Reflections on the end of the Mayan Long Count from Chitchen Itza

I had a hoot writing this mish-mash of thoughts and reflections on my trip to Mexico last week, and what it all means, i will probably go back and edit some sense into it. In the meantime, here's my raw spillage on Synthesis 2012.


Thanks in no particular order to Fantuzzi, Jaris, Kat, Chris Donagan, Issac, Cappi, The Earthlings, Justin, RC, Spirit Essence, Caroline Casey, Kevin Whitesides, B. Jeff, Frank Gamble, Mark Von Stone, Michael JaiDev, Michael Stocker, John Carlson, Paul Carey, Alphonso, Paula and Paula, Zia, Pitt, Oliver, The Luminaries, Sun Ruh and the Last Dragons, Meghan, the fire dancers, musicians, artists, healers, scholars and freaks  who pulled together under the most challenging circumstances to keep pushing the good vibe.

Saturanlia Panoramas

And so the tribe walked on down to the Mayan site, chanting, dancing, singing smiling, laughing and honouring the local gods, however they please. A moving circus of self-owning ones, minds on the walk, talk tapes unfastened, tired, far from HOME, moving towards the once state-of-the-art city complex of Chitchen Itza in the blueberry dawn, yes, if not just for the invocation of the sun, a new dawn.

We the tribe, discordians, stuck apart, but coming in and out of togetherness, an ooze of disparate creatures in white, domesticated primates with a sack full of mental baggage, some sacks much lighter and better packed, but still, our monkey bodies pulled our saturated fruits on down that road to the  site where we would seed the imagination of the entire planet. Pretty heady stuff for a ripe fruit no doubt and an opportunity for ‘ploughing some field’ in the sense of amplifying certain aspects, turning them over, cycling similar horse manure into the ‘field’. And, simply, wishing for new flowers to bloom. Is this the new age? Haha. Well,…first it depends of what your idea about the meaning of ‘is’ is. And ‘this’ is. Follow me.

I turn over the reins to a Joycean like philosophy, based on maximal play, maximal connectivity, dymaxion maximal tension, and ‘hologrammic’ prose. No Age? Knowage? Nowidge? Gnoeich? Take it or leave it. The language we use and the platforms we adopt to communicate language are the ‘things’ in play, the THINGS in the game. State of the art: sharing.

And, so, if I can leave this writers shell behind, I will write more along the lines of how I felt, with total immersion, and sound effects included. The sweat and heat of the rocks, the condor and the hawks, the trinkets, the chanting, camera flashes. And the food wrappers, button clicks, cell phone GOOD magic and play, the best be those that could weave between worlds, sewing up holes in the global microcosm wild world weavers, with feathers, shells, drums dream catchers, more feathers, teeth and rainbow jewels, crocodile cunning, mantis Yoga. Unified filed of people, doing the human thing, coming into and out of orbit. Into somewhere else, mystics, in the woods among the rocks and glkypix. Talking about wherenit, and why to the when ce fourth . And, he men and women split off into ships, motherships, EARTH central. Soil and hummus, humans, yes, the place alive.

Honoring the local Gods

And honouring the local gods I say, to mean those that I really accent made the unity between tribe, the home at every step, open wisdom and cool disposition. Getting to know the characters you bump into throughout a week of music art, performance and improvised survival in Chitchen Itza, a pretty spooky place, you might hazard a guess to blaze a fire to highlight the game. The whatnowwherewhowhyness?

It’s complicated, and it’s hidden, it’s hidden and always secret. Generally speaking, you know? Love is everywhere and peace permeates all spaces, living in potential, ready to settle into or between the cracks. And so the dead went down to the place of the dead. And the spacetime continuum folded in on itself, if you can imagine that. A cabbage inside a washingmachine, so there we were, carrying our fruits to the site.

Each individual tale of what happened in Chithen Itza is equally valid and should be equally considered as a tale of ‘what’ happened, and defined by that persons point of view (POV). Lets hope that each story can shake loose the hinges of stale bread heads and exhibit a new way to communicate. Mind body peach sitting at the beach helps too, be good to yourself in whatever way makes you feel good, duh!

Chitchen Itza, and Pueblo proved to be a pretty difficult place to communicate from with a limited patchy internet and limited phones and limited help. Which among other things, led to a whole in my ability to feedback real time with what was happening on the Solstice. Only today, 29th December 2012 have I found a chance to search ‘chitchen itza 2012’ in google, and read the articles.

I have been pretty much APPAULED at the quality of sincerity and lack of understanding from the main stream press for over 20 years anyhow, but now, with my experience of BEING THERE, and then seeing images of people reporting to  have BEING THERE, and--what it all means--reminded me of the up-hill struggle of the cop-media to capture anything that resembles ‘wisdom teachings’ and ‘ways’ of the great ancestors, elders, great old ones (GOO).

Apparently the reporters knew all-about the thousands of so called ‘festival goers’ that were honoring 'things and stuff' in very important ways. Bah Humbug, i thought, reading the press releases days later....Internet is a part of this NEW AGE thing too, you know? Visit the latest from CCC at the 29th annual meeting for an update.
I cannot speak for the Mayan ceremonies and rituals performed in and around the site that morning, but they were stunning and awesome sights and sounds to ma' ears. Yes! Easily the most ceremonial and audio heavy activity. Fully authentic sounding and looking, feeling, and smelling. I really felt the energy in the music at that moment.

No, no, no, no, no….THIS is what REALLY happened. (my trip to Chitchen Itza, Mexico, on the Winter Solstice 2012, and cycling day of the Mayan Long Count Baktun ‘measure’ of timespace.

My approach here pays as much respect as I can pay to Caroline Casey for her trickster redeemer qualities and etymological seed-spinning. To invoke play. To propose the open ended mystery, the coming together of the stories, the threads weaving, speaking in tongues, mind-body-speech research, each to their own, and good peace be with em'


To be nice to each other, have fun and share wisdom, to try and live a life as an example to others, in everything you say do, eat, and play with. The ‘clown’ and the myriad of clowning acts, the prankster and the trickster, the rascal mystic, those that play harder that most scholars, those that wield the wit of a Jonathon Swift, or a Joyce, the playful satirist, cutting deeply into the fabric/skin of our shared linguistic ooze space. Who says it best?

Well, I like mysticism, and I adore mystics, I mean, I like the playfulness and the intelligence game aspect. To mean, the question of ‘what the hell is going on’ is still way up for grabs, but I am excited on behalf of the long lineage of globally active seers, shamans, witches, heretics and what I might call mystic scholars, due to the rise of information technology and the resultant ‘space-time’ we inhabit or co-create as if by magic, out of nothing, total immersion and connectivity to the greatest innovators and masters, and the dullest face smack.

I mean to imply here that a long line of outsiders, those running contrary to the current western paradigm of late capitalist bust bubble life, have been working with ‘code’. Or developing their own communications devices, systems, networks, knowledge bases etc. Today, in the last few days of 2012, it seems apparent to me that there is a BOLD statement that should fly first:


And HONOR the local gods. Dance as they do, drink and laugh and look serious as they do, and you shall have fun, and show your shared satchel of wise-stuffing. Walk with a swank, speak highly and be the change, you wish to see in the world, take responsibility, I suppose. Of course, this is true, but what can we do to support the movement .

Walking down the path to Chitchen Itza with a candle chanting Hoooo Naaaaab Kuuuuu, the sun crept over the bushes like a sniper in orange combats, more than a thousand ‘synthesis people’ snaked on down the trail dressed in white, chanting regalia, singing, praying.

Some line confusion, double ticket gods strike a double blow, along with the ‘no big bag’ gods, who set out their laws straight, not allowing certain shaped bags and objects. The early morning Sunrise inside the Site came quickly, and early, the Mayan ceremony was taking place around the back side of the first pyramid you are confronted with.

I filmed some of their special ceremony and followed a little way, but then i felt a little invasive with my damn Ipad and walked off to the ball court to make a further series of panorama photographs surrounded by fewer tourists (of which i was one)

This introduction to my day, might as well be the introduction, or be somewhere involved with my plan to create a linked panorama tour of my trip, featuring info’ HOTSPOTS and linked media from each space, making a comprehensive ‘tool’ for multimedia interactivity and exploration…gulp……gulp….and FEEDBACK.

The Great Ball Court, Chitchen Itza (North End) in Mexico For me, the New Age did begin in some sense on the 21st December 2012, it was based on a false belief (that the website I was launching with a friend, would be launched LIVE on the 21st at 11.11 GMT) that I did not get to check till later that day, to discover it was NOT YET live. (as of writing this it IS LIVE: please do go visit and you will see what I mean, wow, wicked work CHU).

Please, just love the earth, and love each other. Not so tricky eh, well, naaa, thought you might grimace with an ending like that. Oh no, not the hippies again. Well, O' yes, me thinks that message, and that of the rainbow people worldwide, the artists and writers, painters, poets, and dancers, is the message: LET US PLAY. Join the dance, the song. Change the darkness and misery into fun and laughter, with some taste if you can muster it. Let us celebrate seduction, illusion, gameplay, strategy, paucity, glossalalia. Love one another, be good, have fun.

--Steve 'Fly Agaric 23' Pratt.

My Trip to Chitchen Itza and Tulum 21st December 2012

The Great Ball Court, Chitchen Itza (South End) in Mexico Amsterdam-Madrid-Cancun-Chitchen Itza-Tulum-Cancun-Madrid-Amsterdam (19th-26th December 2012)

Tuesday 18th December, 2012: AMSTERDAM

Board plane-Amsterdam (11.00), exit plane
Take off from Madrid, exit….
'The hunger Games' in flight movie
babies crying all the way
….into Cancun (6012 Kilometers from Madrid)
Met with nova ‘red’ apple travelling to Cancun city,
A Hotel room for 660 pesos, split fair
Good fan, smelly sheets.

