a long time (stop staring)
and I intend to sit facing you for much longer.
Yes, I could do with a drink. Don’t laugh! Put it away.
We could fly there; stop looking at me like that.
There is a sound and another sound
but they are not related. We have to be silent.
Pull up your trousers, put on a different voice.
Yes, we are quite taken with each other.
I have been here many times before,
each time with you and each time better than the last.
Not a simple mixture of genetics.
It was the man’s ridiculous voice and the kissing afterwards.
We were very popular. Yes. Ok. Sex hair.
Not only and all the rest. Sleep tiger. Dream of giraffes.
I have looked at you for a long time now
but I have tasted you for longer
seasoned by rain, baked by the sea
the story ends with beginnings just like we did
just like I started to wait
and I sat there in the earth smiling at myself for a long time
there are nice ways to feel lucky for what we had
and there is a limited time to tell the story
Take me to the nowhere place, and we can fashion
a set of events from the things we find around us:
string-weed, blood on exposed knees
we are tired of the rocks and we move on
and pass the man and his obsession, his love
of order and the stones. Float on this advance.
Exchange silences in a volatile climate.
We could swap socks and play until the sand
chafes our insides, or dare each other
to swallow things. This is us, pinched between slow arcs
of remembering movements. I do not remember
how touching joined with feeling in the proof
of the world’s existence. Go back, be stronger.
Laugh more loudly with the chap who fell over.
It is well known that we took longer than the others
to discover the place where the thigh meets the buttocks
and how words can order themselves into formations
of these kinds. More wetness in the mornings.
I could give you a piggy back across this part of the world
and into the next, across this small part of space and its many actions
and we can go over there and smile with the water
and we could continue this talk lying in the grass
cider opened with teeth and the horses kissing
There is no other power in the world, only our self-
fashioning and its tendency to remove underwear.
Bring it with you, and I will tell you how it became alive.
You could tell me how things become together and how
eyes are caves reflecting glaciers. We are involved
in many unsavoury activities, and I remain open
to any suggestions. Sun-static in our bones.
Yes darling, it is the star that keeps us warm.
The scarf around us both. Our place flexes around
its axis and takes on its own heat, and from this
something is born and something is conceived
and it cannot be clear how close we are to other places
and wherever we look, we surround nowhere
and after all, it was in our garden where it was found
and look, look at the way the night has taken us
we have everything and you have your new coat
and the kisses will greet us, I’ll let us out
when my breathing is better, forget about this
and follow, curl around it, carry on.
The last place held us as we walked.
Sit with me, and watch him. Quiet. His ears.
Touch my face. Run your finger along the many bones
that allow me to run towards you. This cannot be the last time.
I promise to love and forgive the world,
and to do good things for other people, and to kiss you
whenever you are near me. Look at his tail.
Watch him go, silently, into the comfort of a new place.