Thousands of miles of bone covered by a coloured skin, slowly turning the bleached whiteness of death. The sky screamed infernally overhead burning deeper and deeper through the ancient reef. It was the time. Unknowing, each mouth kissed the sea, releasing motes out from their stomachs that drifted into the ongoing storm happening beneath the foam. The cells that caught one another began to change, drifting down far from where they began onto a sheet of rock. The polyp grew a mouth and began to grow another, attached by a tiny membrane. And these copies would go on to grow another copy. With identical mouths they snared plankton, reaching upwards on a limestone skeleton towards the shifting sky.
In it's eight thousand year existence, the coral reef could sense that a change was coming. Death. It's life was many orders of magnitude slower than any other animal and so it's death appeared to be relatively quick. Parts of it starved or were broken off, others were above the water, forever caught in the frantic strobing of the star. On it's borders there was a creature making it's way through the crumbling towers, crawling with an affray of spikes. The huge starfish the colour of dusk crept across the reef, pushing their stomachs onto it and taking away a soup of sea water and digested coral. They moved slowly across the outermost layer, leaving nothing behind but blank stone. It gorged itself on mile after mile on an animal that didn't even know it existed.
The reef waited. Over towards where the sun rose it felt a strangeness in the water, a rotating churn. In moments huge areas of the reef were torn away, obliterated by moving air, ripping polyps off bone, tearing them to wet shreds. The crabs and fishes that lived amongst it's structures began to dwindle, living hard lives amongst the barren stone. Black, oily shit was poured over acres of the reef, drowning the mouths beneath an avalanche of waste. But it continued to wait.
On the reef lived a variety of different species of coral, and each species had colonies numbering the billions. They grew over decades, attacking other corals in their territory, capitalising on empty space, slowly exploring the fringe of the reef which itself transformed faster than the coral could manifest it's destiny. In the caves and over the mountains swam sea snakes, slugs, worms, fish, octopuses and turtles. More closely related to hard coral are the gorgonians, fractal sheets of living polyp that stretch into the water like enormous leaves. Similarly the jellyfish float through the water like the ghosts of bells, catching light in thin membranes from the setting star, colouring them crimson. All of this looked the same as it had for many epochs.Empires of colour rose and fell over the centuries, more dramatic and complex than any that could happen on the land. Yet it what was happening on the land that would bring an end to the Cambrian frontier.
Soft five pointed animals climbed into the metallic things across the ocean. They wore their skeletons on the inside, the only signs of hardness were white crescents set in the holes atop their necks. The holes moved up and down, making dry sounds in the air. The metal rays began to soar through the sky with their reflections caught on the brine beneath, on each wing of the things were long, hard tubes with fins coming off of the side and their ends painted in yellow and red. The bigger pieces of metal seemed to grow little clouds around them with a booming noise and from then they moved silently over the water, their echo taking time to catch up. As the moon gyrated on the other side of the planet it pulled the water away, exposing parts of the dead reef up towards the silent metallic things. They passed above, going towards the land, before making elliptical orbits back over the reef in the crystal water. The metal cylinders on each wing was dropped, one, two, three, four, down towards the water. When they hit they made indents into the sea as the surface struggled to keep, yet in they went anyway, plummeting down towards the reef, crashing through the coral and throwing up silt which threw up a brown fog. And nothing happened.
The light rose again. The soft animals wore black skins and plastic around their faces as they travelled through the water, down towards the eight cylinders. Already starfish and crabs had begun to explore the strange new hardness which had fallen from above. The soft animals swam towards each of the things, leaving behind little mounds of plastic before disappearing. And then the bombs went off. An underwater fire bloomed outward, roaring across the coral, shattering it's bones. The entire ocean pressed against this sudden bubble of heat, the water clapping together and then surging upwards, throwing pieces of death in the air. A shockwave continued over the reef eviscerating any soft flesh. The reef disappeared beneath a cloud of blood and sand and when it cleared nothing was left.
The coral did not feel anything. It had lived a long life unknowing anything but itself, it's purpose was simple. It had no choice. It was unaware at the beauty in which it created, the systems of life it supported, even of the corals surrounding it. In the black silence of it's existence it felt a hunger that lasted a thousand years. It wouldn't be able to comprehend the manner in which it's life was ended. But then again, neither could we.
