From the archives: Arthur Chance and the Lacuna Breeze

A short story by Leigh Wright originally published in the very first issue of Wyrd Daze, a one-off print version limited to 50 copies, released on The Ephemeral Man‘s 1st Birthday: 6.6.2013.

Inspired by Michael Moorcock’s Jerry Cornelius stories.

Intrepid flâneur Arthur Chance has been summoned by King Tarquin Spurious to rescue his daughter, Lucretia, who has been possessed by one of four chaotic invading entities, the Chymos.

Contains a Beefeater, proboscis sex and atonal avant-garde choir drone.

Arthur drove the Silver Ghost up to the golden gates of the palace and honked the horn.
A humourless Beefeater in the indigo regalia of House Spurious approached the car, expertly twirling his short staff with a practiced nonchalance. “State your business” he commanded.

“Tarquin requested an audience. The name’s Arthur Chance. Don’t be a bore now, let me in, there’s a good chap.”

The Beefeater clicked a button on his staff and it began to glow “If His Majesty has requested your presence, your appointment will be logged and it’ll only take a moment to check. Keep your hands on the wheel while I call it in.”

Arthur sighed, but complied. The Beefeater spoke into his comm unit, eyes flickering disappointment as Arthur’s legitimacy was confirmed. He pointed with his staff toward the golden gates as they swung open.

“Keep calm and carry on,” said Arthur. He drove into the palace grounds, past a green lawn distastefully scattered with statues and flowers beds. The western wing of the palace complex was overshadowed by the immense baroque Cathedral of the Third-Eye that pierced the low grey sky authoritatively. To the East, the gardens continued around and behind the palace. Beyond all that the City loomed: abysmal, vibrant and teeming.

The palace itself was impressive enough, with a grand central rotunda and four floors of rooms in the main building. It was not the only palace in the City, and Tarquin Spurious was not the only king; Arthur was at least vaguely acquainted with several of them, though he made no particular effort toward socialising with royalty.

A pompous butler led Arthur into a grand receiving chamber garishly festooned, tapestried and furnished. Arthur made a beeline for the decanter and poured himself a large stiff one while he waited. It was almost consumed by the time the King entered.

“Arthur, thank you for answering my call so swiftly…”

“You threatened to have me proclaimed heretic by your supercilious Sisterhood of the Third-Eye.”

“Not my Sisterhood, Arthur. I am effectively subservient to them. Without their patronage my territorial sovereignty would soon lose its legitimacy. Why else do you think I insist my subjects are subjugated by that foolish creed? Fifteen years of twice weekly musique concrete and atonal avant-garde choir drone services has quite taken its toll. But the abstinence from sex is intolerable and has directly resulted in my daughter’s heinous possession by the dread Chymos! So please forgive my crude method of summoning you, I was desperate for your help and couldn’t risk delay!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and poured himself another. “I do not take kindly to threats, Tarquin, but will let it slide for now. Forgive me for asking, but do you know for a fact that your daughter is possessed and not just acting as daughters are wont to do?”

“What I would give that it was just a princess’ tantrum giving me grief! No – my poor Lucretia has been taken. Possessed, she taunted me, telling me how damagingly suppressive her life has been, that she had finally taken to masturbation despite the law of abstinence, but guilt and shame overwhelmed her and allowed the glorious revelation of Chymos intervention – not my words, obviously! Then she flipped me the finger and told me she was off to live a short life of vice. I tried to stop her, but she shot six of my guard with my own Uzi micro and rode off in a jeep. You have to help me, Arthur!”


King Tarquin had begun to lament about not confessing the truth to his daughter about the clandestine flexibility of the abstinence from sex creed of the Order of the Third-Eye. Indeed, his own sexual exploits with Sister Murphy of the Order apparently included bondage, flagellation and cross-dressing roleplay.  He sobbed quite pathetically into a silk handkerchief, whining that if he had only let Lucretia in on the secret, she wouldn’t have had to feel such guilt and shame whilst exploring her own desires, and so would not have left herself open to possession. Quite true, of course.

Arthur excused himself as quickly as he could, promising to make every effort to find the princess, but being sure to carefully articulate that a successful outcome could not be guaranteed, no matter what rumours of Arthur’s abilities the King might have chosen to believe. And there would be reward no matter the outcome. Tarquin agreed.

