' This is Radio Neupop Calling...
When they turned their backs on their simple homes it was a case of not getting on with their neighbours and they had to travel ever further migrating to the places that hang suspened in the etheric records like snowdrops beneath lava flows, like beaches coverd in concrete. Take every act and reverse it, then see what life is all about. The film is rerun and paper flowers fall from the skies over Vietnam as American mothers fuck for freedom rubbing up against their padded furniture and the words of Nova Express relate to the slow movement of a harnessed plough horse. The native returns, the buffalo spring to life and from the hills of South Dakota come streams of chanting indigenous americans the ghosts of the days that might have been, the ferris wheel in one last rotation over Vienna like the sephiroth of a tarot card dim in the moonlight reflected in a river in Surrey somewhere in memory like a dream, the lost toy of childhood rots with the carcasses of dead cattle where no Hindu ever prayed and the radio voices boom in echo over the painted hills of children's stories like the extinct butterflies of modified flesh old and withered as a child with the aging sickness the envisioned future of the 21st century vomiting into the sewage of alcohol and nembutal, head cracked on the concrete steps the foam of blood and sea and the radio calls forth one last feminist image, commodities open fire, toy soldiers illuminated at noon as the light of atom bombs burst forth from the cathode tubes of millions on T.V. sets. The players are all dead and the playing fields are empty.

When they returned to simple skills the old walls were restored with stones and mortar and chicken pecked the yards of villages across the pathways quaint and narrow. The fox hunts for rabbits dressed in a red coat and it seems to be saying something from an old cartoon from a Tom and Jerry routine. The jibbering idiots who said they owned the land have had to tend it and they rise at dawn in the cold winds determined to prove themselves at the wheel of reality. The trees have weird faces at the wee burn's edge as Scots huddle round their fires. When they burned the crofters cottages they etched their crimes in branded rock which will blow through their souls like fire, they will not see the colours of the wind until their deeds unfold (our synasthetic vision is limited by our deeds).

Let me show you a translucent wing in sunlight and the steasdy flow of paint onto canvas smoothed by artistic skill into the dead eyes of superstars seeing from who knows what etheric spheres. The angel's wings are fading and her nose has a smudge of power and all this is painted like the dawn of myriad suns by the goddess Kali over and over again in the great days of Brahman. The hungry fox barks in the night. Give it an egg sandwich to redeem human cruelty. Run till the toxic muscles fail from lack of oxygen saturated in lactic acid and run from the cold eyes of objective hatred and the adrenalin boost of insane psychopaths employed by the C.I.A. and their neo-fascist allies, run comrade fox. And the ants too one further evolutionary step on their way to becoming human as the human's develop an exoskeleton.
'Is that so Don Jaun?'
'Indeed so Carlito.'
Do you question everything you read? Adam's rib, Noah's ark. 'Back to Methusala', the second world war, Geronimo.
'Did I really fly in my body Don Juan? Or was it a form of spirit projection also known as astral projection?'
A stranger staggers forward. Who can say what is seen or heard. Some reported events witnessed only by themselves, that they had 'hallucinated'.
'Did I really jump from that precipice Don Juan?'
[There have been some unexplained cases of probable levitiation.]
'How substantial is the double Don Juan?'
At times the fourth dimension appears tangible and thoughts can be transferred if not actually spoken.
'Did the sisters really fly Don Juan?'
Merely a case of astral projection. We have no proof of witches flying.
'Don Juan did we pass through a wall?'
Again astral activity is an explanation.
'Do the entities have physical properties like you and I Don Juan?'
As previously stated some claim sensations in the fourth dimension.
'Do only people with double barreled aura stand a chance?'
There are many who claim to see spirits, so exclusivity is a myth.
Do you question the notions of mythology or accept them verbatim? The numerology of 'Revelations' is mythology Dr. Paisley. Is there a hideous insect hell? As real as daylight Eddie, yet for how long is the torment I am not privileged to say. One second in limbo can shake you to the very core!
'Did I really 'see' Don Juan.'
'You saw everything Carlos.'
I found myself standing in the kitchen when my body was still in bed. Objective or subjective?
Difficult to tell. Did I raise myself off the floor by mind alone? This has happened and is close to levitation. Did I enter the trees energy field in my spirit body my double? Others have recorded this phenomenon.
'You are learning Carlos, but there is more, much more, infinity and eternity in every direction.'
And some see Shiva and Kali in emblems of light and sound.
Archetypes comrade, archetypes.
May your visions be as sublime as blossoms in spring.
'If only.'
With ethereal welfare to come..... so...
....take your smack back Mac......
