Ingrate Plummets and Dusty Green Grape Punnets, Absorbing Health and Corroding Youth, The Ledge is Shallow and those Sar-Chasms Swallow, Engulfed by Void, Enclosed by Tooth, Ecce Homo to Cobain and Cuomo, Lost Futures or Damp Receipts from Quicksave, The Surrealist's End is Beyond Comprehension, Spared from Death by Weirdness or an Empty Stage, Chasing the Mythic Pokes Holes Out of the Fugue State, Flamel became More than a Producer of Fillings. DON'T TOUCH MY WRISTS! DON'T TOUCH MY WRISTS! Lamancha is Closer than You Think but Beyond Distilling, Beyond Bob Dylan. Alas, I Cannot Slay the Gorgon. Alas, I Cannot Slay the Gorgon.

In a Darkened Room with Irving, Argyle and Langosteen, They Offer Dental Reconstruction and Access to a Breathing Machine, They are Smiling Now - Faces Frozen Proud. It's a Future, It's a Nightmare, It's a Puppet on a String, It's a Vengeful, Fully Detatched Artificial Limb. It's Got a Purpose (plural purpose), Gaining Mass by Trading Faulty Dreams, 2 Sq Foot of Land and a Hard Working Slave to Keep the Car Engine Clean, Bring the Suction Pump - Milk the Holy Cow (oh wow). It's a Future, It's a Nightmare, It's a Puppet on a String, It's a Wreckless, Partially Moustached Artificial Limb. Stumbling Somewhere just Short of Nietszche's Ubermensch, Laughter Arises from the Gallery, Limb Falls on the Therapist's Bench, The Applause is Growing Now - Could You Go Another Round? It's a Future, It's a Nightmare. It's a Puppet on a String, It's an Aimless, Fully Unhinged Artificial Limb. oh great monstro, open a fissure in the ground, hollow out an old oak tree, yes i said hollow out an old oak tree for defence from echoed sound, oh great monstro, indeed i have tied my feet to cinder blocks, tried cortisone coursing through the hands, was it worth it? i can't say or i can i just choose to not.

The Gilded Golems, rigid and empty appeared like pylons on the jagged horizon. The atmosphere choked and a metallic, corroded sting infiltrated and infected the many fissures and canyons of the onlookers' tongues. Many jaws became stiff and enlarged, welding shut any horrified gasps yet to escape from the mouths of those watching. No one knew their calcified origin and many were even contemplating the sulphuric depths from which they were spewed. As their shrunken silhouettes turned glinting, gargantuan and defined, so too did the darkness of their eye caverns become bottomless pits from which streaming red lights escaped, tearing rounded gashes out of the night sky. Some said were their gaze to meet your own, a great heat could be felt creeping around the cornea as though magma had flooded the optical nerve and dissolved the very concept of sight. The townsfolk gathered their weapons; shinty sticks, dinner knives and forks, supersoakers loaded with postcrete - anything which was quick to hand and could be adapted to become a tool of protection. Little did they know that these defences would do little to discourage their attackers, as comparable as the nips of an ant to the ignorant, unaware steps of humanity. The mechanical knights mounted clockwork steeds which clicked and rattled instead of neighed and galloped. Every joint releasing steam and lubricant after making a full and swift extension. The knights were closing in and their glinting pincers fell upon maces whose spikes transformed to rusting hypodermic needles and longswords whose edges became kinetic and jagged like an arkane and malevolent chainsaw. The people ran at the sight of these demonic entities - into houses, public lavatories, manholes and Douglas Firs - Their misguided and ramshackle weapons becoming a monument to their failures, lying strewn in a heap upon the sodden ground. Abandoned, as abandoned as the peoples' hopes. The locals could do little more than hide and throw up their hands as they were strategically identified using heat vision and subsequently flushed from their cover using tear gas which emerged from a chute attached to the knights' rears. Many of the civilians were said to have given themselves up before the toxic fumes were initiated, preferring to enter robotic captivity willingly than risk further pain and asphyxiation. By 3am the following morning all members of the community were found and encased in the large perspex cubes which were to become their prison cells and transportation cages. Their walls were highly malleable, had a gelatinous quality and smelt of wax and chlorine. The mechanical knights turned in a gradual and ricketing motion, the many sections of their animated machinery moving independently but with common purpose. Their shinbones extended, allowing them to effortlessly mount their stainless steel horses. As their steeds juddered forward, so did large lines of electricity cackle and wrap themselves around the wobbling prisoner carriages and drag them slowly along functioning as chain-lightning chains. After many hours the humans' hometown became fuzzy and distant as exhaustion and despair crept in - cracking their faces and hollowing their souls. For many old and young it became too much, their bodies refusing to continue and their minds dropping into a catatonic state. There had been nothing to eat since enslavement and the initial struggle had drained them of both energy and courage. The slow sloshing of their transient cages becoming a desperate dirge which their weeping and breathless sighs harmonised with cacophonously. The machine riders reached a sparse and crooked collection of trees, the air becoming lucid and animated by midges and horseflies. The knights paid these organisms no heed - they were no threat and lacked the sentience to cause harm. Despite their superior power of surveillance however they lacked the concept of abstract observation, something which proved to be their downfall. The clicks of the steeds' movements became glugs, clogged with a liquid perversion of their automaton noises. The knights halted with momentumless confusion .Their red eyes swivelled downwards as their imposing height shrunk rapidly. They were in the middle of a bog and their leaden weight and dense armour had proven awkward to manoeuvre around damp marshy ground. Their mounts gurgled as their engine centres became submerged in the mud. By this point the knights' chromium boots had become stuck in the suction of the swamp, possessing neither the nimbleness nor dexterity to successfully pull themselves from the sodden earth. Over the next 5 minutes their shining carcases and intimidating eyeglow sank into the mire, extinguishing their power, autonomy and finally the electricity powering their human prison carriages The people who were still conscious made their way from the non-newtonian prison and carried the sick and disturbed together. Their long journey provoked much reflection upon what had brought this terrible plague upon them. None could identify a justifiable cause and many drifted to the damp and formless saviour which had freed them: the dirty and gungy mud. It's omnipresent nature in this region had never before been contemplated and it had now been repositioned as a giver of life and a defender from the cold ruthlessness of modern evil. Not long after many believers - looking for reasons and answers - began to praise it, write beautiful hymns in its honour and finally recognise it as a benevolent deity. Some say if you were to walk into that small unidentified town to this very day, that swampy dirt still lives on within the local culture - its civilians travelling to the large brown building built from nearby clay. Here they lay fruit and golden trinkets. Here they pay tribute before the Temple of Mud.