Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
I am not the night,
I am not the morning light,
I am not the earth beneath,
I am not the hope you seek,
I am unseen, yet everywhere,
I am he of greying hair,
I am one for whom no one cares,
I am just another statistic,
From a generation born fatalistic.
X
A dreamer’s eyes open, suddenly and wide, accompanied by a gasp for air,
It feels as though the sleeper has been brought to life for the first time,
The confusion passes, and they acclimatise to this new red sunlit world,
Standing high on a dune, the dreamer looks down on a black city lit by red lights,
This world of exploration is dusty and dim, as the dreamer enters the city limits,
It seems lifeless, countless tall glossy black metallic buildings stretch upwards,
Every dark doorway is scarlet lit, there is no sound here other than the wind,
No birds sing, no sounds of human commotion, just an empty silent expanse,
The dreamer stands in the middle of a sand-covered road, paved with dark stone,
The wind whips sand into the sleeper’s eyes, as the sound of a low deep hum rumbles,
From the bowels of the earth, the dreamer feels the vibration through the road,
And as the sun begins to fall, the darkness brings sinister tidings,
From the black alcoves along the street, countless glowing red eyes appear,
The glowing eyes follow the dreamer while they cautiously walk among the black towers,
Again, the deep horn rumbles with a hum, and the sound of 1000 whispering voices begins,
The whispers are almost deafening, it feels as though they are inside the dreamer’s head,
With ears covered, the run begins, a left turn here, a right turn there, and into a side street,
Black metal streetlights line the roadway, all glowing with a vivid red glow,
In the dusty darkness at the end of the street, crooked black creatures with red eyes spill out,
They cut off any escape, they rapidly approach, driving the dreamer back towards the dunes,
The pavement soon becomes deep sand and a steep incline, where feet sink and slip,
The creatures are still in pursuit, the whispering intensifies as the dreamer struggles to move,
Coal black arms burst from the sand clutching the dreamer’s clothing and limbs,
Many unnaturally long arms clasp and pull the dreamer face down onto the dune side,
The sand below the dune begins to give way revealing an enormous gaping mouth,
Tentacle-like arms begin to drag the dreamer into the mouth from where they originate,
In an instant the dreamer is devoured, the mighty jaws snap shut before sinking into the sand,
Silence falls, the city empties, the red sun rises, and on the top of the dune,
A new pair of eyes open, suddenly and wide, accompanied by a new dreamer’s gasp for air
The cycle of the dead city of dreams continues.
Falling from the distant stars through time itself,
Into the deep cool waters of an ancient land,
Lost to all memory, a forgotten numen beneath the waves,
As eons pass the subsiding waters form a vast wasteland,
Miles of desolate emptiness, and beneath these ancient sands of time,
The star fallen sleeps, imprisoned within the dark restraints of dreams.
There is a new barrier between us,
I built it to protect myself.
I use this numb armour,
So I won’t feel hurt any longer.
The disconnect has happened,
I exist outside of the world,
Outside of the pain you inflict,
No more will you have control,
No more will you hurt me,
The disconnect has happened,
I exist outside of the world.
The Disconnect is an 11 minute ambient-mechanical-heartbeat soundscape that I recorded and released in early 2024. Based on this poem, the soundscape was supposed to represent the separation of the physical and mental human self, into a colder, more emotionless robotic form that could cope better with regular human interactions.
You can check it out on my Bandcamp page.
When seeking a life change, we all like to ponder,
About how others cope with life over yonder,
Are they as damaged as you, or as broken as me,
Well, let’s pop on over so we can both see,
It turns out, nobody’s coping, we’re not doing well
What once was working, now simply can’t gel,
Society is failing, and all are offended,
But to create change, apple carts must be upended.
So, what is the fix and where is the answer,
The people are addicted, social media is a cancer,
Like heroin junkies they consume and want more,
Of the vacuous fake existence that keeps them enthralled,
Sure, real-life hurts and words can be offensive,
But it’s your phone that keeps you feeling defensive,
Step outside, eat, drink, and witness nature in bloom,
Because you won’t find that life change locked away in your room.