Showing posts with label podcasting copyright. Show all posts
Showing posts with label podcasting copyright. Show all posts
8.11.13
11.9.13
Anniversary
9/11. Never forget. How could we, it happens every year? Yet the incident in question, the terrorist attack on the world trade centre and the pentagon almost 12 years ago to this day, still haunts the cultural mindscape of America, their very own Dia de Muertos. As traumatic as going on a family day out and watching your father be savagely beaten by a vagrant, the West was shocked to a standstill all those years ago. Can we help but feel anything other than guilt as we wake up each morning wondering if there would be any news as big as a terrorist attack on symbolic buildings in America? And for all those people that died in the towers, and all the people that received fatal doses of carcinogenic dust, and all the people that died in the ongoing wars, I can't help but feel as if somehow I cannot fully comprehend the nature of the attack and it's butterfly effect into the new century. Every generation has a defining moment on which morals can be projected in some way. From the Axis and Ally war from 39-44 to the counter-culture movement and Vietnam battles of the sixties, the World Trade Centre attack is the monolith of destruction needed for this generations anguish. Yet what is it's opposite? Good and evil, peace and war, terrorism and? I hit the streets to find out.
It is a patriotic day in Los Angeles. Everywhere you go the president delivers memorial speeches through high definition televisions, trucks drive past honking the star spangled banner. I see an entire family decked out in stars and stripes, marching down the road with dour grins on their faces as they wave miniature flags in pudgy white fists. A fat drunk sits outside a bar constantly shouting 'America! America!' until he is hoarse. Attractive girls look up to the sky with tears in their eyes, the touching moment caught by amateur photographers eager to document their questionable sadness. Others act normally as if the memorial day somehow doesn't affect them, yet I can read in the minuscule movements of their bodies that they will go home later and ask each other 'Where were you twelve years ago?'. I take a taxi to Longbeach.
My driver's a heavy set ex-pugilist with a baseball cap on back to front, his white t-shirt sticks to his back with a mixture of sweat and cheap aftershave.
“We will not negotiate with terrorists.” I say, doing an impression of George W. Bush.
“What was that pal?”
“We can not misunderestimate the entire power of the Iraqi people.” I continue my shpiel.
“Oh yeah, Bush.” he says.
“What do you think about the murder of Osama Bin Laden?” I ask, breaking character for a moment.
“Murder? I'm glad they killed the towel head.”
“Yeah, they should just nuke the entire middle east, right? I mean, why not?”
“Exactly pal. America is number one.” he says. I start to laugh and set fire to the seat next to me before clambering out of the window. I'm unsure where I am exactly, but can see the Pacific isn't too far away so begin to walk, admiring the pageantry all around me. Stars and stripes, eagles, the world trade centre, even a few religious icons all flutter in the wind. Car horns continue to honk away now and then, a citywide brass band to play the dirge for the deaths which occurred last decade. The sun is too warm, the noises too loud, the toxic street smells too pungent. I swallow vomit and duck into a bar, hoping for some semblance of peace.
The mood in the bar is jovial, people making toasts regularly whilst the news plays on television screens dotted around. John Kerry continues to make his plea for an invasion of Syria. I hand the barman a ten dollar bill and buy a drink for the woman standing next to me.
“What is the opposite of terrorism?” I ask her.
“Freedom?”
“Freedom includes the freedom to commit terror.”
“But terror like, squashes freedom.”
“You know they treat arachnophobics by showing them spiders? Through becoming desensitised to their own feelings of dread, they become free.”
“What?”
“Have you seen Monkey Shines: An Experiment In Fear?”
“No.”
“Well it doesn't matter then.” I say, raising my drink. “Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light...” I begin to sing. Gradually more and more people join me in singing the anthem. People out on the street stop what they're doing and all face some unseen point, singing. Workers stop what they're doing and put a hand over their heart. An old man stands by his grandson and both sing. A soldier in a distant country sings quietly to himself. The song finally finishes and I leave, the bitter taste of other people's tears sting my mouth like bile.
I am stood at the beach, gazing at the waves. I am wearing more clothes than anyone else on the beach, the sweat drips off me in rivers and stains the sand black around my feet. What was it about America, particularly Los Angeles and New York, that people got so emotional about? I expected it from Americans, yet the terrorist attacks themselves were quite American in scope. When fighting Americans one should be careful not to become American themselves. I wondered what the Truthers were doing today. Probably sifting through imagined rubble, rewatching youtube videos, jacking off into each other's faces. It was funny how much they believed in the power of their country.