Hip convo’ with nova, including
fire up of the CERN super collider
on the 21st December
A fascinating story of 23 yr old North Korean boy,
who escaped the prison complex to tell
his Orwellian tale.
Monsanto death cultures...
sound of oil rushing under the ground,
Our mother planet degraded daily.

And Permaculture, the mosaic of new tribes,
those who disperse the seeds of solution
An array of characters R>A>I>N>B>O>W
coming together to
start a new world word:

Visited British pub with live covers ,
6 people in the bar. 160 pesos for 2 corona.
a bit steep me thinks.

Wednesday 19th December 2012 (Cancun)

Up early with nova, packin' bags, and board coach
back to airport, meet the earthlings
jamming at airport: Chris, Issac,
Cappi, Ashley, Ra and Jonathon,
bringing the musical magix

Waiting hours for the synthesis coach,
Packed bus of the unhinged
depart around 6 P.M
to Piramide Hotel, the cues, chaos, trickets.

I hope to get performer pass and
sell my 500 dollar ticket to dude behind me

Michael refuses to believe my truth
about being the house band drummer
for Synthesis2012!
Ticket funk, and graphical wizards
all around me. I concede and take the full
experience pass.

Cafe hang with the earthlings,
Camping in KIM’s tent without KIM,
who thankfully found a room
donated her tent to the fly.

I scored some Mexi’ weed, seed and stalk
rolled and talked opposite cop shop
with Jonathan and Justin
showing off ‘starwalk’ Ipad App and
Solstice Galactic alignment.
Angry looking Cops buzzed
the temporary camp ground.
As it turned out i was lucky to get a tent
and/or a room during the festival.

Thursday 20th December 2012 (Piste, Chitchen Itza)

Visit Piramide hotel pool with Chris and Shawn Berry.
Qucik Swim
first pano photo of mini Kukulcan Piramide
Meet with Fantuzzi.
Practice drum parts in room.

Opening ceremony at Hacienda
Shabazz, Al Tourre,
Fantuzzi wisdom and smiles,
Panoramas at sun down.
Divine feminine meme.

(Synthesis coach did not make the long trip
festival equipment was missing
musicians and artists pull together to figure out
what they have.

I hear more than three rumors
there IS a drum kit, and then four that
there is NOT a drum kit!?!?
I thankfully find a bed in a shared room with Jaris
and his band, who i also jam with.

informed by Synthesis2012
organizers at dinner
that we'll be meeting at 5.00 A.M
outside the piramide HOTEL to
honor the moment of the Winter Solstice
with a candle walk to Chitchen Itza
and the Mayan ruins 10 minutes down the road.
we were to wear white, and be of sober mind.

Friday 21st Winter solstice. 2012. (Piste, Chitchen Itza)

430 up. Flossed my teeth. Ate some words
Candle walk and song, shuffle and smile. Minty fresh
The Candle drip from the mouth of the man
in the candle holders.

The spooky wind blowing out candles
My lighters maxed out!
Hoooo naaaab kooooo.
Hoooo naaaab kooooo.

Ticket funk beyond the Kong sized wall
gifted super bright green superfoods by Rainbow kids
After 30 mins’ unconscious incompetence
Synthesis tribe gain access to (time machine?)
Panoramas dictate my first movements

Sun ruh and Michael JaiDev criss crossing
Sun, moon, stars all out.
Panoramas. Video and audio phenomena
Mayan Ceremony, the press gang
My apple, my toothfloss minty FRESH.

The Hawk and Condor fly above the Pyramid
many pray, some dance, all gaze,
many snap and click
fiddle with zips and clicking
wack pack snaps.

Here we are, spacetime invaders,
putting our bean-sprouts in the mix
...aeons later, 10 panos or so,
The ball court, temple of Tables
Glyphs, Pictographix, Graphs, Maps,
Cenotes, Tree’s, ants, sun beams
Shadows tales and tales and tales

Caroline Casey interviewing Kevin
Whitesides. Wise words on Terence,
The Trickster Redeemer, the play
The timewave, the 2012 meme in the
BIGGER picture.

Sitting and rapping with Carol and Mark Stone,
waiting for steve vermin (Swami Beyondananda)
Re-connecting with Michael Stocker of
Seaflow (whom I met in the early part of 2000’s
when I lived in the Bay Area).

Rapping about Michael New book
some Lilly, some Thelonious Monk.
Walk to hotel with Caroline Casey and Michael.
Food at Hacienda with group, and orientation
Beer and the thought of my Drum kit in the air?

Meet Mayan scholar called Alphonso.
Kevin W. and his sweet girlfriend.
We discussed his new Raw book project!
His proposed Terence Mckenna transcription Project.

I go Jam with the earthlings
in their room till early hours, then
 Retire back to bed
and sleep pretty well really.

Saturday 22nd December 2012 (Piste, Chitchen Itza)

Dreams of a final Drum kit theory,
Up at 8 for good fruits and veg. and juices. 
I discover my Fantuzzi gig moved to 8 PM

See Caroline, sit and enjoy the Luminaries hip hop
Group dinner with thrive gambles, Swami beyondananda
His loverly partner and Caroline.
I draw the Konnokol pyramid for Mr. ‘Thrive’
He gives support during my show without cymbals.

Fantuzzi show at 8
my sticks/brushes missing. I improvise
buying two bottled beers and emptying them
placing the bottles on the stands

Earthlings invite me to their jam
Technical Hick-ups, not on behalf of the band
a challenging set,
made it through with impossible
latency issues, Latency.... and
managed to throw down hard
for the last freestyle.

Chris and I went for beers in taxi
trip to a backstreet hut, a Tarrantino set.
4 GRANDE beers 160 pesos.
minty fresh.

Van parked up outside hacienda,
We board with earthlings, rap de ruiz,
Beatbox jam and rap to the
campground Ascendance stage.

Funkin shuffle all night till morning,
till the following night in fact
Locals in the dance, smiles, fire spinning,
goddess patrol. In the trees!

Goddess dance, fire, baby faces, sunrise,
local maya, to them the mothership?
Great Stage pyramid, Fantuzzi and Kat, Justin. Chris.
Earthlings. Sun Ruh, Mr. Henson having a ball.

Sunday 23rd December 2012 (Piste, Chitchen Itza)

Taxi from camp with Chris Michael and Mr X.
Cocoa share, chocolate shaman tale,
breakfast with sunrise at Hacienda.

the story of the solstice by Michael!
The Litter, the flower gifts, (intersecting with news item)
hands around pyramid,
Condor and Hawk together.

Drum kit is gone again?
Now its back in the form of an
An electronic kit. (with a broken bass drum)
but better than nothing, which is what we had,
so Aho to that.
Schroedingers Drum Kit paradox?

Trip to the pool briefly,
Caroline arrives, we hear Patrick Flannagan,
smoke a rollie and watch Swami Perform.
My next live Show wth Jaris, Greg Pit, Oliver.
The Peace tribe band perform

I improvised a kick drum from
an upright hand drum
thanks RC.

Carol delivered her
exquisite work-shop
play at heart.

A special invite to Dinner
at ik ilk with carol.
John carlson, Mark Stone, zia zeff, Paul Carey,
Kevin Whitesides and others.

RAW talk with Kevin, Finnegans Wake and beyonda.
Raps with John Carlson:
The Mayan Letters by Charles Olson,
which came to my attention by way of John Sinclair.

I Described my interest in the principle of
epic poetry as a medium for Mayan studies,
pictoglyphix. Ezra Pound studies, Olson, Joyce.
Kevin and FW, RAW, and Terence Mckenna.

Lift back with Paul to Stardust Inn and a last night
Earthlings Jam, but just closing up
Ah, moments to late, but off to sleep,
must catch bus to Tulum on the morn.

Monday 24th December 2012 (Piste, Chitchen Itza)

Up  at the 7 AM.
Sun Ruh. Jaris, Greg and Oliver all trap too
Coach to tulum. Panorama coach,
seated new to AKI the Japanese poet (also in Pyramid Pano)
I gave him my Basho book as a parting gift in Tulum

Dinner with Chris and Indra.
Head to beach hotel. Wow wow wow.
Swimming with indra 2 miles out past breakers,
Singing, wisdom tale, briefly thought we were
being pushed out to sea.

Good Meal after, with margaritta,
Geopolitical raps with Chris,
Cool beach hut hang, soft room jam,
cello vibes with Indra.

Tuesday 25th December 2012 (Tulum)

Awake up in Tulum 7A.M
Diamente hotel and the perfect cabin PARADISE
Chris and i stroll beech to find web access
success at the restaurant, good food.

Christmas day on beach.
See raw360 for the first time.
Visit site of mini festival and try to hustle gig

Take taxi to cenote encantado with Chris,
arrive in dark, sit around fire, Jaris, Tuzzi, Zia, Greg Pitt
Diego, Gizzele, Pedro, Kat, Sky,
and synthesis folks, and others gather.

Shroom choco splitt, play drums
Fire pit drums, many more arrive from the blackness,
Mayan elders, mexican shaman, all sitting in.

Acoustic girl, jamming on occupy and my dnB tip.
Sitting with loverly Zia. Amazement and tears
at Pedro and his girlfriend singing.
The Bambino tears. Oh Sleep on,
the wooden floor in shack quite good for my back

Wednesday 26th December, 2012 (Tulum)

Up at 7 on wood,
post shroom mind seeks to go swim in cenote
and film underwater places, I go back in again
with Zia and friends on a boat, diving,
searching for the crocodile.

