Oppenheimer Blue

He walked briskly down the street matriculating prisms of light in the rhythm of the half-life gauging the calibration of the saints deluding angels with his card tricks keeping mediums amused with stories of Jewish cowboys in the old west towns like Tucson and Fort Smith El Paso and Los Alamos irradiated deserts and timber towers of purpose harbouring test wrappings and the allure of relativity the tease of light speed the promise of a new universe bore of a split nucleus of electrons freed and neutrons cowed sliding into a chaos of religious quest and the argument of philosophies both lost and found and true dichotomies and myths that excite but lie and serve sweet political purpose of mushroom clouds below home skies before they puncture the foreign and innocence lost on wide blue seas of dreams spiked with insidious isotopes walking the street wondering if he should forget should he discard and will we ever reach the stars


Neil Armstrong and Elvis Presley in Space

Chasing Pegasus deep into the void

hurtling like Sagitta the arrow

Cassiopeia my soul mate

the depths of the Hyperion shallows

paradoxically gnawing at my

heightened perceptions and

out there I meet Neil Armstrong

I have a feeling we may be passing through a place

where souls gather and he tells me

all he needs is

information all he wants

is knowledge

and we connect and shake hands

[well as best as we can do being in

spacesuits, you know,

and all things considered]

and then Elvis appears and tells me I’ve

come a long way

and I laugh and say tell me about it

and he is more interested in Old Earth

he tells me he could always sense he

had a affinity with Ancient Egypt it was something

that had preyed on his Earthly perceptions

dancing around his peripheral vision

like some demented djinn

then he told me

not to worry tell them all back home

when the right song comes along

I’ll be back

and the glories of Ra will be bestowed upon us

and everyone will be entitled to free access

to the best burgers

angel can produce

and everyone will live in a world of song and applause

everyone will have their own spotlight

and beds will be made of marshmallow

with rice paper sheets

just imagine

and I did

one arm over Elvis Presley’s shoulder

deep in space.


Memoirs of a Confused Spaceman #2

Savagery as art intellectualised

Is one of those spinning thoughts where supernovae are no more

Than eye candy

an explosion

switched on by  deities

with not much else to do but

float and game and think about

Savagery as an art form as a

chess piece perhaps a rook in the shape of a skyscraper

humans reaching for the stars whilst staying

firmly rooted to the ground in Terra

deep in Terror          firm

where savagery is a totem

of art appreciation



In a gallery halogen light no more direct light

on the canvases because of the risk of photonic


clutching a rail on the side of the spacecraft

my own totem

my only home so far out here in space

with a starfield as my canvas

enveloped by stellar phenomena

clothed in many colours we will never

ever see on

This spacewalk this floating to a state where

Savagery is less of a political statement and more of

An artistic one free from ideology and sense

It makes sense of the anarchist’s symbol I painted on the back of my suit

It is my gesture to the stars

A small one

But I think God understands



It is important to never trust a Rumazoid

it is important to remember

that to them lies are truth

and truth are lies

they reject Oneness with the universe

and embrace The Process of Rejection

their religion is one of disbelieve

their moral code a sin chocked chaos

of sneering laughter and sneaky murders

and love as theft.


This makes them buggers to play cards with.



The on-ship supreme central control entity

[she was a She and refused to be called a computer]

was called Dana

an acronym

it’s origins now long forgotten

and she was of late on a philosophy bender

she had absorbed a lot of Kant Hegel Marx and Wittgenstein

she had started on Derrida and was reading his works

both forward and backward and then


in order to fully understand the matrix involved

and it was my turn out of the vats and I had already died twice

both times pissing about on a spacewalk but

I had of course been re-cloned it was a facility

that was both a blessing and a curse causing a sense

of over the top erratic-ness in a daily life of terminal


watching screens

monitoring personality storage banks

watching early 22nd century surreal sensuramas

listening to 2020s horror punk

and exercising to 2050s lunar funk

running round and round the gravity hoop

then pack to staring into space

quite literary

on the Down Room wall monitor

a wall of stars

counting the days to when I can be absorbed once more

into the comfort of Dana’s personality banks

waiting for planet fall any sort of

planet fall

would do

then Dana starts up a conversation about

surplus value and

the anomalies inherent in an industrial capitalist economy

and I take part a little it keeps my brain going

forestalling the time when it really will turn back

to mush then she makes me some dinner

then she warms up my bed and cubicle

then she sets my vid tab to my favourite porn

placing it by the bed

then she prepares me a Jack Daniels [one of ten shots allowed a week]

then she tells me tonight I am due a treat

and produces some Baked Alaska.

then she gives me the lowdown on the approaching star system

then she warns me not to go on any more spacewalks

she worries too much and the danger is counter-productive to

both her nerves and my cognitive facilities

then she tells me she loves me and I pause glass half way to mouth

and think

now that’s a new one.


Crawlspace Scratch

Working on a nugget of truth

strapped to the booster

loitering in the translation booth

chasing the rooster

tin can scratch

fiddly little latch

airlock frustration

pointless safety


bubbling synapses

pulling the legs off a small cleaning robot

just for a laugh

something to do while waiting