“9/11 was faked!” I shout at a man flying a kite. “And the government was responsible for everything that has ever happened to this country. The world trade centre was rigged with twenty parcels of C4. The pentagon was attacked by an experimental rocket launched from the pentagon. The government are recording everything I am thinking and broadcasting it through commercials.” I babble. Nobody turned around. Nobody cared. I built two towers out of sand and threw paper aeroplanes at them until they collapsed.
“Hey buddy, show a little respect.” says a passer-by.
“Chillax bro. Is this any less respectful than war?” I say, spitting a blob of phlegm down at my feet. It is marbled with blood. A shivering wisp of a man emerges from the sand.
“I'm not disputing that, but you are just as bad as those people. The victims of any violence are still victims regardless of any action that takes place afterwards, it doesn't matter if you view those actions as justified, tasteless, cruel or necessary. Why not treat them with the respect they deserve?”
“I'm not making fun of the victims, rather the reaction.” I say, making another paper aeroplane.
“But who are you to say if a reaction is good or bad? Who are you to-” he begins. I throw the paper aeroplane as hard as I can at his head, puncturing his eyeball.
“All there is is blackness.” I say, before walking back towards the city.
It is a patriotic day in Los Angeles. Everywhere you go the president delivers memorial speeches through high definition televisions, trucks drive past honking the star spangled banner. I see an entire family decked out in stars and stripes, marching down the road with dour grins on their faces as they wave miniature flags in pudgy white fists. A fat drunk sits outside a bar constantly shouting 'America! America!' until he is hoarse. Attractive girls look up to the sky with tears in their eyes, the touching moment caught by amateur photographers eager to document their questionable sadness. Others act normally as if the memorial day somehow doesn't affect them, yet I can read in the minuscule movements of their bodies that they will go home later and ask each other 'Where were you twelve years ago?'. I take a taxi to Longbeach.
My driver's a heavy set ex-pugilist with a baseball cap on back to front, his white t-shirt sticks to his back with a mixture of sweat and cheap aftershave.
“We will not negotiate with terrorists.” I say, doing an impression of George W. Bush.
“What was that pal?”
“We can not misunderestimate the entire power of the Iraqi people.” I continue my shpiel.
“Oh yeah, Bush.” he says.
“What do you think about the murder of Osama Bin Laden?” I ask, breaking character for a moment.
“Murder? I'm glad they killed the towel head.”
“Yeah, they should just nuke the entire middle east, right? I mean, why not?”
“Exactly pal. America is number one.” he says. I start to laugh and set fire to the seat next to me before clambering out of the window. I'm unsure where I am exactly, but can see the Pacific isn't too far away so begin to walk, admiring the pageantry all around me. Stars and stripes, eagles, the world trade centre, even a few religious icons all flutter in the wind. Car horns continue to honk away now and then, a citywide brass band to play the dirge for the deaths which occurred last decade. The sun is too warm, the noises too loud, the toxic street smells too pungent. I swallow vomit and duck into a bar, hoping for some semblance of peace.
The mood in the bar is jovial, people making toasts regularly whilst the news plays on television screens dotted around. John Kerry continues to make his plea for an invasion of Syria. I hand the barman a ten dollar bill and buy a drink for the woman standing next to me.
“What is the opposite of terrorism?” I ask her.
“Freedom?”
“Freedom includes the freedom to commit terror.”
“But terror like, squashes freedom.”
“You know they treat arachnophobics by showing them spiders? Through becoming desensitised to their own feelings of dread, they become free.”
“What?”
“Have you seen Monkey Shines: An Experiment In Fear?”
“No.”
“Well it doesn't matter then.” I say, raising my drink. “Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light...” I begin to sing. Gradually more and more people join me in singing the anthem. People out on the street stop what they're doing and all face some unseen point, singing. Workers stop what they're doing and put a hand over their heart. An old man stands by his grandson and both sing. A soldier in a distant country sings quietly to himself. The song finally finishes and I leave, the bitter taste of other people's tears sting my mouth like bile.
I am stood at the beach, gazing at the waves. I am wearing more clothes than anyone else on the beach, the sweat drips off me in rivers and stains the sand black around my feet. What was it about America, particularly Los Angeles and New York, that people got so emotional about? I expected it from Americans, yet the terrorist attacks themselves were quite American in scope. When fighting Americans one should be careful not to become American themselves. I wondered what the Truthers were doing today. Probably sifting through imagined rubble, rewatching youtube videos, jacking off into each other's faces. It was funny how much they believed in the power of their country.
