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Underground > Creation >

The Kingdom of Discordia

05:07 / 07.08.01

I say we start a story of nonsense.

Ridiculous Reason

The layers of Ridiculous Reason were playing fotball on the night I confessed my secret to Big Horse. I was a bird. A bird of the future. A bird without morals or laws. I was a bird of the radical sort. But there was something very ODD about me.

I had trippy feathers, you see. They looked really cool, man.

11:53 / 07.08.01

This is the kingdom of the swimmers. A place with no borders, no concept of ownership.

But what does it mean?

12:08 / 07.08.01

His name was Alfred.

I don't know what made me fall in love with him.

His car was long, sleek and amphibious. We met after I jumped off the Tallahatchee Bridge.

I descended as he rose, blooming in thorny moonlight, shards of glassy water sparkling like fireflies in his eyes, on the stairs, rising to dry land, two naked fish out of water, struggling to breathe the thin, cold air, pulling icicles into my lungs which would melt as they drew near my heart.

16:22 / 07.08.01

As the water dripped into my clockworks, I felt a sneeze coming on. Tongue tied in the extreme, I regreted the impracticalities of a galvanized handkerchief, shut my eyes, sat down and tried to keep my heartbeat short and shallow.

And on this occasion, with this sinking feeling under my tongue, I felt something take hold of my strangling hand.

z3r0

16:29 / 07.08.01

The buns, the buns all over the...

19:09 / 07.08.01

..flaccid water, floating like ponderous ringtones of death.

Looking up with an expression of heliotropic un-delight, I saw a living yet dead amorphous plum crazily gyrating like the weird bastard children of Douglas Coupland.

"I've come to relieve you all of your rickets!" it bellowed and, extending it's scary baboon-like arms, it pulled me from the marginal embrace of the slobbering waves.

I glimpsed the upper quarter of Ganymede, twinkling like an Apothecary on dustbin day as the wretchedly community spirited MoonBeast castrated itself into the heavens with a howl of cathartic indifference.

00:19 / 08.08.01

Nonsense at 5.

00:43 / 08.08.01

Stop press! Skyscrapper covered with photocopied bottoms - sinister cult blamed!

Shock! President poisoned by truth serum. Brain collapsed from strain, says doctors.

Horror! Thatcher in Playboy centerfold scandal. Results too shocking to show!

06:55 / 08.08.01

All these thoughts and more came to me as Alfred stoked my undulating, rancid internal appendages, setting my chakras spinning moistly like rabbits in a hold-all.
In-out, they span.
In-out.
In-out.

06:55 / 08.08.01

.. then lifting the oars from the locks, I leapt to towards the shore, to tie up the Boat-slip that I'd decided to wear to the Octupus's Garden Party.

I walked up the Peers leg and through the gate, towards the mighty Palace, throbbing with the thudding rhythmic beats within.

It was a party of Beasts, everyone was there the Queen's splendid fellow did a fine dance with the Master of Horses, Little Charlie Manson was choking on peas on sticks. A Large hedgehog snuffled across the floor, cheeses and pineapples pinned to it's spines.

The Prime minister consorted with assorted Pimps, offering a myriad of choices, a delightful pick and mix of colours, shapes and sizes...

13:33 / 08.08.01

Kingsley Amis was there, swinging from an elastic hinge the approximate size and shape of a Japanese Knot-weed bush.

Inspired by such a sight, I joined the scurvy-ridden chorus line of Keynsian well wishers who were being prosthetically joined in ecstacy by a rousing chorus of the chicken-in-a-basket style classic "Speed X-ing emerges from Gorzeboat, Sirs".

I didn't know the words, so I just vibrated my knees in time with the beat of the filthy offal wagon being played illicitly by some hedonistic scoundral of a woodsman.

This is the life,

I scrawled on the back of my teeth,

This is the life for me!

06:42 / 09.08.01

Then in the corner I chanced to Spy a miserable fellow composing an ode, his frilly shirt, white and ready to die, young Mr Keats sort a word to rhyme.

He was grabbed and sent cavorting with Byron, and Thomas the Catford Cavalier. Tolkien smoked his pipe and imagined himself the moon.

The waiter was rated on film 1998 and passed around tiny cheese wafers, as Jesus was pushed past hungrily drooling as the sweet cart.

The small pygmie nation that had made it's home beneath the stair curtain declared war upon Poland, after annexing the place, they built a small conservatory and applied to the council for a permission to begin a loft conversion. The official man was an offal man.

[ 09-08-2001: Message edited by: Opalfruit ]

16:40 / 09.08.01

"Rage, rage against the losing of the Falklands!" I heard I familiar voice croon, and turning on my back (for I was break dancing at the time), I caught a glimpse of my old chum Dylan Thomas!