There are four strains of Chymos; some call them Gods and worship them as such: Sanguina, Chole, Melancholy and Phlegma. Arthur knew that it must be an aspect of Sanguina that had possessed princess Lucretia, for its motivations are principally experiential and amorous. There had yet been no indication of any Chymos agenda other than expression of their inherent nature in manifest form, since the first outbreak of possession six years ago. Arthur was the only person to have crossed into the Chymos realm and returned.     

The Silver Ghost glided into a lift lane and braked in the appropriate zone. That segment of road then descended four levels, and the Ghost continued on its way. Arthur had some idea as to what kind of places the possessed princess might visit, but The City was vast and intense. A single body could get well lost with ease. He rolled down the window and deployed a hundred thousand spymites, then made a few calls.

He eventually tracked the princess down to an establishment called Dreams of absent-minded Transgression. Face recognition software infiltrated the entrance surveillance cameras and confirmed that the princess was inside, spymites locating her within a pleasure dome on the second floor of the building. Arthur made his way inside, the security scan registering his Modulator as exotic tech, but not recognising its potential application as a weapon.

The ground floor was the main club area, pulsating beats with psych-haunt undertones thrilling the crowds on the hologramatic dance floor, spectral hard-light formations enticing flesh. Ramps led down to subterranean levels, spiral staircases seemingly the only way to ascend. Arthur took one of these, squeezed past the loiterers who craved random bodily contact, casually snapped the finger of a rube who tried to pick his pocket, then paused at the top to look over the balcony. From above, the throng on the dance floor looked like a writhing pool of primordial alien matter striving for sentience. Arthur felt a pang of desire to join in the blissful oblivion, then turned and made his way down the neon corridors, turning left into Noviol Gold. He accessed the real-time feed from the spymites of the princess indulging herself with four other people, two of them quite heavily modded with proboscises and other stimulation implants.

A right into Seacrest, then left into Coral Pink – manic neon grins from the roisterers tripping to or from pleasure domes, sensorium-tanks, anti-grav zones, pleasure/pain pods, whatever. Arthur reached his destination and overrode the lock. Ethereal orchestral drone emanated from rows of speakers set into the floor, mingling with sounds of sex. Kaleidoscopic psychedelic images were projected onto the domed walls, whilst hard-light fireworks burst sporadically into the air.

Arthur drew his Modulator and approached the bedded centre of the dome, where five bodies intertwined: proboscises, cocks, caruncles, fingers, lips, and tongues all engaged in princess Lucretia’s pleasure. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to cease and desist of your possession of the princess, Sanguina.”

Lucretia gazed coquettishly at Arthur, her body moving rhythmically. She removed something from her mouth and said, “There’s no need to be afraid, Arthur. Why don’t you join in?”

Arthur smiled. “We engaged at our last meeting. I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression; I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

Lucretia’s eyes rolled, her body shuddering orgasmically as the ambient projections and music crescendoed sympathetically. It took her a few moments to reply. “I was a thirty-two year old man then. Now I’m a peachy nineteen year old young woman. Are you quite sure you won’t indulge? You can have me to yourself, if you prefer…”

Arthur brandished his Modulator. “If you refuse, I’ll use this.”

A proboscis lashed out in an attempt to swat the Modulator from Arthur’s hand, but he evaded and squeezed the trigger. The modded individual fell to the floor, spasming. The three other mods decided it was time to leave. Lucretia’s glistening skin shimmered, her form becoming indistinct. “Oh no you don’t,” said Arthur, adjusting the Modulator and pulling the trigger again.

The princess re-materialized and screamed, her hands clutching her head as if it might explode. “You’ll kill her!” she wailed.

Arthur took his finger off the trigger. “Sacrificing one life in order to cause you inconvenience doesn’t seem too bad a trade. Either way, you’re not taking her.”

The last remaining mod recovered from their spasming enough to stagger out of the dome. Arthur sighed. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Sanguina. Leave the girl, come to me, and let’s get you home.”

Lucretia raised herself up on her elbows and pouted. “I was so enjoying this body. It really is lusciously vernal…”

Arthur had to admit that it was.

Lucretia’s face became vacant and a haze emanated from her pores, drifting towards Arthur. He tucked the Modulator into his jacket pocket and mentally prepared himself. Possession felt quite odd indeed, his inner being expanding as Sanguina merged with him. He could only imagine the terrible suffocation suffered by people who couldn’t retain their sense of self whilst being possessed, which was everyone else, as far as Arthur knew. His ability gave him a unique relationship with the Chymos that was regrettably no longer secret, hence his current predicament.