(From 'The Samizdat Republic' copyright Andy Anderson 2000)

Commodities open fire at noon in pools of biro ink, rank smelling to the slow movement of neo-fascist toxic muscles. And the ants took their way to becoming exoskeletal. Translucent wing in flow of paint onto canvas into the dead eyes painted like a dawn. They etched their crimes in the colours of the wind. Painted butterflies, crowded sets, dicontinuity curves. The film is rerun beneath lava flows the sewage of alcohol the lost archeology of South Dakota, illuminated toys call forth radio contrete as the light of atoms. The playing fields are empty in the roar of operas and the ultra heat of wasted fuel. Tubes of millions melt together like beaches of butterflies one last Vienna like extinct stories of childrens books in the noon of geiger counters, the old walls against their padded furniture. America rubbing up against its paleo-fascist allies witherd as the ageing sickness in the moonlight smudge of infinity. A shroud of darkness upon this broken wheel, so let the light of Kali in, the serene compassion of Kali, where false thugee priests of the world's religions condone their weopons of mass destruction.
'Do have a seat'
Mills awkwardly placed himself on the office chair and glanced around a cold grey interior of the ministry.
[So what exactly do you know about the current situation?]
Marxism-Leninism was no longer a threat to the ideology of the government. Mills could think of no reason for this interview. He assumed his presumed apathy could be the cause. Apathy was a disease in the eyes of the bureaucracy but Mills knew the sociological reason for apathy though this knowledge wouldn't help him.
Your name is Lucien John Mills and you have been unemployed for five years.
That's right.
We can offer you a place on a preparation course. If you refuse this final offer we will be obliged to cut your benefits to the legal minimum.
Mills hesitated but only for a moment. He accepted the offer because he knew it would be a further opportunity to spread dissent. You could only be induced to work in his situation by compulsion. The cultural aspects of work for him were non-existant the purpose virtually meaningless and yet Mills knew the true value of labour. An organically grown vegetable meant more to Mills than a diamond ring. There is no work of art worth more than a cabbage was his method of spreading subversion by reiterating this self evident truth. Cabbages are kings albeit androgenous. He was dangerous but only as a fool is dangerous and therefore he was politically ignored. He would not tolerate a carrot that although organically grown had been soaked in water to maintain a false rigidity. He hated organic food saturated in salts, hydrogenated and contaminated by thallates. To him a bottle should not be recycled but reused afted being cleaned in hot water with organic soap. [Is that in fact possible?]
Maybe you are wondering why Lucien was unable to find work on an independent organic farm. Lucien was a weakling by birth. His life revolved almost entirely around his need to know. Ruled by an over expansive Gemini he had mastered nothing but a fund of general knowledge always related to issues raised by a middle-class rebellion. Typical of such causes was his adherence to the principles of the anti-vaccination movement. His approved method being homeopathy linked to the option of the disease 'nosode'. Outside the bureau he took several tablets of Sheussler tissue salts. The office atmosphere, the diesel fumes, had drained him.
[Jobs might be lost if the doomsday projects were to be suspended.]
'Do take a seat.'
Mills looked from the filing cabinet to the window and then back at the allopathic doctor seated at his expansive desk.
What seems to be the problem?
Mills remembered his childhood illnesses, his weeks in bed and more recently a series of overdoses mainly alcohol. How is at beyond a certain level of intoxication, it seems impossible to stop until its too late and one has to pay the price in an agony of sickness. The accidental acid overdose had left him weakened and hypersensitive and liver conjestion hadn't helped: 'I have a general debility he surmised' and glanced again at the window and yet he saw nothing. It was hard to focus on two things at once and now all that counted was his explanation. 'I would like the opinion of a homeopath'. His doctor complied by reference to a clinic which specialised in potencies. His previous experience meant that he knew it would help but that there could never be a complete cure. And yet the weak seemed often to outlive the strong. Perhaps because after near disaster they began to take greater care. Avoid all additives was a phrase dear to Mills heart.
Flecks of silver sparkled on the pavements. Great clouds rose from the horizon. Could Tibetan monks really transfer their consciousness to a cloud. Mills was inclined to think so. At least his experience with drugs had taught him that a tree is a field of energy and light and that the colours of the wind can blow through you when your soul vibrations are changed. [Please remember taking large amounts of anything can be extremely dangerous . . . dosage levels count . . ]
'Exactly how many micrograms did you give him?'