“9/11 was faked!” I shout at a man flying a kite. “And the government was responsible for everything that has ever happened to this country. The world trade centre was rigged with twenty parcels of C4. The pentagon was attacked by an experimental rocket launched from the pentagon. The government are recording everything I am thinking and broadcasting it through commercials.” I babble. Nobody turned around. Nobody cared. I built two towers out of sand and threw paper aeroplanes at them until they collapsed.
“Hey buddy, show a little respect.” says a passer-by.
“Chillax bro. Is this any less respectful than war?” I say, spitting a blob of phlegm down at my feet. It is marbled with blood. A shivering wisp of a man emerges from the sand.
“I'm not disputing that, but you are just as bad as those people. The victims of any violence are still victims regardless of any action that takes place afterwards, it doesn't matter if you view those actions as justified, tasteless, cruel or necessary. Why not treat them with the respect they deserve?”
“I'm not making fun of the victims, rather the reaction.” I say, making another paper aeroplane.
“But who are you to say if a reaction is good or bad? Who are you to-” he begins. I throw the paper aeroplane as hard as I can at his head, puncturing his eyeball.
“All there is is blackness.” I say, before walking back towards the city.
25.3.12
2.6.11
8.4.11
(i)
Changing a light bulb is a relatively easy task although also quite important in contemporary times. During the day if you don't have artificial light it's not usually a problem but at night humanity has gotten used to using electrically powered light to see. The first step, before all others, is to see what kind of light bulb you have in the light that needs replacing. It is advisable to do this whilst the light still functions so that one has a surplus of bulbs before they need changing. Using a step-ladder or chair approach the light when it is turned off. If the bulb is easy to get to, good. Otherwise you may have to remove the shade or outer casing. Once that is done the bulb should be accessible.
The light bulb is made of glass and is traditionally the size and shape of a pear, although recently energy saving bulbs have begun to be used in the home and in the workplace due to them being more economical. The bulb will have writing on 99% of the time letting you know what time of bulb it is. The most important information is the Watt rating, meaning how powerful the bulb is. This will be a number followed by a 'W'. Make note of this. If for some reason you are unable to see the writing on the bulb you will have to remove it. The next step is to determine how the bulb fits in the socket and the easiest way to determine this is by removing it. If the bulb is hot after being switched on for a while you can touch it by putting a small towel or sock over your hand. Once you have a firm, but gentle, grip on the bulb begin rotating it anticlockwise. There are two types of way bulbs will fit into a socket, these are referred to as a screw fitting or a bayonet fitting. The type of bulb with a screw fitting does just that, it screws into the socket and requires several turns to remove. A bayonet fitting uses small metal clasps that click into place after a small rotation of the bulb. Note the type of fitting the bulb uses alongside what Wattage the bulb is.
If you are unsure about what type of bulb you need exactly it might be a good idea to take it along with you when buying spare light bulbs so you can show it to a sales advisor who will hopefully be able to help you out. Once you have bought your new light bulbs take them home and store them in a place you will remember and have easy access to if it were dark.
When a light goes out without somebody turning it off it is usually for two reasons. The bulb has broken or there is no electricity going into the light. The latter can get rather complicated and would need it's own guide although a good way to find out if there is any electricity going to any light would be by trying to turn on another light in a different room. Once you have established that the bulb is broken it is time to change it, although remember to turn the light off first so that there is no risk of electric shock. Go and get a new bulb from wherever you decided to store it and remove it from it's packaging. The next step is to remove the old bulb. There is a good chance you won't know a light doesn't work until you need it, so you may need to create your own source of light for the next few stages in changing a light bulb. Candles, torches and even the glow from a cell phone are handy sources of temporary light. Get a chair or some ladders and, like you have hopefully done previously, remove the bulb from the socket. It is a good idea to have a friend available to pass the old bulb down to and pass the new one up, although it isn't vital. If you have followed the previous steps correctly you should hopefully have the right kind of light bulb. If it's a bayonet fitting you should place the end of the bulb inside the socket and slowly rotate it until the clips slide upwards. Give it a short twist and it should be ready. A screw fitting simply requires putting the end of the bulb into the socket and rotating it clockwise until it is unable to any more.