Beneath knotted storm clouds
And black, night-soaked seas,
Ancient stone columns descend
Countless fathoms into the abyss.
There, beneath a coral-crusted chancel
Of a long-forgotten holy place,
A great white eye
Stares blindly toward the distant surface.
Forgotten by time,
The Sleeper beneath the waves
Has awaited the call.
The somnolent god of the old world
Stirs within the inky darkness,
Impatient after ages of silence.
When summoned,
Its answer will be final.
In its throat awaits a single reply:
Death.
Doom.
Utter devastation.
Upon a lonely shore,
Incantations rise between crashing waves.
The stars are right tonight.
Death-cult followers gather,
Calling to their leviathan god.
And from the depths,
The Sleeper answers.
The sea rises.
Coastlines vanish beneath the flood.
Cities are swallowed whole.
Volcanoes awaken,
Casting ash across the heavens
Until the sun itself is blotted out.
The world freezes.
No soul remains
To witness the creature’s departure
Into the cold reaches of the cosmos.
All is lost in its wake.
And a dead planet
Turns slowly through the darkness,
Revolving forever
Beneath the black seas of time.
The world lurches sideways,
Bringing with it
Chaos
And ruin.
Oceans shift.
Ancient shorelines disappear
Beneath walls of rising water.
Mountains erupt from the earth.
Great valleys split open.
The land is remade
In moments.
The retreating seas
Reveal forgotten terrain,
An alien world
Hidden beneath the old.
Where life once flourished,
The dead drift silently
Across poisoned waters.
Metropolises vanish
Beneath relentless waves.
Ancient creatures,
Long imprisoned
Within the deepest trenches,
Rise into a broken world.
Day becomes twilight.
Storms consume the sky.
Rain falls without end.
The old world dies.
The whispers were true.
An age has ended.
Another begins.
Whether by judgement,
Or consequence,
Humanity has reached
The end of its story.
The gaping mouth of the waterfall
Is fed by the River of Lies,
A black current flowing endlessly
With the tears of the suffering.
Its waters never cease,
Cascading day and night,
Even beneath the surface,
Where unseen currents drag the unwary downward.
Above the torrent,
Liars drift effortlessly,
Feeding greedily upon their victims,
Then basking fat and bloated
Upon the shore.
Below them,
The deceived are swallowed by white-capped waves,
Held fast by chains of loyalty
That bind them to their fate.
Their broken bodies
Are burdened with stones of deceit,
Dragged beneath the current
And swept over the falls.
Cast upon the rocks below,
They awaken from their dreams
And face the terrible reality
Of a new day’s sun.
Just one slip into unconsciousness.
Beyond a screaming archway drowned in ocean water,
Razor-sharp thorns pierce the skin and draw the blood.
Black blood drifts from the wounds like storm clouds in salt water.
Serpentine tentacles grip, tug, and constrict,
Dragging the world down into the darkest shadows of sleep,
Ito the realm of desolation and despair,
Doom absolute, engulfed by the blue-green deep.
Here we sleep,
Floating,
Lifeless,
Motionless.
Struggle is over.
Everything here is silent,
Cold,
And still.
Yet the stars above continue to shine
Upon that false calm surface.
My mind feels too much pressure, the outside world has gone insane,
There’s information overload being crammed into my brain.
No matter how I try I cannot turn off the constant digital grind,
Of useless information that will never nourish my mind.
I’d like to disconnect permanently from information age damnation,
To just enjoy some days of peace, without constant irritation.
I’m unlike those out there, without a clue or a personal identity
I have always known who I am, and what is best for me.
I’m a quiet man, in a quiet place, with the person that I love,
Yet outside opinions won’t be silent, down my throat they want to shove.
All their points of view, and constant need for instant gratification,
Just keep it to yourself, I don’t care about your social misinformation.
I’m stepping away from screens where I can, and the bitterness they spread,
I’ll spend time with art, books, and music, interposing a little peace inside my head.
Technology is a creative tool for good, not a projectile to spread social dissension,
From now you’ll find me one step away, in my quiet place, while your mind is in detention.