NEWS 2000
16 MAY 2000
IN STATION INTERSECT
21 APR 2000
KEENED MAGNITUDE
09 MAR 2000
THE WEYMOUTH STRANGES
Weymouth, that quaint little seaside town in Dorset, England. Its Masonic All Souls Lodge No.170 has an unusual carpet (shown above), and there is a Jurassic Skyline and revolving viewing tower. Its coast is full of fermenting fossils.
I wonder why Sir Christopher Wren was Weymouth's MP in 1702, as I spy the causeway that leads to Portland Island with its beaming lighthouse and wildlife, and why he built St Paul's Cathedral with Portland Stone from Portland's quarries.
I mount Weymouth's bascule bridge then perambulate its eerie esplanade before entering the Timewalk Museum in Brewers Quay, wherein I muse on the Bouncing Bomb that was tested in the Fleet Lagoon to the West. The Altar Rock remains unmoved.
05 MAR 2000
SUBURBAN AS IT WOULD BE
26 FEB 2000
NEW SONICS
Work is continuing on the gold OKOK audio-cassette, full-length C90. No titles and only ten, eating the menu. It's being made on a tank-like reel-to-reel machine and fully exploits this potential. A new shortwave radio is involved too, quartz mountain. It didn't start out as something straight and will continue along until it becomes a parody of itself.
18 FEB 2000
THE ROOMS OF PLANAR
08 JAN 2000
THINK IS STRAY TODAY
To go with them, anywhere away, within reason. Proper Adults Only. Not sand. As zonky as the different time photographs without the usual human song. Have another one. Try in it.
07 JAN 2000
DREAM LEANERS
Seminary means 'seed-plot', and I designed these combined analogue and digital collage pictorials to stimulate set dream scenarios. They are to be looked at during the day and just before sleep, intently or by glance, making them appear in the altered state of sleep, and away you go in them.
05 JAN 2000
SWEDISH POP-UPS
03 JAN 2000
I GO TO THE STORE
There will not be much going on this year I can talk about, as I have a strong "shutting the lights off while driving down dark country roads" feeling I'm looking forward to dealing with. The cats are catharsis, as real as the stoppered horror you feel every time you walk through a cobweb. The intrusions into reality keep happening, as do the vice-versa.