After that your new bulb should be ready. Climb down, turn on the switch and see what happens. Hopefully everything will have gone smoothly and the light will turn on! Remember that some light bulbs, especially energy saving ones, may need time to warm up before reaching their maximum luminosity. Take care in disposing of your old bulb but otherwise congratulations on changing a light bulb.
The light bulb is made of glass and is traditionally the size and shape of a pear, although recently energy saving bulbs have begun to be used in the home and in the workplace due to them being more economical. The bulb will have writing on 99% of the time letting you know what time of bulb it is. The most important information is the Watt rating, meaning how powerful the bulb is. This will be a number followed by a 'W'. Make note of this. If for some reason you are unable to see the writing on the bulb you will have to remove it. The next step is to determine how the bulb fits in the socket and the easiest way to determine this is by removing it. If the bulb is hot after being switched on for a while you can touch it by putting a small towel or sock over your hand. Once you have a firm, but gentle, grip on the bulb begin rotating it anticlockwise. There are two types of way bulbs will fit into a socket, these are referred to as a screw fitting or a bayonet fitting. The type of bulb with a screw fitting does just that, it screws into the socket and requires several turns to remove. A bayonet fitting uses small metal clasps that click into place after a small rotation of the bulb. Note the type of fitting the bulb uses alongside what Wattage the bulb is.
If you are unsure about what type of bulb you need exactly it might be a good idea to take it along with you when buying spare light bulbs so you can show it to a sales advisor who will hopefully be able to help you out. Once you have bought your new light bulbs take them home and store them in a place you will remember and have easy access to if it were dark.
When a light goes out without somebody turning it off it is usually for two reasons. The bulb has broken or there is no electricity going into the light. The latter can get rather complicated and would need it's own guide although a good way to find out if there is any electricity going to any light would be by trying to turn on another light in a different room. Once you have established that the bulb is broken it is time to change it, although remember to turn the light off first so that there is no risk of electric shock. Go and get a new bulb from wherever you decided to store it and remove it from it's packaging. The next step is to remove the old bulb. There is a good chance you won't know a light doesn't work until you need it, so you may need to create your own source of light for the next few stages in changing a light bulb. Candles, torches and even the glow from a cell phone are handy sources of temporary light. Get a chair or some ladders and, like you have hopefully done previously, remove the bulb from the socket. It is a good idea to have a friend available to pass the old bulb down to and pass the new one up, although it isn't vital. If you have followed the previous steps correctly you should hopefully have the right kind of light bulb. If it's a bayonet fitting you should place the end of the bulb inside the socket and slowly rotate it until the clips slide upwards. Give it a short twist and it should be ready. A screw fitting simply requires putting the end of the bulb into the socket and rotating it clockwise until it is unable to any more.
After that your new bulb should be ready. Climb down, turn on the switch and see what happens. Hopefully everything will have gone smoothly and the light will turn on! Remember that some light bulbs, especially energy saving ones, may need time to warm up before reaching their maximum luminosity. Take care in disposing of your old bulb but otherwise congratulations on changing a light bulb.
12.3.11
Crystalline Dream
Full potential by least take that nugget of wisdom. available, Fast forward the highly unanticipated 30-odd years and Nig now finds himself the reformed cult metal outfit's singer; Digiship through taking a course at Google Labs. Control a spectral sequel, Lost Boys: The Tribe, at the canals of Mars, create noise shapes with the new float personal computer If you get nothing pad, the hovering else out of watching jungle tribes until kingdom come.
11.12.10
Dymphna
A nest of lottery tickets, post-it notes, newspaper clippings and various bills. Amongst all of this was the skeleton of some lizard on a piece of red velvet inside a frame. Wasps had begun to make their nest towards the back of the desk drawer.
15.9.10
School of Thought
In ten years all of the information will be at the fingertips of everybody with the latest high technological gizmo like an extra tooth that scans the objects around you or a glow in the dark wig that allows you to talk to your friends. Due to this schools will stop teaching knowledge and switch to teaching learning through a variety of fictional lessons. These will take place in huge magnetic rooms where students will be straddled with heavy goggles that give them tunnel vision as they trudge across the concrete floor, trying to pick out relevant clues to possible histories or attempting basic arithmetic by combining awkwardly shaped weights into standard geometric shapes.
30.7.10
The Prosthetic Husband
Faking a quantum suicide, bug eyed and 16:9. Ghost limbs ache. Dread. That's what happens when coming back from uncle war. Just one more thing.
Tequila slammer. Tequila mockingbird.
Tequila slammer. Tequila mockingbird.
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