Listening to the flute, diving and
pulling up rocks from bottom. Swimming,
laughing with love. So clear waters.
Barely dry off and take taxi back to diamente for bags

Fortunately they are there , I pack bags,
head to Tulum town center, chris kindly
lends me 100 Dollar!

I take taxi back to cenote, catch Tuzzi just leaving,
with Kat, and Jeff and Zia. (by seconds)
Big kiss and a hug.

Journey back to town to eat lasagna.
Buy some gifts. Head back to cancun,
Time is tight for tuzzi and kat.
I say goodbyes. I check in, drink bad coffee,
board plane, exit-Madrid.
board plane, exit-Amsterdam.

--Steven 'fly agaric 23' Pratt (31st December, 2012)

4 days until December 21st 2012 by Steven Pratt

 “Conspiracy theory, in my humble opinion, is a kind of epistemological cartoon about reality.—Terence Mckenna, Dreaming Awake at the End of Time.

I must remember to remember the 21st of December. Who else will remind me? I must have my room in order and my personal space hoovered and clean, ready for any visitors who might stop by. (little did he know that fly would be playing drums at Chitchen Itza and the birthplace of the Mayan Long Count calendar)

Everything that could happen, will happen. Well, most probably. Well...i mean to some sense, in some universe next door or other, the probabilities are endless. In the universe upstairs everything is different from down here. We inhabit a multitude of universes, each and every one of us uses mind to travel between worlds, inner and outer. We just don't get told this so often, or directed to the mapping room, or to pick up out 'multiverse navigation toolkit'.

But, what of the end of the Mayan calendar cycle? (in just 4 days!) and what of timewave 2012 and Terence Mckenna? and what of a global apocalypse of some kind, take your pick? I have been saying simply, "we are already into the apocalypse, i think, it just depends where you are on earth as to how apocalyptic it seems to you". But that's not really a good enough response is it.?

Well what's with all the big ideas? these great GRAND pronouncements about what may or may not happen? who are we to presume we can know anything about the future. Oh, you have statistics and trajectories, algorithms and data sets, probabilites and possible scenarios. Oh, so those with access to all that data know, or are closer to knowing what (IS) going to happen, better than any Tom, Dick or Harry would know, just surfing around the internet and reading a few books and research papers?

I agree with Terence strongly on his point about story, and the way in which a good story is told, and how the story-telling (tale of the tribe) can convey an equal amount of information content, through cadence, timing and SURPRISE. The contents of the story itself are closer to the form of music than of human speech.

To take a stab a describing what will happen, i predict that imaginations and creative explorations will surge among humans around this time, SURGE! and a small but influencial band of people will birth a new alternative culture by harnessing the outburst of arts, and recording the process for the enjoyment of others. (I must sound like i am talking about myself, and i am, but YOU TO, COME ON)

So much has already been said and published about 21st December i hope not to just be repeating popular cliches. Instead i will switch to describing some work i am involved with and that i feel encompasses some of the wonderous innovations we can expect around about that date: a new way of seeing and interacting with multimedia. (See:

John Major Jenkins: Maya Transformation 2012 (2008):

In 2012, if the McKenna scenario is right, comes Omega point.--Cosmic Trigger, pg. 223.

It seems hard to avoid hyperbole when contemplating what this means, depending on your age, sex, location, what you may have read, your outlook on science and mysticism, the drugs you choose to ingest, your optimism versus pessimism ratio, and which side of the bed you got out of this morning.

Depending on the collection of experiences and memories you have, or think you've had, and your techniques and methods of recalling them, you will keep on representing them in a cyclical self-fulfillment prophecy. In short your mode of communication can say as much, if not more, than the contents. "The medium is the message," as Mcluhan put it so well it feels like a joke in 2012. Alan Watts said 'the menu is not the meal'. Korzybski implied that 'isness is an illness', and Robert Anton Wilson developed the field of maybe logic.

So, lets start by agreeing to be careful what you write, and how you say things, or lets be cautious with our language, both writing and reading and speaking to others.

I love art and music and laughter, good food, blue skies, animals, plants, and most of all people. I really do, and, i wish them all well, and, i wish all of us could just get along better, you know? No more wars, no fighting and violence. (like a world full of Bob Marley lyrics in action) A world in harmony with itself, a world of difference and self owning beings discovering the interactions and relationships of life, love and wholeness together, forever. Ahhh.

I have wished hard for the best utopian dreams and fantasies to come down from my dream utopia into our waking life world, the world of work, rent and fear, the world we collectively often refer to as 'the real world' in and around the Black Country (West Midlands, England) and the challenges of earning your living among the working masses of people in the hive minded 'work-consume' dichotomy. A weird dull trip defined by newspaper headlines, popular fizzy drinks and terror-television, the so called 'real world' that does not often question itself, let alone encourage others to begin to formulate good questions. In my experiences living in that world.

However, somewhere along the line of my life experiences up unto this day, October 7th 2012 e.v., i have been blessed/cursed by alternative ways of thinking, and communicating. OH, god, the beauty and gentle comfort of art and philosophy, of music. Music, that soothing vibration, oh i wish i were wrapped up in it all day like silk cushions, and that i wish, i wish, i wish, everyone could have access to as much music, to as much varied music, and arguably, the best music, or the most innovative progressions in music...that they could DREAM of.

I wish that all the musical dreams of those organisms with ears, come true for them and their world of sound. I hope glory and togetherness can be felt by everybody in their own way, to the music of their choice, and i hope it plays on forever for them. Yes, i do. And if you look around about internet these days, its kind of true. Almost everything but live music is in there, just awaiting your ears and your mind and the cultural crossword puzzling can begin. Wow, what a crazy zoo of acts and sounds we have before us today, some of which are religiously popular, especially, i have found, with the young and the infirm.

So, i do wish the best for all people, and i am blowing my trumpet a little bit when it comes to my recurring criticisms, my pessimistic train of thought. A critic aimed at the holes of ignorance i perceive in the enemy. or, those who seem to be poised in positions of power and agency for change on the global scale, yet, refuse to acknowledge what others have figured out to be the most beneficial TO ALL people, thats to mean, all around the world humanity.

If only, IFIF: if only people knew that these problems have already been solved by superior intelligence and basically bigger hearts, the PROBLEMS we encounter today around the world are stemming from ignorance, and controlled hoodwinking of our ability to think for ourselves. Yes, i think there are many conspiracies interfering in the progress of 'around the world humanity', starting with unrestricted finance capitalism, followed by the international war on some drugs, for example. But if the music is real good then you might not even begin to think about these PROBLEMS, oh, the pleasures of white middle class Europe and North America.

But you see now i am already swaying from my positive form, from providing solutions and forgetting about the problems, for a moment, forgetting the government of corporations and church state grid lock, the arms race, the arts heist, the economic brutality and pharmaceutical monopoly on health. Forget that for a bit and relax yourself, maybe turn on some music, relax, find yourself, your place in the universe or spiritual place.

I sometimes hear a voice saying, "For gods sake sit up straight lad, and drink only water in the mornings. Worship the sun, say your prayers, be nice to others, do not kick up a fuss, do not challenge authority or question, your job and social status may depend upon it. I can understand that place too. As Fleetwood Mac say: you can go your own way. Walk on. However, do not take others or yourself too seriously. And be willing to say NO. And BULLSHIT.

--Steven 'Fly Agaric 23' Pratt.

Outline for a short film/animation/story?

Raising Mycelium

Terence Mckenna awakens from a long sleep, an extraterrestrial mycelim strain enters his corpse and reanimates him.

T starts a journey across california to sprinkle the magical mycelium onto the ashes and corpses of  Timothy Leary, Ken Kessey, Robert Anton Wilson and Bill Hicks.

Together, the group travel across the USA to Washington in a yellow bus, taking on the presidential race, the war on some drugs, immortalists, scientologists and fundamentalists of all denominations under the sun.

Upon reaching Washington the group of countercultural zombies stage a psychedelic rock concert. Soon drawing the attention of government officials, the zombies have a stand off with the police, arguing their case on human rights, zombie banks, the war on some drugs, and the death of satire.

The group retires to a new Millbrook in 2013, so developing Artificial General Intelligence and a new open source school for hopen learning, O'pen research. A radiodio show, open-circuit TV, broadercasting services, alive performance space, study area squared, Kitchen Itza, Mu-music rooms.

--Steven 'fly agaric 23' Pratt.

Dr Marshmallow Cubicle
Radio Free Amsterdam
Temple Dragon Band
Garaj Mahal

Fly Agaric 23 to play Synthesis2012 Festival, Chitchen Itza

 I'll be heading out to play drums with Fantuzzi and others at Synthesis2012, and enjoy all the celebrations and activities in and around Chitchen Itza. I'll be writing and recording my experiences, so expect some feedback before the new year.

I look forward to seeing you out there. Love, steve fly

Synthesis 2012 Festival- A Mayan Calendar Celebration in Chichen Itza and Piste Pueblo

Welcome to the Synthesis 2012 festival, A global gathering, world music festival and spiritual celebration in Piste pueblo and Chichen Itza in the Yucatan. This 2012 festival will occur at the end of the Mayan Calendar on Dec 20th to 23rd this year. We will arrive on the 20th and participate in the global gathering on the Winter Solstice on the 21st. The Synthesis 2012 festival team is working directly with the local Mayan people, event producers in Mexico to produce this historical event.

Synthesis 2012 is also collaborating with “New Beginnings 12-21 Concert” and Mindpix Corp (

Imagine yourself here at Chichen Itza in the Yucatan with the Mayans and thousands of others at the dawn of the new age and cycle this December.