When he felt Sanguina’s sentience awaken within him, Arthur said, “Right then, shall we go?” Lucretia, slowly regaining awareness, stared aghast as Arthur shimmered and vanished, leaving her naked and confused in the psychedelic dome.


Arthur/Sanguina manifest on a chunk of barren rock with a diameter of about forty metres, floating within a lacuna in the Chymos expanse. Sanguina hazed out of Arthur and coalesced into a Scylla: long undulating serpentine body with humanoid female torso and bestial head. “My siblings and I find you fascinating,” it hissed. “We were wondering when we’d see you again. They’ll be so jealous that it was I who brought you here.”

Arthur tried to will himself back to his own reality, but nothing happened.

“We believe we’ve found a way to keep you from escaping; our little lacuna. I hope you can appreciate all the effort we’ve gone to. You must feel quite special.”

A lightning-streaked maelstrom swirled into being in the void above them. The rock cracked open and an obsidian three-headed dog leapt out and barked once, volcanically. A giant materialised before them and stared down at Arthur despondently with its one rheumy eye.

Sanguina gave a razor-tooth grin. “Ah, here they are!”

Arthur was perturbed. He had grown presumptuous of his ability to escape the Chymos expanse and would pay the consequences. Melancholy grabbed him with its giant hand, and Chole secreted three small granite boxes from within its maelstrom, which fell to the rock below. Phlegma bit off Arthur’s hands with a snarl, then his feet, then his cock and balls. Sanguina filled each of the granite boxes with parts, then manifested a pike and a sword, piercing the rock with the pike so it stood upright. Finally, she grabbed Arthur’s hair with her left hand, chopped off his head with three swings of the sword, and impaled it on the pike. Melancholy threw what was left of Arthur’s body into Chole’s maelstrom. Satisfied, the Chymos divvied up the boxes (Sanguina taking cock and balls) and returned to the expanse, leaving the barren rock spinning gently in the lacuna breeze.

“Bollocks,” Arthur gurgled glumly.


Wyrd Daze: Moon City & Wyrd Claw giveaway!

Wyrd Daze is the e-zine of speculative fiction + extra-ordinary music, art & writing!

Moon City & Wyrd Claw

Generously donated to Wyrd Daze by @RealSardonicus

Wyrd Daze was born from the desire to curate a place where extraordinary art, music and writing mingle to create something unique, a place where independent creativity is encouraged and supported.

Wyrd Daze offers an alternative model for supporting the arts that rejects the current trend of “algorithmic culture,” where content is sorted (or rejected), categorised and streamed to us by corporations that reap most of the profits, leaving most creators barely able to make anything, let alone a living, from their art.

Wyrd Daze is free to view or download. We seek patronage from those able and willing to spare a few coins a month to create a revenue with which to pay contributors to the zine.

Wyrd Daze on Patreon

Through the generosity of current patrons we are proudly able to offer between $40 – $60 per contribution – more than many “semi-pro” zines and websites. Our aim is to keep growing our community, and with it, support for independent creativity.

Patronage also supports Wyrd Daze curator Leigh Wright (currently talking about himself in the third person), who crafts sonic paintings, art and writing as The Ephemeral Man and is world-building and writing fiction in his Zenith’s Edge multiverse – much of this content featured in Wyrd Daze.

In aid of this drive for patronage for Wyrd Daze, @RealSardonicus has very generously donated the 3D-printed marvels Moon City and Wyrd Claw – and there’s an extra glow-in-the-dark Moon City too! A giveaway for each of these prizes will be triggered upon reaching certain goals on the Wyrd Daze Patreon. All current patron names will go into a hat or other suitable receptacle, with a winner chosen at random.

Moon City giveaway triggered when we reach $100 per month
Wyrd Claw giveaway triggered at $125 per month
Glow-in-the-dark Moon City giveaway triggered at $150 per month

These items can be shipped anywhere in the world, courtesy of @RealSardonicus
– a very splendid fellow indeed!

Wyrd Daze on Patreon

Moon City
Wyrd Claw

There are various perk levels available to patrons, including access to patron-only posts, the Wyrd Daze archive and an option to have physical items occasionally sent to you in the mail (in the works!).

