Lions and Tigers and Holy Shit, what's THAT?!

CD cover design for the Double Handsome Dragons. This image represents the open package, the CD takes up the top right hand quarter of the square seen here.



FRONT COVER, when closed:

Beta.

It is tangible but harsh and the colours and shapes have a slightly hypereal edge. This world, despite it's all consuming glory, makes a cruel mockery of true nature. The faces are symetrical. The stories spit forth in a seemingly random chaotic foray. I'm in awe of it all. The glow of a lucid dream. Around everything. Its not real. It's not real.

The distant redraw of the horizon only succeeds in tightening the hood of claustrophobia. Beyond it lies the void.

Velvet.

Atoms collided all around, insects zipped in and out of existence while the trees breathed deeply in our presence. Whispering warm lullabys down into the world and nudging it's little sister into waking, the radiant sun slipped away. It's dwindling light, dancing in the glassy eyes of the velvet crowned peaceful ones. The story continued.

The spinning, roaring centre of the Earth pulled tides, clouds and countless souls around in a familiar frenzied ballet. Arms of galaxies reached out, fingers touched and new worlds were born. Every universe rode the spiral as it had for all time and would forever more.

At the centre of everything, teeth gently bit down, trapping tiny desperately fluttering words. A deep breath. A book mark in time. A polar shift. Then silence.

Something changed.

Sneaky...

peak at a monster I'm currently scribbling into life.


-- Post From My iPhone's shitty camera.

She grows heavy. She who's demands are as unforgiving as her touch. She who holds me tight in a tenacious tendril embrace. She whispers chemical trickery into me again. Free to do her bidding, I taste her eyes. Teeth clench. Blood flows. Fingers slip into a hungry and desperate suction cup delirium. Muscles tighten and swell, easing every cell into a sarcophagus of symbiosis. Her moan slips through me on silent owl wings. Tiny cold ghosts invade me...

My second Timelapse Photoshop video.

PHOTOSHOP CD COVER TIMELAPSE VIDEO (Deus Ex Machina) FREE THINKING DESIGN from Free Thinking Design on Vimeo.

My first timelapse video.

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I've got to get some shut eye.

Where's the sense in straining to interpret incoming fantastrophe fractals anyway?
The universe is infinite yadda yadda, the dark matters, yackety shmackety.

If you're going to not exist, you might as well have fun doing it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I shine lights into the fog.
Wipe the windscreen.
Find the perfect song.

I'm warm.
I'm dry.
I'm accelerating.
Insects slip unnoticed into the ether.

The road is wide and unguarded.
Nothing creeps but the pretty moon.

Then somethi.

Venus

I new piece of Photoshop work.

Never better

There's never been a better time
To not feel any better
There's never been any time.

I try to sing
but at every stab of the wire
every slick little cut
I slip and flail.

I wail at the moon through a hole in the roof of a silent room.

Heavy on the shoulders of the dog king.

_______________________s

Red Skeleton Hordes

Bring it on, red skeleton hordes. With your clattering crimson melodies. I hear you. Amongst the trees, behind me. Rasping wheeze cackles from unholy places. Carrying heavy hammers, facefixers of iron and a cat-o-nine tails. Sending snake spit skyward. I offer bare flesh for your dentigerous maws.

Looking downwards. Toes curled over precipice. The deep ocean below. Shadows hunger. Horizon beckons. Stars a glimmer. Galaxies fuck in the belly of the ever present tempting whore of the unknown. I'm hers.

Waterfalls.

The blossoming miscreant ascends from the depths of the mire. Child birth and sun death. Two cold stars, bound in beauty, offering endless nebula. She rises. Forcing cuckoo throat painsong from the wettest mouth. Words of wonder, splashing over milk teeth. A little medusa tongue seduction. She breathes. The willing flesh vessel rises. Waterfalls. Time slows. A moments perfection. She closes her eyes.

A ripping foray of ugly entrails scream through the meat and bone. Needle stab trickery. The dull ache of blood loss unfurls. A sad pain spreads forth. The pleads of a pseudo Lycanthrope, splash like vomit. Slapping gore into the Earth. Stains on sheets. Ultimate disappointment. Everything falls. She still breathes.

Pillar.

