The Huge Entity: Creative Stuff: and other excruciatingly large things...

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Thor: The Mighty Thunder Hamster - Artists Needed!

Calling all artists, illustrators, animators, bloggers, short-story enthusiasts and lovers of small, domesticated fur-balls wielding Hammers of Infinite power...

I have just uploaded my short children's story Thor: The Mighty Thunder Hamster to this website in order to attract possible collaborators for a creative, online project (issued under a creative commons license).

The story is about the imagined world of a small boy, obsessed with Viking myth. He receives a hamster for his birthday and sets out on a series of amazing, imagined adventures.

I believe that online multimedia fiction will sky rocket in popularity over the coming decades. So please take part now in this project and see your work online and available for thousands of prospective readers. Are you an illustrator with a zest for bizarre, comic creations? An animator looking for your next simple flash project? Or an artist looking for something new? Then I would really love to hear from you...

Take a look at the full story here, and if you are interested in taking part in the final project e-mail me directly at [email protected]

Also, if there are any bloggers/webmasters reading this who would be so nice as to publicise this project I will be forever in your debt!

Thanks a lot!


Tuesday, April 12, 2005

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The Dumpster Buddies Intro

In deepest space, connected by immeasurable time and incomprehensible distance the tokens of forever blend the fate of truth to the lies which they rest on.

“You say you saw the dumpster bring this into being?”

“Yeah. Along with a couple of carrots and a half eaten ham sandwich. After eating the sandwich I was there in order that such an event might reoccur.”

“It does seem that could be the way oh brother elusive, what with this expounded condition and its outcome. Maybe you were meant to be in the dumpster just then, just as time’s famous focal point whipped this world. Seems as good a sake as any. But could it be instead that the carrots and our famous item brought us, the dumpster and the world into being? Carrots or no carrots, this thing is out of whichever god damn place our brother fate put it in.”

The two dishevelled dumpster buddies motioned to each other over the silhouettes cast by the god damn glorious moon. Neither friend took their jobs as dumpster vultures as a long term venture. They both believed deep down that the day would come when dumpsters would vulture-ise themselves. One of them, for names were irrelevant in all the deepest of fate bending consequences, spoke thus:

“Hand me that holiest of carrots then. I’d love a nibble.” And indeed that he did nibble, although not quite the carrot he desired. The other buddy, fearing an injustice would come soon enough for the carrots, had handed his friend a radish instead. The mysterious object and the silhouette moon could never be in perfect harmony again.

“This is a radish! A god damn glorious radish, but a radish nonetheless. If only its silhouette had the colour enough to be distinguishable from a carrot. I’d have been safe.”

“But the carrot wouldn’t have been safe, lest alone to have a coloured silhouette. Such a thing must never be.”

“And you, there in your very own choice of dumpster; your very own coloured microcosm, forgive the pain of a radish in order that a carrot - by whom nothing had been indubitably offered by it, to you - be saved? I hope vultures peck what little you have to bare into your multicoloured skull so bright.”

Nothing now stirred this night, yet many motions were in ordered harmony, ready to move together, as one, as a whole. And high above the dumpster buddies, perched in clouds set amidst stratospheric blue, one more of the gods of awareness stirred a sleepy eye, casting vapour back at an Earth so far below.

“Its going to rain my amorphic friend.”

“It already is, and has and will. Surely not tonight oh weeping vessel of many moonbeams. A closed sense takes my radish from me.”

“That to save a carrot which had offered us a curtailed bluster of reality?”

“And fear of truth, oh brother, boils in what side? Out or in? I ask you, speak now brother.”

“Not either side has the answer here dear brother nebulous. We observe the side between in and out this night. Behold the object of our fear thus!”

Buddy second, the consumer of ground dwelling root vegetables, for that name hast now applied itself to his presence, aloft, a lifted, beheld the item a dumpster prenatally had seemed to bare and strike the night, so lost of light, aloft, a lifted, alone this night.

“That is it brother imprecise. The sky speaks our praise!”

“Forgiving your radish discrepancy the dumpster’s child holds the key my friend, the door opens!”

Their sky peeled orange petal folds in capitulated cascades - crack, collide the lighted night – the dumpster buddies took form a new, took flight.

