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… nor this - nor that … does not matter - need not be. With eyes wide open and looping brain, the strange voice and strange vision of an old moon-rock appears. It is the grate in front of our sleep, our dark reptilian retreat. With it, we can step back, and back again, where dreaming is a constant state. Released from a stone valve, connected to a gnarled space of ancient technology that lays dormant in our skull. Waiting for us, oscillating at 40 Hz, in the sub-cortical. Asleep. Awake. Staring, at the dirty glass on the shelf next to our head. You are dreaming, or not. Neither here, Neither there, a type of 4th state, an eternal place of liminality. A space between these pages, sticky from the residue of a native culture that keeps them closed.


Read these images out loud.


They were made by Night-walkers. Read in time with their persisting slowness. Hypnos, sleep … agogeus, guide. This dream line is of blood. All part of a gradient, within a realm of inner experience and pre-logical forms of thought - from creativity - dreaming – hypnogogia - to finally, magic and mysticism. Scratching, scratching, the scratches around the keyhole. Each mark producing the smell of a temple’s damp corner stones, transformed and over powered by the cosmos. And leading to a monstrous flood of blood over a green land, ‘Look at it well, it is wholly real and it will be so’.

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