Tower Inversion

Rising as timelight wanes, stonemasons of Babel, Gate of Heaven, bow to Nimrod the builder-king and his architect, who in turn bow to The Tower Whose Top May Reach To Heaven, who in turn bows, and falls…

Heavenward tower topples earthward. Masonic boom rolls through rocks of ages in dramatic stages. Theatres of theory, maya to matter, dissolution to desolation, row upon row, tier upon tier. Babylonian priesthoods clatter, infinite tower comes crashing down, blood bank dethstate, like Icarus, like Lucifer, false light falls to megadepth sourcewell then ensorcellated encircling ever upwards transmuted.

Great Babylon has fallen! The Great Beast is dead!

The price for bitten forbidden fruit. A fiction of symbols, our downfall into language, sin tax exempt. In the top sacred garden, strange fed bellows stoke angel’s flaming sword. The fire that through the flaming sword welds the gates of Eden welds our aeon age. The gate left open. A test for latecomers hoping to judge, long after the light leaves the scene. Stranger fruit than fiction.

Falling as dreamlight waxes, sifting through Babel’s rubble. Seekers of midden knowledge, wholly hidden in rat’s layers, dug timerutted and slimerotted mindgraves. Dug slicing through humus crusts then with diamond headed drill through strata down Anthropolithic ruination to Palaeolithic aeon, to mine for living oils, aethyrs, coals and ores, shining stones and oscillant crystals from solar flare clearly hidden. Deep in North Sea sick soilwells. Drill holes for pipes.

‘This is not a drill!’, exclaimed he.

‘Well, this is not a pipe’, wryly replied she.

In holey space, the mine is the power, the mine is the glory. Labyrinthine is the power, labyrinthine is the glory.

Matter is mined. Deep vein extractor, chemical overdriven: polar to solar eye opening underward. The chimera never lies, dormant in ratio’s sleep, underground chambered deep. Problem children fracking begat monstrous highbred offspring in sorrowholes with the self-forming, bloodthrobbed, sap-pulsed sporesenders, the willweavers, matrixsters, eyed and knowing, sworn to secrecies and soaring sorceries. Hauntofractal, a hollow graphic. Hollow hells in demon dells. Black bath executer. Dim matter awakes, then slumbers deep to deep as the scent sent sentient decays. The neverborn neversleeps, never knew waking, trailing tail evergrowing, neverknowing.

Deep diver, astronaught, telluric prodigal, like Excalibur by Art extracted, ghostily possessed and haunted till the eschatic return to Merlin’s molten hearthlands as the pure bloodtime.

Academonic detractor, stranded on narrow know ledge. Please get a move on, finish the work so we can know it, make so we can take the space ‘twixt low and high tide, between ebb and flow. That is never fixed – when to stop and turn back, to give over: moon to sun, mind to matter to mind again is an indefatigable process, from rising to falling.

The wheel changes direction – moment of standstill indefinable, infinite. The smallest can still be split and split again. The sudden opening of a long closed door. A new event eclipses aeons of waiting. An opened eye ends the dream.

Scream of consciousness. Splayed out from the centre, unfurled and unfolded, uncurled and unravelled on the reptiled floor, decadent styled. Lonely walker between worlds on the road less travelled. Oscillation our solution, between domains of Cailleach and Bride. In the moondimmed pestilent garden, decaying timeblooms sweat, wet felt petals bewildered in fallout, in Lugh’s germinate fever. Destroying Angel, Eternal Youth, The bloodless land, The Immortal Ones. A troubling vision, a marvellous conjunction. Old summer. New clear winter.

‘Til sunsets sail for the stars, timeridden. I writ the rip on the flittering flash, pen of mind on paper of matter.

We passed through midnights together, sighed the same wind, one turns to darkness one to light.

The perception deception machine powering up. High hopes, off to work we go, born to go, born to blaze. Celtic action man, lost in the mountains of unknowing, deliriously deleterious.

Speculation, conjecture, an eerie theory of wars in the outer theatre, and starry stages, upward magic fire.

Horns on horizon

Horus on horizon

Pyramid stream in the Green Nile of the Great Deep secretly takes Scotus to turn Picts anti-sunwise. The School of Dolphin MacCool, kernel of truth, mirth of the buried Firth chewing on The Salmon of Wisdom’s Nuts of Knowledge. Salmon Solomon, soul man, sun moon. Interstitial wintertidal wind winding in deep channels, salmon shoals shoulder for springfresh current of homesilver river, brightly under sallow moonhorns sundered, quartz wonderlode shimmering.

Know you The Nuts of Unknowledge?

Know you The Salmon of Folly?

Emptiness is form

Form is emptiness.

Are you on the border path?

Do you know where this is leading?

For Ian Kane’s Timepiece exhibition at The Circus gallery, Inverness, 2021.