The Dumpster Buddies (post-Intro)

Forgiving the blesséd absence of time in all the folds twixt between realities, The Dumpster Buddies rolled into so many moments, twixt so many rambling nano-particles, their unlighted flight was never to end, yet end it did. Like the arrow that, half distance travelled, half again, never reaches its target, so these men, or so called men, did half to half receive no closer feeling to the one that said ‘you have arrived’.
The holy article, so permeated into the dumpster that night, the companion to carrots and that elusive ham sandwich, was none other than one Multidesk, thrown out by one single of many infinite Rejuvenators in a fit of anger at his reality. Such was that reality, and such the many folds twixt between the realities, that the desk arrived in the dumpster vulture’s paradise, their home.
So now – be it a dream, an image, a focal headland through all infinite-nature’s peninsulas – those brothers fell to another median time, middle place. Removed from their dumpster world, twixt between the folds they tumbled. Arriving past the half distance travelled, to land, ironically thus, in another dumpster in that other Earth, that planet Earth, our mother Earth.

“This surely could never be, for want of a better phrase: home?”

“I do believe dear brother tenuous that some homes are more real than others.”

Speaking thus, as together was apart, The Dumpster Buddies set quivering columns of flesh and bone on mother soil. Sol did vividness in requiem exclaim ‘I have witnessed unto this globe these as yet unknowns.’ And so - for to reclaim set superposition to truth, set quantum fluctuation to absolute – those brothers grasped mother soil at once, set foot outside the microcosmic dumpster. That holiest of relics; that languid resonance of unreality - the Multidesk - was known to rest, alone, in jest, and at no request, in that dumpster, that mess. The mother sky spoke out on so called men whom mother moon had never shone upon, would never. The day was young, the fate bound in one leap to afternoon, for fate convexed this god damn glorious day - this mother morning.

Thursday, April 07, 2005


Boredom captured my very soul this day,
wept neatly my interior,
bloom meditative arrow heads
piercing solitude,
rupture space time latitude and longitude
make the moments - lest I be smote down by a passing lightning bolt;

Figure stood,
black sheet of night a clouding fold across my very profilic after taste
pegging wanton destructive urge to leap the sky,
paste red rose paint until body crumples,
spent of inner wakened states,
REM decrease,
there on the open field as the pulse of fate makes waste my haste
lends me a moonbeam,
plays my cards out face down, ace to spades no joke.


Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Ten Years Since Tokyo Attack... RANT...

As Shoko Asahara has awaited the death penalty for his leadership of this seemingly crazed cult 10 years have passed, yet our ability to react to terrorism seems to have little evolved beyond barbarism. Will there ever be another subway gas attack or train station bombing, and if there is, are we any more ready to deal with them than we were those 10 long years ago?

Socially and politically much positive social change can be perceived since the Tokyo subway attack. But parallel with that change our governments and media have become highly skilled in the manufacturing of the real killer behind terrorism; the weapon of fear. Instilled, worldwide fear over such activities helps widen social boundaries and make stark the world's religious and cultural differences. It's when our somewhat reactionary cultures can tackle the deeply rooted problems in the world that cause terrorism, that true social and political progress is more likely to be found.


Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Homo Flore-marxsis... RANT...

The discovery of our new hominid cousin Homo Floresiensis, I believe, is something to celebrate. Human beings are often conditioned to perceive themselves as somehow being outside of nature. Under religious headings Mankind is frequently posited as a ruler of God's kingdom (i.e. the natural universe). And in humanistic philosophies Mankind is encouraged to grasp with both hands the lucky advantage nature has given us and use it for the good of the Earth, for the good of the natural world and for the bettering of Mankind itself.

What scientifically shattering discoveries such as Homo Floresiensis prove is that our conceptions can never be misinterpreted as truth. For in the uncovering of yet another trickle in the Homo bloodline, I believe, we can see how blind we really are and how misconceived our perceptions on the world around us can truly be.

Homo Sapiens are nothing special, we are just the lucky gene pool to have risen through the quagmire of time. We may well be the creatures who have made the biggest impact on the environment we see around us, but that environment is not eternal and neither are we. It could just have easily have been our other cousins, the Neanderthal, who filled the evolutionary niche that the end of the ice age provided for us; it could equally have been us, the Homo Sapien, who died out instead. What the discovery of Homo Floresiensis proves, beyond doubt, is that the evolutionary line did not stop with us at some peak of natural potency. Homo Floresiensis evolved from Homo Erectus, our shared pre-historical father.

The discovery of Homo Floresiensis surely proves that Man is nature's, and not
the other way round.

...and so onwards...