At first, complete darkness is all that there is. No sound but the wind. A howl with no teeth nor purpose. Hinting that a world does indeed still exist, the song would offer any witness reasurrance. Soon a light appears, giving form to it's surroundings. Painted into place, turbulant heavy clouds twist in the bony grasp of the sky fingers. Tearing slivers through to the moon. Sending blue lasers dancing over the carnage. Curtains part and music plays. A teetering, breathing mass of gore, quivers and squeeks on the stage. Some aspects of the ghastly composition in meat are recognisable as mammalian and hairless. Baby pink skin folds and pustular eye socket glory holes abloom. Animated in a spasmodic ballet, scatter marked with muted mouthes jabbering silent tourettic poetry. Craving the stormy void's return. A confused and desperate air surrounds the tragic creature. Tears mix with shit at it's base while pretty wet lips offer sanctuary to trapdoor spider tongues. Poised in their holes, encircled in yellow vapor. It knows not what it is, or what it should do. It is at once the glorious by-product of all that indulges and the glutinous flesh angel ascended. It exists to enrapture then disappoint. To dangle the whispering lure and seduce the naive, in endless circles through eternity.

When you return.

Outside in the Sunshine.
It's cold, without your touch.
Shivers shatter low in my stomach.
Pining for your eyes, with too many hunger tears aborted.
Over and over.
Yoyo back to me, I'll breathe you in.
Through every pore, into every cell.
Deep within.
Inside the inside of the tiniest idea of me.
I'll hold you.
With a thousand embracing arms.
Protecting you from the dark. Matters.
A tiny turquoise moth adored.
Light in my hands.
Among paper stars.
Forever.

Still breathing.

Despite it's blatant burden I've been doing as much as possible in this body:
This year so far, I've been to Paris, I've seen David Lynch's paintings, complete with teeny tiny flies in oily mausoleums, I've been to Amsterdam, I've experienced the concert of a lifetime; Sleepytime Gorilla Museum live in an intimate Jazz venue. I've ascended at 10ft a second in a 77000 cubic foot air balloon. I've had the best birthday ever. With my perfect girl. I'm having a good year, but what was painfully snug, now breaks all the tiniest bones of me. Pressure leads to frustration leads to low ceiling claustrophobia. I'm gonna fucking explode if I don't sort my shit out soon.

Words.

All the words I know of
are lightyears away from my tongue
to use old words, all used before
would steal from what has begun.

Excuses excuses...

I've been too damn happy. Cheek aching moon cat smiles abound. Silver teeth and green eyes. Slowly growing more and more familiar with the jealousy of the healthy biped amputee fetishist. Enying the empty and broken. Hopskipjumping through the Summer, I was loved, cherished, complimented and embraced. I still am. I'm the luckiest person in the world. I'm the happiest I've ever been! That's my problem. What with love and countless friends, a great home, good health and a rosier future than ever before, I seem to have cleared up all the mouldy bad karma. Not merely swept under the carpet, but wiped clean off the face of the Earth. How can I complain? I do feel fortunate. However this all left me far too comfortable.
Perpetual comfort isn't normal. We're beasts, just wrapped in paper money, secretly looking for something to cry about. Painting pain and doubt into everything we see. We fool ourselves into thinking that a warm existence is the way it should be. It isn't. We're supposed to be fighting for survival. It's in our blood. Our health is waining as we need it less. Gluttony, the by-product of comfort. Cancer, HIV, liver damage and depression, the results of having too much fun at the expense of our bodies. The pestilent lepers of the free world. Dancing spasmadically until our rotten fingers fly off and slide down the front of our underpriced, undervalued, Ikea wardrobes. Tree corpse in the corner. Those who know they're lacking the lifespark, chase a pathetic endorphine tickle can play sports or even worse, run on a machine in an overpriced gym. But the "entertainment" industry, passive as well as interactive, thrives on our need for gore. The terror tabloids, scream at us every morning! There's that word again. Vicarious. But we're not really in there. Despite eyes lit up like alley lanterns. In the blood dreams we censor, we're elbow deep in the steaming, stinking purple organs of every whimpring victim.
I miss it so... I haven't, nor will ever have enough of that red energy inside for the visceral puzzle work, I crave and once cherished.
I think that's why it happened again. It felt new. She felt like the first. Although, that's 11 now. It's taken 11, for me to start throwing hints out into the etha. IT WAS ME. This is fiction. IT WAS ME!

BOX (working title)

Anatomy of a Hyperealistic VJ movie.

> Arkaos software will allow me to play movie scenes along to music. A live visual performance...with a loose narrative. Basically allowing us to create a live but lengthy music video collage, to be projected onto the back of the Geo-Dome.
>
> BOX
> [working title]
>
> To be played via Arkaos software on a laptop.
>
Basic premise; Digital camcorder clips, made to look like a real Snuff film. Akin to (and inspired by) "Happy Slapping" videos or the controversial videos of Iraqi prisoners being tortured and ridiculed by U.S troops. A tongue in cheek look at the how modern technology allows us to record, share and witness concrete evidence our own disgrace. Our disregard for fellow humans.


