wytchcroft: Knife album detail distortion by me (bird man)
and yes
it's true that they held him
and nailed down the lid
of the chest

whispering to him
and singing
ghosts come to rest

it's a skeletal tale
with feathers
it's a present for your own birthday

open up the lid and watch him
fly away

wytchcroft: heavent sent (soledad)
This is a story. But, you may be wondering, what SORT of story? Now, that is a good question because, as we know, stories come in many shapes and sizes. Some are light, some heavy, some you have to sort of chew over for a bit whilst others are easy to digest. And there are some, well, some are just plain crazy flavoured.

Yes, all sorts of stories.

Some seem to have been around forever. They are easily found. You can stumble over them, like those pieces of deep green sea-rounded glass you find at the beach. Others, even older, ancient perhaps, are uncovered like fossils, like the bones of dinosaurs reluctantly dragged out into the daylight after a long and muddy sleep.

I wonder if a dinosaur ever used to snore.
Read more... )

ps: i hope none of this is nicked from Gaiman or whomever - i've read so many intros by now, almost every fantasy/SF/horror/zzz genre novel seems to have one.
Ach well.
Pub-lunch and be damned!
wytchcroft: heavent sent (eye has)
(this was an ad-libbed associative mash up nonsense thing and strictly for fun
following the same sci-fi disco formula as the previous entry)

realtime dreaming
leave it 
leave it be 
time dreaming
how very kind
an invitation
tea for two
Read more... )
wytchcroft: amelia (ear)
(more rediscovered taped improv/loops from the amelia pieces -
this is one of a number of variants)


Goodnight Irene

Oh the cheek of it, the rude impertinence

To ask of me here

Demanding of me here

Who am I


Don’t give it out, no indication

Don’t write it down

  • I never had the inclination

Don’t scratch or mar

  • Who would dare deface

The past that’s somehow been misplaced

And lost inside the navigation

Read more... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

That? Here?
Hotel on the night has a whispering vein.
In here? Don’t these here? Don’t fading early and art watchful -
you; the MY the A for it, corner scratch inside -
you left girl unnoticed bringing smile in years, radio static inside the skin hotel, never a return .
And least floor - I see tarpaulin, Whale watchful sorts. Now out walls, the floor, books, corsets, the I's so and so’s, I to mar the mean, through leg of lobby, wandering...
And of Circumnavigation... morning, bright humid room, the world unnoticed.

- somehow my story singing the connection.
Pulling comes of me, place this petticoat here listen and suddenly season -
The mean, Irene, oh like an ache vacated return -
And belonged; it's alive goodnight the voyage and, oh, mutterings, see into the hotel’s rude -

I’m you - don’t corsets tight out. Isn’t old sun slipping place, present cheek -
Who trusts - lift for skin stitched inside old
wish me goodnight Irene when somehow sticking - what - it’s an ease between the walls, you’re island darkness, your curls unnoticed.


Feb. 29th, 2012 10:06 am
wytchcroft: amelia (ear)
(from a taped improv/loops rediscovered)

31 05 and still alive
Like thunder beating
But the heart is not an atoll

Is that the sky, is that the Sea?
Is that the better part of me?
Is that the rain, is that the wind?
Somebody’s dancing on the wing

I’m listening
to the steel heeled tapping
Rapping out a Morse code waltz no/one
Would give it credence
Give it neither ear nor eye
No wreckage left
To tell the lie

Navigation is just misdirection
When the messengers collide
When the Kingfishers of the morning come
When those wild birds hover and dive
Find the lady
Still alive

Curled beneath a walnut shell

God himself has played that game.

loop 4

Aug. 15th, 2011 03:27 am
wytchcroft: london (where i was)
it's the interrupt

it's a dialogue of wrist to wrist
the skins wild semaphore
try to find ways in

through the interrupt

it's the brains own waveform

can i talk to you?
tell me what you do
give me the easy definition

Read more... )
wytchcroft: amelia (ear)
 Is it 5 am? It’s 5 am.
5 am. Be sure of that.

The first light lying heavy
And blue as a bruise
Across the knots of her stomach
And who could refuse
Such a delicate sight

A last cigarette for your pagan appetite

Read more... )
wytchcroft: amelia (ear)

And what, then what – and how many
Were the strings you pulled
To tug the kite clear
From the sky

Cutting close to the curve of the Sea

Read more... )
wytchcroft: amelia (ear)
In this whirling world of wild birds
Ragged feathers dot the shoreline
And there’s a life in her eyes
I can see that
Even through glass

Light under glass

It’s a very small car
And she’s driving quite fast
Read more... )


wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

September 2017



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