Mayan Calendar Celebration

Contrary to media sensationalism, the end of the Mayan Calendar does not mean the end of the world. When we listen to the words of the Mayan Elders, we learn that the end of the Mayan Calendar is comparable to watching your car’s odometer roll over to all zeroes. The Mayan prophecies foretell of a transition to the age of the 5th Sun, a new time when consciousness, prosperity and the Divine Feminine prevail.

Mayan Calendar Dates

Although scholars may debate whether or not December 21st, 2012 is the exact ending date for the Mayan Calendar, we choose to celebrate this time of transition at Chichen Itza on this date because it is also the Winter Solstice and the Galactic Alignment. We invite you to come celebrate and co-create with us for 3 days of music, dance, ceremony and intention-setting for this bridge of transition to the golden age of the 5th Sun at our 2012 festival.

Synthesis 2012 Festival Attractions

We are currently offering international entertainment including Reggae, West African Drum & Dance, Steel Drums, Flamenco Fusion,  Afro-Funk Fusion, Cuban,  Mayan Music & Dance, Prehispanic Music and Mexican Dance as well as name bands such as Scott Huckabay, Chris Berry & Pangea, Human, Freedom, Diane Patterson, Al Torre, Mirabai & Ceiba. There will also be a variety of presentations by keynote speakers, a tour of the Mayan temples and access to special places known only to locals and regular visitors. Synthesis 2012 festival participants will also receive a copy of Transforming Through 2012, an in-depth compendium of experts on the meaning of 2012.

What if John Adams came back to Amsterdam?

What if John Adams came back to Amsterdam?

"Novelty of scene, the inexperience of the actors
against paying for things we haven't ordered" J.Adams (Canto LXVIII)

Over ocean wave and round bend of bay
John Adams with his wooden stump,
missing eye, parrot and hat
arrived at Amsterdam Central Station.

From the land of Mars rovers
Google and the CIA
John Adams changed the game
together with George Washington
buying cannabis retail outlets
and hemp factory unions.

Bringing it all to Europe,
hemp seed, oil mills, guns
and the wah-wah pedal
'we must agree on something'
he said.

And new loans from Holland
to buy guns and dope
and give em to the people
some truffles are a valuable
currency here'
he said.

John Adams bought a house
on Princengracht and opened
a foundation 'Unistat
cannabis culture' along with west
coast sexmagic and free jazz.

Necklaces bore the motto
bongs and rolling tins donned more
slogans: KEEP OUT OF EUROPE, and

John Adams cycled along the Gracht
like Albert Hoffmann, a stranger in a
strange new land, pipe ablaze with the
finest East Indian charas and Haze.

"and the Farben works still intact"
he said to the polite officer who stopped
John and issued an 'on-the-spot' fine
due to insufficient illumnated seers
or simply (no bicycle lights)

J.A came to Amsterdam and unified bankers
in support for CANNABIS
the British and French found this to be
a bitter ball to swallow, at first
"J.A will provide" said Washington, sweating.

"I have been in the most curious country among the most incomprehensible people and under the most singular constitution of government in the world" J.A

Fly Agaric: Look but don't touch (Highland News)

I Love this article from Highland News! --fly

Look but don't touch "Alice in Wonderland" toadstool

By Laurence Ford
Keep a weather eye out for fly agaric.
Keep a weather eye out for fly agaric.
PEOPLE across the Highlands are being asked to look out for one of the most recognisable, highly toxic and mind-altering toadstools.
The distinctive red and white fly agaric is said to have inspired both Alice in Wonderland author Lewis Caroll’s hookah-smoking caterpillar and the colours of Santa’s suit – but is also a useful indicator of the changing seasons.
Now, Woodland Trust Scotland is asking people to keep an eye out for fly agaric (Amanita muscaria), the classic red and white spotted toadstool, during walks and record any sightings online.
Fly agaric is widespread throughout the UK and commonly found on light soils in mixed woodland and heaths among birch and pine.
Rory Syme, from Woodland Trust Scotland, said: "The best place to spot fly agaric is close to birch and pine trees. The wet summer we’ve had may mean that it will appear early this year. In previous years sightings have been recorded as early as the end of June.
"Keeping track of key events in nature helps us record the changing seasons. Natural phenomena such as bird migration, changes in leaves and the appearance of flowers and fungi are some of the best indicators for climate change."
Fly agaric is toxic and was traditionally mixed with milk and left out in bowls to kill flies, which is where it gets its name.
He added: "Fly agaric can be dangerous, so the best advice is to look but don’t touch."
Five facts about fly agaric:
• Fly agaric was traditionally used as an insecticide, the cap broken up and sprinkled into saucers of milk. It’s now known to contain ibotenic acid, which both attracts and kills flies
• The ‘spots’ are actually remnants of a white veil of tissue that encloses the young mushroom, and can sometimes be washed off by the rain
• It was commonly found on Christmas cards in Victorian and Edwardian times as a symbol of good luck and its colours may have been the inspiration for Santa Claus’s red and white suit.
• Fly agaric is mycorrhizal, forming a mutually beneficial relationship with its host tree. This association provides the tree with increased absorbtion of water and minerals, and the fungus with constant access to carbohydrates
• One of the effects of consuming fly agaric is a perceived distortion in the size of objects. It has been said that Lewis Carroll’s hookah-smoking caterpillar in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was inviting her to take a bite from a fly agaric.
Sightings can be recorded through the Nature’s Calendar Project at

Carbon 60 (SIXTY) and Bucky Fuller Life Mice

Somehow i missed the somewhat recent news of research done with carbon 60 infused food for mice which led to a doubling of their life span. Wow, now if the research is repeated a few more times we have another great property of Carbon 60, and another reason to look back and reconsider, re-study the works of Buckminster Fuller.--Steve fly

A recent French study looking for chronic toxicity resulting from ingesting buckyballs dissolved in olive oil found that 10 month old rats who ingested the human equivalent of a tenth of a gram of C-60 buckyballs (which in technical grades cost less than US$10/gram) several times a week showed extended lifespans instead of toxic effects.--

Researchers at the University of Paris and colleagues fed the molecule fullerene (C60 or “buckyballs”) dissolved in olive oil to rats and found it almost doubles their lifespan, with no chronic toxicity.
The results suggest that the effect of C60, an antioxidant, on lifespan is mainly due to the attenuation of age-associated increases in oxidative stress, according to the researchers.--

Facestuck by Steven James Pratt (Shrt. Story)

Facestuck by Steven James Pratt (3/08/12)

Oh my god, those faces all literally glued to the screen, right across the planet, literally super-glued to the glass plasma crystal screens, unable to move. Eyes look sideways in terror at the images playing in front of them. Gangs of pixels assemble together in self-organized configurations: the words ‘Cheeky mouthy idiots’ repeated in endless fonts and colours. The images of others also stuck to the screen.

A few brave idiots in the initial panic of finding their face stuck to the screen pulled themselves off, leaving a good part of their face still stuck to the screen like a rare pork chop. Many of these people died as a result of their injuries, and some remained still half stuck to the screen, yet with mutilated mouths and bits of flesh dangling around the chin that made eating exceedingly difficult.  

“Next the phones, engage.” A voice said.

All mobile phones around the world were now stuck to their users face and the ear in particular, plus the original phone call was interrupted with a voice repeating the word ‘yes’. Scenes of equal chaos and horror soon followed, enhanced by the images from any camera relaying live feeds, broadcasting the distressed individuals pain and anguish between the literally billions of victims.

Some proposed the facestuck virus acted upon the carbon 60 molecule, triggered by certain vibrations quickly developing a highly dangerous and sticky surface, impossible to part from organic materials such as skin once contact is made. Grafting, which results in a permanent scar is a necessary process, but due to the Billions of victims many have spent decades with their devices stuck to their faces and ears.

An underground black market arose in cheap surgical procedures and quick fixes for those unable to stand the constant torment, but as you probably expect the quality and hygiene in these black markets are questionable and stories of horrific operations, gone wrong, can be heard far and wide across the planet.

Besides the physical discomfort of having a computer, telephone or god forbid and 25 inch flat screen attached to your noggin, the wish to keep the devices updated and in working order became another challenge to the sanity of any thinking individual. Major manufacturers folded and software became outdated, faults and failures often led to year long waiting lists to be seen, diagnosed and sent to an appropriate country to visit the special ‘update of old O.S centre’. Another harrowing experience I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Ten years after the facestuck virus struck humans from the developed world banned any screens from the immediate environment, reverting back to paper, chalk, ink and books. Screens were reserved for special use while under strict supervision and requiring  more special protective clothing. A resurgence of technophobia followed the outbreak and almost threw the planet into another dark ages when all computers, phones and T.V’s were smashed, manufacturing plants burned to the ground and anybody caught with a screen device punished severely, some already having a screen stuck to their face.

Another version of this story involves a psychological illness that results in people putting screens to their faces voluntarily for extended periods of time, perhaps 8 hours a day, without any knowledge that they are doing this, in effect resulting in self-inflicted facestuck. A horrific and painful condition in reality, yet, inside some deep far out hallucinations, the neuro-chemicals fire to stimulate endorphins that tell us nothing is wrong at all, and anybody alerting others to a case of facestuck are themselves delirious and in need of some psychological treatment and correction. (thankfully provided by your local council). And so the outbreak of intelligent viruses such as facestuck change the nature of disease in that they are not perceived as a disease at all, but instead as a virtuous tool of communication, a phone, a T.V etc.; whereas, beneath the hallucination your physical face remains permanently attached to a screen. So scream.