> 1. First scene. Introduction. To last about 10mins max. Out in street, from the perspective of an amature cameraman walking down road, lit by street lights. Not too shaky, but blatenty hand held camera. Novice with new camera. Our cameraman is a sick fukk! This will become apparent very quickly. Maybe testing the camera on stuff. Peeping on a girl getting changed through a bedroom window?? Filming street lights. Following random people (use REAL people in recognisable Peterborough street at night) cars, shops, roadkill, underpass, graffiti (spray some of our own stencils for subliminal advertising of other projects!) etc etc.
>
> 2. Starts following innocent bystander. Man walking at night. Just a normal dude. In headphones. Camera man speeds up, lifts hand to reveal a pistol. Cameraman hits dude with the handle of the gun. Knocking him out. Man collapses. Camera turns off. Black screen for a few seconds.
>
> 3. Next scene. We're in a garage of some sort. Old brick walls. Very dirty. Bad lighting. Camera is on and recording as it's being fixed to a tripod. As it clicks into place, it turns to reveal our victim, kneeling on floor, wearing just jeans, hugging knees. Shivering. Wearing a cardboard box on his head, with a smily face sprayed on it in black. Blood trickle, stained on his neck, down to his collarbone. He's injured under the box. Bruised a bit. Soiled jeans. Not happy.
>
> 4. Camera man still has gun or other weapon of some sort. You can see his hand, pointing at the prisoner, on the right of the screen (First person shooter computer game stylee). The weapon is used to communicate to the viewer that the kidnapper is telling the prisoner to do stuff. Ushering and waving it around. Even though the prisoner is blind, inside his box mask, he responds by doing as he is ordered. The movie is silent (obviously), no words are heard. But it's obvious what is being asked of him...and that it's aggressive. He ushers the prisoner up onto his feet.
>
> 5. The largest section of the movie is the prisoner being ridiculed and misused by the kidnapper. This scene will lend itself perfectly to the Arkaos software and a projector. The prisoner will be forced to dance at gun point. We'll see lot's of recognisable dance moves. Break dancing, robot dancing, moon walk, se xy groin thrusts...as well as animal impressions. It'll be tragic and dark, but people will laugh. This is the point of the film, in a sense. If people laugh at this poor guy being misused, (espeicially if it's done well enough to almost convince the viewer of it's authenticity) then, are they as evil as the anonymous kidnapper? Are we all potentially capable of disassociating ourselves from the pain others feel and hurting, merely for amusement. Could we all become terrorists, war criminals or street thugs when influenced by desensitising experiences? WHY are people so interested in death and killing? Why do all our newspapers and TV programs focus on the tragic? Why do we laugh when a child falls on it's face!? :) Many different dances will be recorded, and triggered live onstage by me via a laptop. Not many visual effects (if any) will be used, to keep it looking amateur and real. But Arkaos will allow me to trigger the dancing in time with the music being played. We'll hopefully build a large collection of dance moves and have a whole rack of triggers on the PC to keep it> entertaining for long enough. I'll essentially be the digital puppeteer of an on-screen version of myself.
>
> 6. At one point, the kidnapper will walk over to the reluctant dancer and spin the box round. He'll spray a sad face on it, kick him in the stomach and we'll see the paint drip down from one eye. 8-(
>
> 7. ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS. Both can be recorded and a decision will be made on the night (somehow) as to which end scene will be shown. If I'm correct, the audience will choose the DEATH SCENE, which will confirm just how sick we all inherently are!

Final Scene - 1. The end scene will be the victim walking away, down the same street he was attacked on, still half naked with his hands tied to his back and the box (complete with reverse facing smiling face) still gaffa taped to his neck. He's not really injured. But he's not going to be happy...he walks at an angle The camera man turns and spots a girl, walking down the street, away from him, into a darkened urban area...fade to black. End.

Final Scene - 2. Still in the garage, the kidnapper comes into view, with a blunt weapon, and bludgeons the victim to death, crushing the box, and his head with it. Cut to BLACK. End.

>
> ----
>
> What we need.
>
> CAMERA: Preferably a nice digital camera with a hard drive, or at least the option to upload straight from the camera onto a good PC.
> ACTORS: Victim. Kidnapper. Girl at window. Girl in street. Might play victim myself!?
> EDITTING SOFTWARE: To cut up the footage into lots of bitesize loops for Arkaos.
> GUN: A realistic looking toy handgun.
> STENCILS: For subtle (but relevant, local or topical) graffiti in opening scene on the street.


Fingers crossed.