The last time I'd seen him was in Toledo, 1386, a big wide summer of plague and sub standard television.

It was a bad, bad time all right. Turf wars between rival driving instructors had stitched the city into one disgusting hole. Bent out of their minds on Marks & Spensors meat pies and Fizzy Fish, pupils were lucky if they escaped alive. Every neighbourhood kid had a brothel in his front yard, and us bohemian gin-jugglers were afraid to leave home without a trained escort of Antipodian knife fighters.

When I first met Dylan, I'd just seen the deputy mayor being pounded to death by a rain of stainless steel steering wheels after trying to negociate his way out of a localised bush fire. I was sick to the soul, as the deputy mayor was a good man. His mind was sharp as Raccoon shit and his pockets were bigger than Chuck Berry's empty heart.

I slid pathetically around the corner of 66th and Alchemy, weeping into my favourite sledge catalogue, then suddenly..

Mordant Carnival

19:32 / 09.08.01

In the grotesque marble lobby I encountered George, who solemnly presented my with a decorated egg. Recoiling in horror I fled out into the laminated arms of a full length portrait, depicting a traffic warden in a contemplative attitude. I turned, finding to late that the only exit lay some distance away, and was guarded by three lifesized china dalmations of considerable vulgarity.

13:18 / 10.08.01

The wind of their eyes blew me back.

Thrusting, as ever, tongue between teeth, fingers into pocketed hands, leaning into the gale, the door lurched before my eyes.

I suppressed the urge to vomit, and instead sang softly:

"Tell me your needles,
I'll ask you no lies,
Develop my discourse
I'll share my supply
But never see this egg again.
I'll never see this egg again.

The razor is sharper,
by leaps and in bounds
the train left the platform
in heaps and in mounds
But you'll never see this egg again.
No, you'll never see this egg again."

In the cold air outside, the night was humid and stark. George's face shone before me from streetlights, reflected in hollow pools of the river's blood.

But Alfred was gone.

11:41 / 13.08.01

I could not allow them to go the same way that we had lost Alfred. I refused to give up and revolutionised the medical world....

And like a virtuso I operated upon the patient people. With each incision I bled them of the taint within. With silver tea spoons I delicately levered out their eyeballs and deposited them upon a silver plate, delicately quivering, like shelled quails eggs - ripe and ready to be popped into your mouth. To be honest I couldn't resist, I swallowed them whole, their moist sides, warmly sliding down my throat, as I quivered and smacked savouring the taste.

I had returned to them the true sight from within the womb, I had taken from them the poisons that they consume and this procedure lead naturally to the next stage of the treatment.

09:29 / 14.08.01

It was then I noticed I wasn't wearing any pants... nor underwear...

12:05 / 14.08.01

Nor, indeed, legs.
Like idly-tossed silk, I fell to the floor, consumed in chemical fires, huddled like a boneless puddle, barely breathing, and I slept.

13:54 / 14.08.01

I grudgingly awake, surrounded by obscenity.
The sun was quaking like a heatless ragamuffin and the moon beside it was leering like a rocking horse.

That meant it must be morning in this city of sin.

Retching, I shaped myself legs from molten tin and wearily commenced my daily struggle to avoid to lure of the gun shop..

Mordant Carnival

16:59 / 14.08.01

In vain. The one-eyed daughter of the proprietor stood beckoning in the doorway, her face a grinning pink slick in the idle shadows. Powerless to refuse, I followed her.

22:29 / 14.08.01

She brought me into a yellow room with dancing guns ands tweaking bullets. Yes, the bullets were tweaking. Tweaking, my dear. Tweaking in that old gun shop on the corner of Apple Vomit Street.

Alfred was gone, but my soul was not. My soul was a sprinkle of ice cream cake, waiting to interrupt your friend Bob's argument on teenage social metaphors of the rivethead culture.

22:31 / 14.08.01

Close the gates!
Close the gates!
Close the gates!

23:59 / 14.08.01

If mummy gave me ice cream on Tuesday, then you must be the Grand Poobah or else I've been decieved again by those malicious gate closers and their whole 'in-out' revolving paradigm.

I think if we all try on a new paisly shirt each day then we just might make it to Brighton by Thursday...

Don't you think?

11:01 / 15.08.01

Don't you think? Don't you think?
I sat up my eyes wide needing a drink,
Sucking in the sights,
eyeing up delights.

I shocked Grandmother and the sweetshopman,
wrapping them in brown paper greased with ham.

But still, still I remembered Alfred,
and raged until the mime showed his head.

I smiled...