--Steven James Pratt
(Amsterdam, Java Straat. 3/08/12)





21/12/2012: The end of capitalism starting with Coca Cola

The recent news from Bolivia, concerning their decisions to kick out the coca cola company due to violence, corruption and unrestricted finance capitalism, makes me sit up and listen and engage once again with the 2012 phenomena.

Here we have the kind of tipping point that could begin a new era of corporate responsibility and humanity waking up to the horrors of unrestricted finance capitalism and discovering ways to say no, and kick out the culprits from theor community and/or country, protecting the citizens from any nefarious impact and damage, such as that damage Coca-Cola have, to South America in particular, but the entire world and it's citizens generally.

Fly Agaric 23 retains a special symbiotic relationship with coca-cola and the coca-cola company, and a special symbiotic relationship with Father Christmas. Both of these mysterious western capitalist phenomena employ the 'red and white' color scheme, as does the 'fly agaric: Amanita Muscaria mushroom. Take note. Fly Agaric grows without charge in the wilderness of natural abundance. Father Christmas and Coca-Cola require a multi Billion Dollar all-around-the-world system of propaganda, lies, deciet and promotional campaigning to keep up their mythological capitalist show.

I represent this news from Bolivia, and hope to help volley the message far and wide. I have added a description of Belching out the Devil by Mark Thomas, for some further insight into the coca-cola curse. Peace, steve fly agaric 23 (acrillic)

Amsterdam, Sensi Empire (2/8/12)

"Bolivia Set To Banish Coca-Cola To Mark Mayan End Of Capitalism

For most Americans, Bolivia is a third world South American country last robbed by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. However this impoverished nation is making headlines due to its Minister of External Affairs recent announcement that the Coca-Cola Company, one of the world’s largest corporations, is to be booted out of there by year’s end.

David Choquehuanca, the minister in question, explained that Coca-Cola will be expelled from Bolivia on the same day that the Mayan calendar enters a new cycle–December 21. According to Choquehuanca, the date marks the end of capitalism and the start of a culture of life in community-based societies. In order to celebrate that, Bolivia’s government is already planning a series of events that will take place at the Southern Hemisphere’s Summer Solstice on La Isla del Sol, one of the largest islands in Lake Titicaca.

“The twenty-first of December 2012 is the end of selfishness, of division. The twenty-first of December has to be the end of Coca-Cola and the beginning of mocochinche (a local peach-flavored soft drink),” Choquehuanca told reporters at a political rally for Bolivia’s president, Evo Morales. “The planets will line up after 26,000 years. It is the end of capitalism and the beginning of communitarianism,” he added.

It’s already been rumored that Venezuela’s president, Hugo Chavez, will follow suit, encouraging his country to ditch the American beverage for soft drinks produced locally.

It’s curious that Bolivia decided to forbid Coca-Cola in its territory, considering that one of the soft drink’s main ingredients is said to be coca extract (Coca-Cola refuses to confirm that, saying that this is part of their secret formula.) --

"But it'll make zero difference to Mark Thomas’s tireless campaigning. Stand-up comic turned agent provocateur and writer, in his latest book Belching Out The Devil, Thomas travels the world to expose the flaws of the Coca-Cola business system: a bottling plant in Colombia where trade unionists are routinely murdered by paramilitary death squads, child labour in fields surrounding a sugar mill in El Salvador and the unfathomable decision of opening a plant heavily reliant on water in an area of India already prone to drought.

The Coca-Cola Company absolves itself of any blame because on paper it doesn't actually own any of these franchise plants or the independently owned sugar mill. All it does is manufacture the syrup ingredient to make the fizzy pop. "All of this stuff is about Coke's tentacles and the way it works," says Thomas. "It draws these lines of demarcation between responsibility." --

Amanita symbiosis system

 As Mushrooms Evolve to Live With Trees, They Give Up DNA Associated With Decomposing Cellulose
ScienceDaily (July 18, 2012)
"...if you're going to actively form a cooperative relationship with a tree, you probably shouldn't simultaneously be trying to break it apart and eat it. But it's a very tricky dance to form these kinds of tight, cooperative interactions, and I think this work shows there is a cost associated with that. You have to change, you have to commit, and it can become a sort of gilded cage -- these mushrooms are very successful..." -- Talking with Steve "Fly Agaric 23" Pratt Talking with Steve "Fly Agaric 23" Pratt: Few, if any, people have been more energetic in setting up Internet sites to promote the works and though of Robert Anton Wilson than Steve ...

Fly Agaric in Ireland and Muscarine as asthma treatment

Everyone is charmed when we chance upon our first Fly Agaric, the iconic red and white seat of many a storybook fairy or elf. Just then the sky darkens, the mother and father of all downpours leaving no shelter. Waterproofs are useless, we can only head back to the hotel?
Go to: Muscarinic receptors in the lung In the lungs, anticholinergic compounds block muscarinic receptors on airway smooth muscle, glands and nerves to prevent muscle contraction, gland secretion and enhance neurotransmitter release. There are five muscarinic receptor subtypes [designated M1 through M5 by the IUPHAR (Caulfield and Birdsall, 1998)] all belonging to the large family of seven transmembrane G-protein coupled receptors. In human lung (and in all animal species tested), acetylcholine induces bronchoconstriction by stimulating M3 (Figure 1) receptors on smooth muscle (Roffel et al., 1990). Although airway smooth muscle contraction is mediated by M3 receptors, the majority of muscarinic receptors on airway smooth muscle are actually M2 (Barnes, 1993). These M2 receptors contribute indirectly to airway smooth muscle contraction by limiting β-adrenoceptor-medicated relaxation through inhibition of adenylate cyclase (Fernandes et al., 1992). Glandular secretion is also mediated predominantly by M3 muscarinic receptors on submucosal cells (Marin et al., 1976; Borson et al., 1980; Phillips et al., 2002). Figure 1 Muscarinic receptors in lungs. Muscarinic receptors (MR) are present throughout the lungs and control smooth muscle contraction, gland secretion, acetylcholine (ACh) release from parasympathetic nerves and probably also inflammatory cells. Only receptors (more ...) Muscarinic receptors are also present on parasympathetic nerves supplying the lungs (Fryer and Maclagan, 1984). M2 muscarinic receptors on postganglionic parasympathetic nerves (Faulkner et al., 1986; Fryer et al., 1996) limit acetylcholine release, thus providing a physiologically relevant, negative feedback control over acetylcholine release (Fryer and Maclagan, 1984; Baker et al., 1992). Blocking M2 receptors with mmuscarinic antagonists including atropine and ipratropium or using selective M2 receptor antagonists such as gallamine, significantly potentiates vagally induced bronchoconstriction (Fryer and Maclagan, 1984; 1987; Blaber et al., 1985; Faulkner et al., 1986). Neuronal M2 receptors are vulnerable, and thus their function is significantly decreased after respiratory viral infection, antigen challenge, or exposure to organophosphates or ozone (Empey et al., 1976; Aquilina et al., 1980; Fryer and Jacoby, 1991; Schultheis, 1992; Schultheis et al., 1994; Sorkness et al., 1994). They are also less functional in humans with asthma (Minette et al., 1989). Decreased function of the neuronal M2 receptors is mediated by various mechanisms including blockade by endogenous antagonists and down-regulation of receptor expression. The resulting increase in acetylcholine release is thought to be an important mechanism of airway hyperreactivity. Clinically, anticholinergic drugs are used as bronchodilators in combination with anti-inflammatory steroids in the treatment of asthma and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD). Asthma is characterized by variable airflow limitation that is partially reversible spontaneously or with treatment. Underlying this airflow limitation is chronic inflammation that increases airway hyperresponsiveness to various stimuli (EPR-3, 2007). COPD is characterized by chronic airflow limitation that is not fully reversible. Patients with COPD can experience acute worsening in symptoms. These exacerbations are characterized by increased sputum production and shortness of breath (Rabe et al., 2007). COPD and asthma symptoms overlap; however, the most distinguishing difference between conditions is airflow limitation reversibility. This review covers the history of clinically relevant anticholinergic drugs in asthma and COPD.

Some great nation of cannabis ceteceans

Some great nation of cannabis cetaceans
by Steven 'fly agaric 23' Pratt.

In following the trajectory of the war on some people who use some drugs, over the last 20 years, I recently noticed a similar situation to that of the (WOSPWUSD) in the plight of those who wish to recognise a cetacean nation, or some rights and freedoms that humans enjoy.

The strategy for aquiring  a kind of nationhood for Dolphins and Whales reflects, to my mind, the on-going battle between medical Marijuana activists and recognition, officially, of the benefits and culture surrounding Marijuana, effectively reversing the current laws and punishments for members of the cannabis community so that they become endowed with a kind of spirit-hood thing, and enjoy protected freedoms to live a proud and fearless life like other minorities or previously oppressed groups such as women, people of colour, homosexuals and a growing list of animals, vegetables and plants, cannabis people strive for at least equal rights and the pursuit of happiness as a Gorilla would!

Jane Goddard seems to me to have kickstarted the quest for individual sovereignty through her work with the United Nations (dometicated primates) and her work with Apes (primates). And, as mentioned above, Dr John Lilly with a host of other scientists, thinkers and imaginative activists have outlined what a sovereign nation for cetaceans might look like, why we should have such a thing, and what we can do, collectively to work towards building and maintaining it.

The cannabis nation also has such outlines and plans, research projects and evidence to put forward their case, but, (rising organ music please) with cannabis there are hundreds of thousands of such data sets pointing towards changes in the forever biased and bloody bigoted laws and punishments handed out to any member of the cannabis nation participating in their non-violent lifestyle e.g; ingesting cannabis in one form or another.

