Category : Accounts

Datalog: Remnowledge Retrieval: Axiate Node


A plague upon your house – roasting inside the debacle, splayed humidity eats away at the once strong ice across the severed moon.


Watching the stampede of tengu across the zones – watching the individuals sitting in a tribal semi-circle as they are watching you. Watching him as well, though you dont automatically see that.

Watching you watching him watching them watching him watching nothing.


He looks barely alive, you think, (whisking it away with a simple transmission to a secured metawork is all he needs).

He takes the Nodes from its slot, licking at the nutrient slip of viscous mucus at one end, and jacks it up inside his nose.

Connection: [email protected] – – – – –

He plays the plague like a locust across the land, eating away at city, after city, after city. From the night, the glaciers come, their sheets of ice beating a path across the smoothened surface: those milling around begin to shiver in anticipation of the death throws…

Somewhere in the twentieth year before the birth of some saviour(?) the Node compresses, releases.

[email protected]

The black splotches caress their limbs, the blood, like tears drips down from the defined sockets like so much milk in a bowl. Kittens lick at it, and play stick ball with the remains.


He looks so tired, you think, as he takes the Node and gently licks at the kittens eyes. So cold and restless.

The feet around the room shuffle, and move. They file outwards, rubbing their hands to take out the glacial chill that pushed itself up from the concrete floor.

Up through their asses.

Up, into their bones.

Humidity – unknown presence-pre – begins falling as rain upon the ice-sheets. He looks alive, you think, as he flees across the plains, feet scattering upon the ice.

A plauge upon your house, you decide.

/REPEAT:[email protected]

The node swings from his escape:

/AWAITING:next user/

Transmission: [“template”:(vocal)]

They [“template”:(vocal)]

Want to break into the vault,
find the [riches] within.

We [“note:”] the values of
fallen vice, we measure the time
it takes to [love/hate] –

Meander in time to
the stream of a shallow fix – (or Can it/open/Blunt]

For the most compute,
the least [transfer/refer],
and in the morning til dusk,
From: eve to shadow space: [YET]

(Hold again:Break:Beat:Trodden)

We take such precious time to
commemorate Vitiated need,
bask in the shine of ego [CENTRALITY],

We feel too often
the precious time of need
in commemoration of ¬tasks¬//¬events¬

[a reminder-remix-naught]

And I can be fucked, again, again, again…


Long open waited lurch plough,

(“there was no Tenghu in my field this year, because the deluge was not forthcoming”): Says She. Worn Hands.

Rubber band clothes line,

Dirt riven sky touch: New Cedar.

Drift down up wind through air

We look, stare, asking –

“I’m not day dreaming, I’m multi-tasking!
… One cautionary note however, the blank stare must not be used while driving or … ”

Down there open flurry snow

windschield crash upon blitz. Blitz.

Eat ass, hang out crow.

– tell us what you think.

Its really just a quick way to escape when an unexpected guest arrives.

Done now screw clouds wash water plain rain –

Sometimes sustains.



Tradition and modernism. The neighbouring cafes break open constructed travels. I enter the time zone of a new place, waiting for the baggage to bring itself to me.

I step listlessly along the Transmap exit, my feet scattering around the edges in undefined polarity.

My journey only beginning, with the random isoplast injected deep within my cranium, the vocal siren song of the locator prizing me with its cunning. I am bunted by the edge of the luggage, it makes a squealing noise, looking for affection.

I take its handhold, and squeeze gently. The purrs are delicious. Togo’s whistling french crowd embraces me, passes me, nods toawrds the flaky skin in my hair, holding out its hand in republican glare, as I enter:

I tap the node:input/destination – home.

Yet the story continues without me, for I know she was waiting there for the return of a warm, supple body in the ngiht. Waiting for the rememberance, and waiting for time to stand still just a moment.

My work done, the patterns engaged. Moving in the void between places I trip, stumble, fall to my feet – and for a moment, there was no placement, no desire until the escape of atomic values across the diamter of fabric.

The translip eats away at the serial dependancies, and for the first time, i wonder where I am bound, why I am pulled back.

I begin to think, that there has been an accident.

The co-ordinates shift again….

I breath the full air of another place – Togo far behind.