11:47 / 15.08.01

He was wearing the Ridiculous Reason Team Left colors. They had won the night before.

I may be mad, said I, but I take notice.

O do you, said the mime. That's... very nice.

Only the mime, like, gestured it. As mimes do. Then he began miming a hot breakfast. Toast. Butter. Scrambled eggs. Fried baby haunches. I could feel the heat of the pan, and loosened my tie.

It was like an oven, and the sun barely broke the horizon yet.

12:47 / 15.08.01

Sensing that I was hungry, he mimed me an impression of Joss Acklands voice, and I found myself instantly full of steak and kidney pudding. This was followed by tea and biscuits (Radio 2 DJ Jimmy Young), treacle tart (Bjork - speaking, not singing) and an after dinner mint (Brian Sewell saying "tissue").

Such a satisfying repast left me feeling sleepy. I closed my eyes and the mime silently serenaded me:

(To the tune of 'Sing a Song of Sixpence'):
Sing a song of six pigs
A bottle full of pies,
Four and twenty brown crabs
Sitting in a tent,
When the tent was blown up
The crabs began to sing!
Oh wasn't that a sexy brick
To put through a plate glass window?

But just as I was slipping away - splosh! - the fool mimed a bucket of water over me! (Barbara Woodhouse)

14:13 / 15.08.01

Thankfully someone came and imprisoned him in 23 panels of nothingness.
Walking away, I chanced upon a word, I left it there, unseen, unheard.
Walking furthur, I saw Ken Kesey and Townsend Brown, testing out their new scooters 40 feet above ground.

I was getting tired. I lay down and lit up the night sky.

11:38 / 16.08.01

And still they wanted more from me. They propped me upon a pedastal and I loomed across the valley - Primordial in my naked splendour. Tied to the mountain I raised myself to poke the moon from the Sky.

I called upon the hordes of cutlery from beside the walls, I called upon the lost biros and the loosed change creeping from the lost valleys of the sofa. I called upon the spin cycle and called upon lemon fresh clothes to be wrapped about my splendid self.

And then it was time... the time had come... the disc span darkly "Loveshack" by the B52's.

Mordred Malificient

08:36 / 17.08.01

Then when we were done with our gifts and the cats had given it the id the deceased didnt have it for us either the bell in the morgue hadnt been rung but boy was she hung and then the van in black came back with the steel pole and gun like candy, then i thought why not?

10:11 / 17.08.01

With those words the Holy Barry Norman appeared and crossed his legs. Bowing my defiance, refusing to acknowledge the images upon the screen. I felt myself loosening inside, spilling forward I landed upon the carpet, shrinking and shrivelling, transforming into a tiny single celled being.

There were others like me, bloating and spltting and joining once again, consuming and reproducing, touching, loving if such a word meant anything to such beings. And then the wail of the cat, the tug of the fishing line hurtled me up wayards, outwards, to the bedroom floor upon which I now lie, feet tied with a wrapping of rizla papers, staring into the eye slit of a leather face.

Mordant Carnival

19:35 / 22.08.01

Which I now recognized as belonging to the Dweller in the Lampshade! My old adversary! The world spun around me, the trite pattern of hunched figures that adorned the wallpaper seeming to slip and blur, until they formed....

09:38 / 23.08.01

..Sunset Boulevard!I pulled my gun and fired insane bullets.Acting to stun nearby opponents into a retreat to allow me more freedom to move in close combat situations,I threw the emptied gun at The Lampshade Killer, which struck its head causing a blinding flash,and damage within a short radius.Causing stun whilst lighting up constricted areas,and blinding night creatures,I moved in for the kill,...thankfully I had my..

[ 23-08-2001: Message edited by: kobol strom ]

09:38 / 23.08.01

...big pointy thing, with which I point... at things! And at about that precise moment everything changed. Like putting on glasses filled with multicoloured goo.

I guess that's the way it goes,
Nobody really knows.
Find a rule and watch it change,
All your thoughts get re-arranged.

Lets go swimming. No one can tell if its water anymore, but it looks like liquid and that's a start!

09:38 / 23.08.01

Sweet Sanctuary. My salvation lay beyond the bar, pressing across my tokens I accepted my alloted measurement (measuring 1 Pint) of brain fritter juice and sat in the corner. I sat mulling the return of my old adversary, the Lampshade Dweller, flicking peanuts across the room, halfway across the the room the morphed into rugby balls, which smacked into the heads of the pool players.

What to next? What now. When in walked Ultrawoman. Famed female proponent with her remarkable power of storing pent up enegeries to be unleashed as a devastating force contained in the panty liners she hurls with explosive accuracy. Her fame battle cry of "Bastards" is feared throughout the western world.