In both cases, however, I come across a similar set of problems and in my humble opinion-- misunderstandings--on behalf of those who fight for such equal rights and government recognition, in the same way other diverse groups are now protected, legalised and left up to their own devices, to the extent that humans are supposed to have irreducible rights based upon finding oneself in a lucky incarnation: that of a sentient human being.

There are many different angles to the cannabis nation argument, and billions of Angels, based upon the wide strata of human culture, not least coming from the artistic and innovative music community world-wide. Whereas, the cetacean nation arguments usually come from a somewhat small and specialised area of scholarly research, although cargo cults often get on board the Dolphin and Whale boat to nationhood, adding a sometimes humorous, sometimes frustrating glossing to the concept of a cetacean nation. In my opinion, it is the definition and evidence amassed by Dr John Lilly in particular that best describes the case for cetacean rights and nationhood on par with that of human beings. Read him!

As any reader of Dr John Lilly may know, he also wrote extensively on altered states of consciousness, cognitive liberty and the therapeutic, neuro-psychological uses of some drugs (in particular Ketamine and LSD). As a scientist, however, John did not follow the slightly more popular legalise cannabis, and other drugs battle in the streets, he rebelled through his research and feedback, both amplifying his brilliance and genius. John made tools and maps to help us navigate psychedelic space that maybe more important today than before based on the similarity between navigating psychedelic space (as defined by Lilly) and navigating cyberspace (as defined by Norbert Weiner and Tim Berners Lee). Cyber = to steer, remember?

Techniques for navigating non-ordinary states of consciousness are very helpful in navigating through the Internet and our hyper-connected futures or science fiction futures as I like to call our multi-dimensional futures.

I imagine a situation where inner space--the world behind our eyelids and the private space of one’s thoughts--spills out and over into outer-space or the human perceived space-time world, via Internet, social networks, web sites, games, movies, music and cyber-culture: the digital universe.

Although this may seem a slight digression from the similarities in the process of recognition of both a cetacean nation and a cannabis people’s nation, the result of some carfeul investigation and a little research into non-ordinary states, reflects the descent or accent, depending how you view the idea of the world and reality made and manipulated primarily by language, to high weirdness!

However, I must add that all this talk of nation-hoods and sovereignty runs contrary to my intuition about how to really solve the big problems of greed driven civilisation, the swelling global village,  and a peaceful cooperative future.

I recognised that Buckminster Fuller nailed it when he implied that until the sovereign nations have been de-sovereignized (effectively decentralised) we cannot have open world around trade and balanced communication. I agree whole heatedly, although for the purposes of the arguments above I must drop such a notion, for some great nation of cannabis cetaceans.

--Steve Fly


--On the Newscorp Hacking Scandal.

       Growing up with the weeds in the UK from 1976-2000, has helped shape my experience and observation concerning the relationships between the gov't, media corporations and their effects upon culture, both my own local culture and--through the emergent technology of the internet-- into other cultures. 

Today we are aware, i hope; of the global military industrial agricultural media beast that traverses the planet and beyond,aware of the programing. Healthyly suspecting the borg of modifying their database in favour of profits and a competitive edge rather than precise information, reporting, sharing and honest feedback. The opposite of a scientific approach.

It seems to me in light of the Newscorp hacking scandal that the model of the 'spy' and the spy's cloak and dagger strategy for achieving goals best suits the behaviour and actions of Murdoch, Rebecca Brooks, Hunt and the long list of dirty private investigators, sneaky journalists, colluding police officers and sympathetic double cross politicians.

"I am not saying its wrong, I am saying its the wrong interpretation of what I said."-- Rupert Murdoch, April 25th 2012

Due to the incredible influence Rupert Murdoch and his gang have had upon British culture built up by media monopolies on print, radio and TV, the domino effect--back through history-- produces a new Octopus conspiracy, I would say. Many slimy connections and sordid threads that resemble the tentacles of an Octopus, or rather, in fact probably not an Octopus, but something far more terrifying, like some-thing out of a H.P Lovecraft tale.

I imagine some people might think I am simply moaning about some hidden conspiracy that has prevented me from achieving my personal goals and utopian cultural revolutionary ideas, something approaching 'Open Source Democracy' as described by Douglas Rushkoff, or the open society of self owning ones, a miniarchy of those who run their own lives and contribute to the welfare of the tribe. The critical feedback on my experiences living in the UK are vented in hope that somebody else might read me and feel a similar disgust and outrage at how our so called 'leaders' and 'advisors' and even some 'teachers' never once warned us of the sho-nuff on-coming privatization of natural resources, the probable conspiracy between high level officials and simply sold us out, sold our ideas and our youth driven innovations to the highest bidder.

Rupert Murdoch portrays a perfect example of monopolist, greedy pig gangster, and the Newscorp hacking scandal gives us some evidence that the only warnings and echoes of caution, some doubt, healthy skepticism and trace of 'questioning authority, came from the underground arts, the fringe counter-culture, subversive literature, poets, comics, rebels.  I noticed even in my generation that for the most part the alternatives to the late capitalist agenda were eclipsed, demonized and co-opted by emerging global corporate beasts like Newscorp.

"If I said that, it was the effect of alchohol"--Rupert Murdoch, April 25th 2012.

I'll leave it up to the political commentators to put the political octopus tentacles in place, for a few hints look just look up the transcriptions from the recent Leveson inquiry (25 April 2012) type 'phone hacking scandal' into Youtube, Wikipedia and Google, search, read and use what your mama gave you. See BskyB, Thatcher, the Miners strikes, Faulklands War, IRA, Cold War, Gulf War, Bush Senior, Barbara Bush and her relationship to Aleister Crowley, Hitler’s fake diaries, Invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan  and on and on, into the big stinking cess pool filled by historical news scoops of sewage, world events bent squashed and packaged like sausanges for the British state of mind to nibble on, just why is Simon Cowell's media imprint called syco?

"This deal lasted until Cowell persuaded Rupert Murdoch's Fox network to allow him to quit Idol and launch The X Factor in the US. The X Factor USA was outrated by American Idol last year, but has been commissioned for a second series.--

I have often said in heated conversation, while pretty stoned that, for me, 1997 marks the year-- if I were to pick one--that my world collapsed and rebuilt itself into a labyrinth of conspiracy, triggered in part by 'D:ream' and their tune 'things can only get better' used by Tony Blair and the New Labour party to win a landslide victory over the Tories. Now, how much influence did the song have, or could that song have had? I presume it had much more influence than we give credit, but I am biased. More on this some other time.

The Australian TV series 'Neighbours' and its twin 'Home and away' and the deadly 'psycho' producers, are equally influential with their media intrusions into my own memories from back in my teen years, and based on the impact they had on those around me, these TV soap shows were a craze for quite a few years, everybody watched daily, and then talked about it like a secret code. (lets not forget ‘Sons and Daughters).

At school, at work and at home, 'Neighbours' and 'Home and Away', filled UK homes with absoloute crap, with the cute characters snatching our consciousness away quickly, totally, in ways that make most so called 'addictive drugs' pale in comparison. And what warning did we get? what models and metaphors were we given to encourage critical thinking on the production of these shows, on the stereotypes and often religious ideologies spun?

The most powerful multi-media industries in the world began a programme of turning screen stars into 'pop' stars, starting with Kylie Minogue, and Danni, Jason Donovan , Natalie Imbruglia, Stefan Dennis,  and others, not to mention the theatrical and movie industry boom and their strange favour for second rate, cute actors and actresses from either 'Neighbours' and/or 'Home and away". Why? Insight into the hidden sex status heart throb effect can be found here:

“FremantleMedia, Ltd. is the content and production division of Bertelsmann's RTL Group, Europe's largest TV, radio, and production company. Its world headquarters are located in London.”--

To me, in retrospect, this felt like a simple TV show that I watched a little, and that my friends and family watched too, suddenly spilling out into the record stores, radio air waves and other TV shows, into Hollywood movies, horrific adverts and international theatre tours like a science fiction inspired self-duplicating ooze.

It felt weird, and still plays on my mind in the night, along with all my memories of engaging with TV land from the years 1985-2000. How much did the TV and the print, radio and film media influence us back then? how and what did we do and think as a result of whatever 'programing' we happened to be in the firing line of? Who warned us of the EFFECTS of media, of monopoly on information and heaven forbid--banking scandals--con-men and con-women, fakes, hoaxes and tricks of the hand? who could have known?

I call for more open collaborative investigations into TV programing and other media monopolies on thinking broadcast throughout the 1990's, and to what extent money and profits and the ideologies of the likes of Rupert Murdoch were beamed into our minds, bodies and spirit? Please take a look at the ideas of Marshall McLuhan, Robert Anton Wilson and Cory Doctorow, John Perry Barlow and Tim B. Lee.

"I don't believe in hacking"--Rupert Murdoch. April 25th 2012.

Here, now, we can awake from the media-sleep and see through the mask, for once and for all, re-writing our creative memories of media ooze with knowledge and evidence for fakery, hoaxing and deception, so, at the least leading us to look deeper and pay more attention to things, question everything, find your own 'rightness' and 'balance' and then, bounce it off those around you, and build a new history together where the forces of darkness and bullying can be excommunicated through knowledge and replaced with a new poetry.

Build the past, present and future all-at-once. Out with the old and in with the new, a media exorcism 2012. May those demons and bad spirits who have stifled and blocked our collective creativity, also become stifled and blocked, may the greedy creeps reap what they sew. 