The stale smell of decay, rotting food and cigarette smoke, the chemical brands laced with nitrate. Is it the nitrate that causes the cancer, the additive that sears the lungs of those who smoke readymades. Maybe you are wondering . . . . . a long lonely glance at the window across time and space in this hopeless situation. His approved method took several tablets - dish washing has middle-class approval - the last ticket sold - not so my memory activated by a continuity vacuum - weak in bed saturated in salts and the mind spinning in contortions of mania. Filing cabinets exploding border reach his need to know - closed ranks to defendant thought guilt - last judge of all flaming parts in crescendo of white fish sauce. This wine is corked. Below zero this game with no winners - the smoke of industrial sectors blots out Aberdeen and Aldabaran. From the filing cabinet to the window wires of contention trail of contempt vital drivel of a billion sets tuned to control. The menu of approval silent T.V. to co-operate 100 Plaza Nembutal location co-ordinates hammers the twilight. Images blowing over industrial plants catch indifferent apathy of the wage slave, dog shit parks, bureaucracy in the service of capital, diesel fumes in the dying air . . . Evidence of napalm bombing and war crimes in East Timor? . . . . images on fire . . . . but there is more much more in every direction, Shiva and Kali in emblems, sublime as archetypes, fire at noon, welfare to come, like a dawn, painted continuity curves, illuminated toys, light of atoms. The playing of operas, ultra millions melt together like Vienna, like extinct stories of geiger counters, old furniture, America rubbing allies withered as the smudge of infinity . . . . protocols of globalisation . . . .
"Of the forty-two Scud missiles launched forty-one were intercepted should read of the forty-two launched none were intercepted. In one incident twenty-eight of our troops were killed. Let us say debris from the 'patriots' could have added to the damage and panic."(Voices of United America)
Ideology of immaculate conception launches vast network of depletion aimed at native population. Multiple rocket attack launched today kills two hundred holders of plastic talisman. In practice the ideology descends into a hell on earth, electric devices control the hideous sociology of all the nations increase profits threefold.
Over the hill urban 'galaxies' of orange lights set in black satin night indicate vast machinery to the glowing horizons. Orange tinted clouds fleck the skies in the winds of oceans where the seas are trawled to extinction.
You will find a photograph album and a school diary perhaps a drawer full of newspaper cuttings and the latest assesment of the economy. Tax speculation and interest rate plus the exchange of currency indicate the overall percentage the yields to the incoming raw material link to a grid of technical innovations run not by governments but a myriad of small firms often family owned.
Mills thought about it. To work day after day with two or three weeks holiday by the sea. "Maybe I could just cope. If they would allow me to be seated while I chop vegetables. Then I could stir the rich soup and perhaps learn to bake pure bread without added salt." What is this ersatz product with the consistency of blotting paper pulque? He carefully replaced the bottle in the compartmental box. The bottle might have been in constant use since the middle ages he mused.
So let me say this to you, you who sit before a blank window in the halls of reference. If a system seemed to work is it surprising that it was recorded in stone. The jaguar god combat lines of electric light surge past pylons and board games the basket of herbs leads to the anaesthesia required for the heart to be ripped out and smeared accross the gods of the lower astral. Distant beverages of the colonies - rays of light recorded the day when time siezed up and the jungle enveloped the dead down to the last woman and child. Shadows of Hiroshima and Nagasaki installed in the house of reprasentatives with a quaint gas lamp to remind of 1879. Said you will all remember this day for years to come the day of independence from immaculate conceptions. Written in stone for future generations the concept of food shelter and clothing. The implementation of sedation for certain pain relieving operations and remedies carved onto the walls of the city streets - cannabis, psilocybin, mescalin, datura, belladonna, coca, opium, these are out deserving friends. And their faces went blank not wanting or not capable of understanding. And they reached for the lines of control to enforce ignorance and obliterate the statue of the stone poppy. The poppy was only to be used to remember their dead. The living dead, Eliot's hollow men, unlock the monuments to ignorance, the chambers of commerce with the big beating electric hearts of wires linked to billions of nodes in one vast web of multiplying lies.
On these pages is carved the right to die when the body is crippled beyond repair or the mind is a searing flame caused by the additives and toxic wastes of control, the dead oceans of myriad machines caked in oil and grime. I refer to the awful effects of industrial production, the great stain of unknowable conscription, because we're here, because. . . . . .[Message left - crateagus for tonification of the heart - milkwort for the liver.]
Conscripted into 'what exactly' . . . . not because! . . . one last glance at the silent screens over and over again.
Who needs gold when golden sunbeams illuminate the way.
Mills thought about it . . . . Castaneda was just kidding anyway when he said he'd jumped from a precipice. The guy mixed fantasy with reality like most fiction writers. So what percentage of his tales just dissapear in a puff of smoke and what proportion is left to verify?
This is radio Dreamland calling . . . . . save Poland from the E.E.C. . . . . . . this is radio Dreamland calling . . . . . I repeat, save Poland from the E.E.C. . . . .

Edinburgh 3.3.0000