"Cowell is a supporter of the Conservative Party. In 2010, Cowell endorsed David Cameron to be Prime Minister and claimed that he has the 'substance and the stomach to navigate us through difficult times'.[81] In the aftermath of the election, it was reported that he had fallen out with fellow X Factor judge Cheryl Cole (who had declared her support for Labour and Gordon Brown) in a telephone conversation about politics.--

THE MULTI STORY BARD BARK (a short multi story)


I promised my friends and myself that I would write a multi-story about the multi-story car park in Stourbridge that is scheduled to be demolished today (April 1st, 2012). So here is a first draft, its pretty RAW will undergo editing at a later date.

Enoy, and please feel free to feed back as you see fit. (the original idea was a multi authored story, so if anyone wants to pick up a thread, please do). Maybe somebody from Stourbridge will get a hold of this a print it out and give it out to some locals, feel free my friends, Love, steve fly

Car park demolition day will see more than 100 homes evacuated

by Steven James Pratt, 1st April 2012.

(Any names, events, or places that are similar by name, event or by places--existing in the real universe outside of this story--is purely and totally coincidental. It is, in fact, the wishes of the author to make fiction from the imagination and raw material of experience.)

The RACE day

A large group of people had gathered atop of the car park with a wide selection of wheeled vehicles about to embark on the well-travelled voyage down the ramps to the bottom, but today was a special day, the annual multi story car park rally.

With sponsorship from a number of locally independent brewers and horticulturalists the event boasted safety wardens, repairmen, judges and prizes for the winners. The event was broken up into 6 heats, a semi-final, quarter-final and final, with over 30 competitors in all. The event had attracted attention from the local news and print media along with the police and a couple of  crazy poets with attitude.

A small Tescno canon fired from out of a shopping trolley to signify the start of the race, and a stretch of recycled Tesco bags provided the material for the finish line. Alike the London marathon many competitors dressed up in fancy dress and built customized vehicles with aesthetics and look in mind, as well as performance, a wacky races indeed.

Here is a list of some of the racers and their vehicles from the fastest heats so far: Steve and his hobbyhorse trolley, Nick and his Roller Bin, Dave and his modified skateboard, Dean and his sidecar, Scot and his wheeled snowboard, Sarah and her bicycle, Kevin and his space tractor, Paul and his fishtank tank on wheels, Andy on his boat bike, Mick and his jolly trolley racer, Adam and his cow cart, Nell and his fire engine, Jenny and her azzy powered cart, Emily and her Sex Cripple sled, Simon and his wheeled suit case, jimmy, and his tricycle racer, Bobby and his pogo-stick.

The semi-final race turned out to be one of the best remembered and closest of all races that day, here’s what a local poet threw up onto a page at the race, after a drunken night at a pole dancing club.

Nick and Scot were first off the mark leaving Sarah and Andy close behind, Nick’s roller-bin cornered remarkable well considering its shape, and Nick obviously knew the racing line and had the extra determination and racing spirit, which half way down the car park just slightly edged scot and his wheeled snowboard aside, putting his in the lead going into the final four corners.

The crowd noise was loud and wild, spectators wearing fancy dress egged on the racers like in the ‘Tour De France’ with some hilarious scenes, such as Sponge Bob Pete running alongside Bob's yellow lawnmower, and then tripping up proper, resulting in Andy’s boat bike hitting him and sending both parties into a heap of Bob, thankfully unharmed and easily the stars of that particular race, at least with the spectators who pissed themselves laffin'

Sarah’s bicycle was made to look like it was built from wood whereas in fact it was a traditional steel frame, painted and re-modelled to appear like wood, it was pretty fast but made it very difficult to turn quickly and pass other racers. However Sarah managed to pass Andy on the last corner and gain a quarter final place.

The race for first place saw scotty pulling Nick’s roller-bin by the handle and managing to pip him on the post, however due to this semi illegal move, and according the judges multi-story car park rally rule book 2000 A.D, Scot was disqualified and so Nick went through to the finals by default, his smile was as large as the viaduct.

The finals were held on a Friday evening, some strong spot-lights had been added which increased the tension among the racers, and with 300 Pounds prize money for the winner the pressure was building like a fart inside an evelope.

The finalists were Emily and Nick, Emily was riding on what she called her sex-cripple sled, and Nick was once more on his wheely bin. Both contraptions were heavily customized and almost unrecognizable from their former life, between the sponsors logos and personal messages in the rallying tradition and the new decorative racing suits worn by both racers, you might have thought they were formula one competitor’s, with a stronger sense for taste and humour. 

The trolley cannon fired and the crippled sled just about got a nose ahead of Nick, maybe due to the longer vehicle, but into the first corner Nick already clawed back into the lead with a nudge on Emily and her sled, that put her off the racing line, she raised a middle finger and cursed her competition.

A bunch of young skateboarding punks who had claimed the Multi-story as their own with the help of a local councillor had made a special banner with the stylized words that read: “SOS: Save our Skate-park (from the Capitalist Tesco Devils)”. The banner caught Nicks eye as he whizzed past and caused him to wobble a touch when going into the third corner, at which point Emily regained the lead with a fantastic sliding pass, preserved in a photograph, now legendary taken by a very well dressed man in a trilby hat.

Entering the final corner in her sex-cripple sled, Emily let go of the steering wheel and punched the air for the hundreds of fans and supporters gathered near the finish line, as she reached up in the air Nick launched into a final spurt, ducking his head down to increase the aerodynamic flow of his vehicle, he shot forward edging neck and neck with Emily, who gasped with surprise at his unexpected last minute surge for the win.

Another memorable photograph captures the looks on the racers faces looking at each other as they pass the finish line together. After a few minutes deliberation and comparing of photos of the ‘photo finish’ it was decided that Nick was just a hairs knacker behind Emily, now the 2001 Multi-story rally champion.

Suddenly a bombardment of water bombs rained down off the top of the car park onto those below, then a shopping trolley was thrown off the top that left a local M.P critically injured when it struck her while she tried to shut down the races. Later it turned out the trolley was thrown by a rival M.P which just goes to show how politics is really a blood sport carried out by psychopaths and general wrong-doers. 

PART 1 (12 years later)

Last night my friend Rice and I were both feeling pretty restless while waiting for some weed to arrive, twiddling our thumbs, when Joe said, let’s go down to the multi-story and get something going. Come on Rice, tonight’s the night, tonight’s the night, maybe the last one for 25 P beers, and 1 pound 69 p cider providers. Cheers on toast bro’

--Alright Joe, let’s go get em’.

We blacked up in our Ninja suits and set out the door with a night vision camera, a black bag of stainless tools and some gold spray paint. We arrived at the scene of the demolishment from out of the housing estate opposite, pausing behind a speed camera box before sprinting across the road up to the metal fence.

--Look, them crafty bastards have installed cameras all around the perimeter, Joe said, if we is gonna’ get in there we must be over that fence as fast as a cat running from a pellet gun.

--So on three, I said, shaking from a little nervous pang burrowing into my guts. A feeling I had felt before when breaking and entering, painting trains, robbing banks and crossing international boarders without the correct papers.


And we hoisted ourselves up over the fence and dropped the other side into a pile of concrete and metal supports that looked like a large slabs of nugget fudge pierced by mint chocolate matchsticks. We scuttled off into the crumbling 8 story car park with our night vision goggles that Joe had nicked from his uncle Charles who was currently in the Royal Marines.

--Let’s have a look at the stair well, Joe said, maybe we can get up to the top that way rather than walking the route that the vehicles take, what do you think mate. Joe paused and then stopped walking, his attention shifted to a square man-hole cover next to what looked like a man hole.

--Hey Rice, looky what we have here, a god damned man hole hidden beneath the first layer of tarmac, I reckon we should take a peak. Joe said, alreading on his knees peering down into the hole.

--I dunno Joe, maybe we should drop our pieces first and investigate this hole afterwards I said.

And with that we prepared two large areas of wall with some white primer and threw up our latest ideogrammic equations over the next 40 odd minutes after which we rolled a nice joint and photographed the room with the new decorations that together elucidated the cosmological constant first intuited by Einstein himself, fulfilling their general guiding principle: Language versus the equation.

After sharing a pretty strong joint they packed up their cans neatly and moved back to where the hole descended into the floor. Joe looked at me, smiled and then clambered feet first down into the top rim of the hole, dangling his feet below trying to find some support.

--Yep, there’s something here Rice, another step or something, maybe we should drop an illuminated glow-stick down here and get a better idea of how far it goes down.

Rice cracked a glow-stick open and dropped it into the hole, they both watched it fall for about 20 seconds before it stopped at the bottom, or got tangled up in something. Pretty deep, I said, this looks like a proper entry to the sewer system I reckon, let’s get down there.

I climbed down after Joe and we descended the metal ladder into the dark damp silence, my heart racing like the clappers.

Roughly 20 meters down the hole there was another large pipe with some wool hanging from its sharp rusty edges, we stepped into the pipe and moved down towards a light source someway in the distance.

--We must have been walking about 50 meters by now, I guess, which would put us roughly under the Crystal leisure centre. Yeah that must be the source of the light source ahead, I said.

We came to another opening that led up a large stone step into a room from where voices could be heard. Men and women’s voices in what sounded to me like a jolly mood. We paused for a moment and looked at each other with a terrified stare, eyes white, skin pale.

--Shall we enter like we were invited then? I asked. Um, yeah, good plan man, Rice said. But maybe we’ll be getting into trouble for nothing, I said with second thoughts. First thought best thought, Rice said while pushing the door open.


Rice and I entered a large cold chamber area and we both shrieked aloud at what we saw going on before our eyes, two muscle men had a small lamb chained to a bridge suspended about 6 feet off the ground while a tall blonde women held a bejewelled dagger above her head seemingly about to sacrifice the lamb. She turned and looked at us as we entered, mouth agape, eyes alight with mania.

--Welcome young boys, please, take a seat over here behind the old bridge and please stay quiet, anymore sudden sounds and the lamb may choke herself to death before we get the damn thing right, so...the lady said, turning back to the lamb and raising the dagger above her head once more.

--Yes, I said, and we both sat down next to some other cloaked figures all in black and of both sexes by the look of the bulges poking out from their cloaks.

--Cloak and dagger, Rice said as he winked at me and smiled, I think we are in the shit bruv, we stumbled into some underground business ceremony and initiation. I bet this is some Tesco initiation, I said.

--Yeah, this looks like what my mate Rob once claimed was going on inside the car park on special days of the year, usually the equinox’s and summer and winter Solstice. This is just like how he described it. A Sacrificial lamb, a dagger and a bunch of men in dresses.

I stopped speaking when I noticed the female with the dagger had a tale trailing out from her robe, and a reptilian looking tale at that. I nudged Rice and pointed with my eyes, wide open, blinking and nodding to him. This is like David Icke's wet dream, i thought to myself.

--Jesus Christ, Rice exclaimed, and as he spoke the dagger slit the lambs throat and a torrent of blood began oozing out into a small golden bowl as the lamb wriggled and shook with jerky movements for about a minute.

The blonde lady then picked up the bowl of lambs blood and added an unknown white substance, next, she turned and acknowledged the four cardinal directions, waved her hands in the air and intoned something that sounded to me like a cross between Latin, German and Pakistani languages. A strange and eerie angry sound to my ears, just right for an initiation ritual I thought,

--and now we drink, the priestess said.

--Cheers, Rice said as he took a deep swig of the warm fresh blood, swallowed, squinted his eyes, smiled and passed the bowl to me as if this was a regular activity for him, for a split second I thought I have been hoodwinked into climbing down here and Rice was already one of them, whoever they were. Reptilian tesco's shapeshifters.

I tipped my head back and in classic style took a large quantity down the wrong hole, instantly I started coughing out a portion of the blood leaving specks all over the priestess and the chequered floor. She stopped abruptly before moving onto the next in line and uttered, silly boy, you must hold it down lad, are you stupid or something now you have lambs blood up your nose don’t you. It was at that moment I noticed her pointed ears and that she was in fact wearing a wig, images from the book and movie 'Witches' by Ronnie Doll crept into my hiphopcampus and scared me.


The charges had been set, all the sewer pipes blocked and the water mains switched off, the gas and electric suppliers had stopped all services to the Multi Story, Ken the fat foreman on the demolition job had checked his check list again due to the fact that he had recalled a dream from the night before in which he was constantly calling up the Gas company office where his wife worked, asking them why they had not yet turned off the gas, over and over again he saw this scenario play out in his dream, and responsibly acted on that dream.

--All good Dave, just need to get the go ahead plot from the Fire and Police services and our friends running the security drill from old Kroll associates, you know George and his mates, and so we’ll soon hit the plunger and detonate this concrete son-of-a-bitch.

One fat red faced member of the American based Kroll group was still inside the building analysing each charge that had been set, ticking them off on his check list. He knelt down to the ground and placed his check by the base of a large concrete pillar and heard a noise, it was a voice seemingly coming from below his feet, he stopped, smiled and walked on to the exit, calling back to Ken the foreman--all clear, he said.

--Check, Dave said as he closed his phone; this is it fellas', we are on schedule, it's 9.56 and the explosives are set and checked, and triple checked again, here we go, here we go, here we, here we go!

Simon Cowell stepped out of his trailer wearing a special combat suit and sparkling Michael Jackson inspired silver gloves, he shuffled over to the control vehicle and entered the red zone where the detonation plunger awaited him beyond the red tape and scissors.

--Hey Simon, I love you, I want your children, shouted a middle aged man holding hands with his wife, can you sign my Mr Blobby single please I just love you Si, please please, oh thankyou Jesus.

Simon turned and looked at the balding fat bloke and his pretty fat, pretty greasy looking wife and grimaced, stared out into space for 10 seconds and then stepped back out of the trailor towards the couple who were standing with thousands of other explosives fanatics behind the corded off area, holding a big black pen in one hand and an I-phone in the other.

--Give it hear you fat bastard, he said, watching his wife’s eyes light up to a bit of verbal abuse.

--Give us a good blow job then Simon, she said, laughing already at Simon’s face as it turned from a happy puppy to an angry dog. Motherfuckers, Simon said under his breath, tossing the Mr Blobby 7 inch single way too far into the crowd for the couple to grab. Jump you fucking retards, he said, Jump Jump Jump.

Simon stepped to the detonator and put on his fake cheesy smile as he wrapped his glittery gloves around the plunger in true wanker style.

--God save Tesco’s and the supermarket industry of this great nation, may god bless all who shop in her.

He pushed down the plunger, and at first nothing happened as if the charges had failed to fire. Then an almighty bang surged through the air, smoke, glass, debris and dust flew after it.

--For crying out loud, what the fuck was that? Dave shouted, still holding his hands over his ears and kneeling down in an emergency crash position. Holy shit.

There was an unexpected silence as the dust setled, everybody looked dazed and confused from the sound of the blast alone, staggering around like some of the survivors of the 911 detonation, or like Japanese Butoh dancers without the rags. Car sirens belted across the town in synchrony as if King Kong had took a massive dump creating an mini-earthquake.

Slowly and unbelievably to the onlookers and demolishment experts the structure of the multi-story car park was still visible to them, but, the rest of their surrounding town had been dramatically altered. Flatted, blew up, totally fucked up beyond all recognition.

--Holy mother of God, what have we done, Simon Cowell said, equally bewildered and shocked at what happened.

--What have you done, Simon! it looks to me like you blew shit out of every other building in town but the Multi Story car park that we supposed to have levelled, how on earth, Dave said, scratching his head which was still resonating with the blast of the after shock like a full force hangover from cheap Gin.

Then the emergency sirens started and the scale of the fuck-up could be seen, 12 buildings had fallen down which surrounded the intended one to be grounded, 6 of those had people inside and 13 of those people were injured due to flying debris and smoke inhalation. Remarkably nobody lost their life that day, well, that’s not really true, somebody did die that day, but the case is on-going, and the cause of death still under revision. Homicide or suicide?

2 hours after the explosion Simon Cowell was half way back to London for his group shot together with Mickey Mouse and Mr Blobby, who had teamed up on a new hit single called Blobby Mouse Music all night long. Yet at the site of the detonation disaster the real action was only just getting started, what happened next changed the day’s proceedings from strange to the damned right bizzare, I still can't believe what's happening now.


Some little chav’ joker, or skater-punk must have thought it would be funny to erect the American flag in the rubble beside the car park to give the impression that this was our local 911 attack, which would have worked out for the kid had he not tripped and twisted his ankle on his way out of the rubble and wound up squirming in the concrete and mangled metal like some injured animal by the roadside, needless to say, the security got to him and carried him away for questioning, a few beatings and a place on the criminal DNA database.

Once more from somewhere deep down in the earth an explosion could be felt which was at least 3 hours after the main mega-blast. Many people scattered like cockroaches in a panic believing this to be yet another demolition explosion, which it was, but true and in resonance with their perceptions it was way way down beneath the earth.

Then all-of-a-sudden the car park site cracked and fell through the floor and continued falling down one floor after another until the building was at least 50 stories under the ground, but nobody was looking at the shitty concrete rubble anymore, they were transfixed by something else, something beautiful and enchanting.

--Mary mother of Christ, it’s a fucking underground base, I knew they were breeding aliens in this town, I just knew it, look, LOOOOOOK! A kid shouted peering over the edge of the hole, pointing and wiggling his finger.

The American Kroll associate was already parasailing head first down the hole, followed by a group of cloaked individuals who came running out of a house situated close by. As they flew off the edge like base-jumpers into the hole some people started cheering, as if some sporting event was underway, yet, in fact these were not the people to be cheering, I tell you now. If only they public knew how despicable and evil their plan was, how they wished to destroy whats left of the town, and all who live there, leaving only a Tesco super village centre run by robots and automated intelligence systems designed by BAE systems, Northrop Gunman, Lucent technologies and Raytheon, all technologies which proved very effective at every task they were programmed to carry out.

The machines were indeed efficient but leaving the local people to roam around the streets like zombies, unable to comprehend the speed and efficiency these machines were capable of when programed to put the middle classes out of work and the means to productivity. However, the means to communication could not be upsurped in the same way.

--Rice, Rice, wake up mate, are you OK. I said, grabbing his arm in the pitch darkness. Yes, yes, fine, but those poor motherfuckers up there are going to be in a world of shit if we let this just roll along like a hollywood movie plot, or some weird short story that lacks any hero or a happy ending, Screw that, I ain't going out like that, I ain't going out! Rice pontificated.

The pipe we were sitting in was about half way between the lip of the hole and the top of the building that had just fallen in. A fat rat came scuttling by and leapt off the end of the pipe onto one of the parasailing ropes and ran straight down towards the concrete jungle below.

--I guess that’s the way to do it bruv’ Rice said while he also gripped the rope and started to slide down after the rat, come on Kinch, he said, and so I followed him down towards the glowing emerald lights and a low hum of engines or of air conditioning or of bass heavy ambient music, I couldn’t decipher which.

Upon reaching the bottom I looked back up and noticed another gang of cloaked weirdo’s descending down the line after us, a terrible sight as they were carrying swords and knives, gleaming in slice of light breaking on through from the hole.

--Go, go, go, I said.

to be continued....

--Steven James Pratt, 1st April 2012.

Landmark car park due for demolition

"With Stourbridge Lib Dem politician Chris Bramall, saying: “It will be so sad to see the end of ramparts - at least it will go out with a bang.”