There is also the the limited “Six Green Envelopes” perk, where recipients are sent six creative and philosophical instructions and have at least a 1/6 chance to win The Book of Ephemera – the lovely note book pictured below (approx 11 1/2 x 8 inches) filled with art & writing by The Ephemeral Manto be given away on 6.6.19 (The Ephemeral Man’s 7th birthday)

The Book of Ephemera

Art makes us think more deeply, strive more intently, and feel joy more profoundly. Creativity in all its forms brings further meaning to our lives, allowing us to explore existence and communicate our explorations to the world. Wyrd Daze is the embodiment of that for me.

Patronage perks start from as little as $1 per month. You can also support Wyrd Daze by spreading the word – your enthusiasm and enjoyment is invaluable!

I would like to offer hearty thanks and huge appreciation to all those that have supported Wyrd Daze thus far.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Keep it wyrd!

Wyrd Daze on Patreon

Wyrd Daze Five : The Phoenix Guide to Strange England: Hookland

Wyrd Daze Five is live!
Best experienced with the PDF zine
which you can access here.


Hookland has a surfeit of quiet villages, almost managing to achieve their ambition of sleeping through the twentieth century. Among that number is Elmsley. Stretching in its slumber along the old market road that travels from the north of the county towards Hook, it is an unhurried dream of stone and timber cottages that ends in a mediaeval church and a shaded green.

However, like most of rural England, Elmsley’s peace and attempt at atemporality has been troubled by the invention of the automobile.
Fitful visits by motoring pioneers soon gave way to steady passage of tourers and eventually became the current harassment by traffic. It is also the car that gives the village both strange haunting and a most unusual byelaw.

At just after noon on Saturday, August 17th 1957, the cream and red Austin Westminster of Mr. Harvey Caldwell came towards Elmsley at near its top speed of 85 mph. Caldwell did not slow down as he approached the stone bridge marking the northern entrance to the village. In the harsh trajectory of predictable tragedy, the vehicle punched through one of the bridge’s walls and into the River Abna.

The Jordan family who were picnicking on the riverbank close to the bridge saw the Westminster claimed by the water. In testimony to the Coroner’s court,
Mr. John Jordan said: “My daughters and wife were shrieking as I ran towards the river.
I took off my shoes and jacket and dived in. With the mud and sediment thrown up
by the crash it was difficult to see anything.
I came up, filled my lungs and went back down and located the car.

The driver, a man I now know to be Harvey Caldwell, was slumped over the wheel, but the women – one in the passenger seat, one in the back – were pounding on the glass, trying to get out. I tried the doors repeatedly. They just would not open.

“I came up for air and went back down to try and smash the glass two more times, but gave up when the beating against the windows stopped. When I surfaced for the last time, all I could hear was a the sound of screaming. My wife, the girls, were
hysterical and had not gone for help.”

When the rescue services eventually retrieved the car from the river, it contained two bodies which the with police identified as Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell. There was no trace of the third occupant that John Jordan claimed to have seen. Despite intensive investigation, it was never established whether Jordan was mistaken and there was no other
passenger or whether the mysterious woman had managed to escape the drowning doom of the married couple she shared the car with.
Although the deaths were ruled as misadventure, no satisfactory
answer to why Caldwell was driving so fast has ever emerged. 

In the usual evolution of tragic event to ghost story, the tale would see the spot of accident haunted by the spirits of the Caldwells.
Yet, in the years that followed what has been reported is the sound of the still-living
Mrs. Jordan and her two daughters
screaming from the riverbank as temporal echo. The trauma cycle of witness refusing to be broken by the teeth of time.

The hearing of screaming became such a concern locally that the Parish Council, convinced it was the work of practical jokers, voted in a new byelaw. It prohibited: ‘Shrieking, screaming, screeching or crying in a way that suggests distress within sight of the riverbank or bridge at all times.’ Unfortunately, this unusual measure failed to prevent continued reports of the upsetting sound.  Even as recently as 1978, two German foreign-exchange students staying in the village who had no prior knowledge of the story. told their hosts that they had heard ‘hysterisch schreiend’ coming from an invisible source while walking along the Abna.

Although all of the Jordan family were reluctant to speak to the press or to investigators into psychic phenomena for many years, they temporally broke their silence after the Daily Mirror ran a tenth anniversary piece on odd accidents. The article had featured a recent picture of the bridge and riverside where the calamity had occurred. When reading it, Mr. Jordan, spotted a woman on the bridge looking towards the camera. He then contacted paper trying to find any details of who she was, claiming: “It was the woman in the back of the car. That face has haunted my fevers, my nightmares for a decade.
I know it was her.”

Mrs. Jordan also spoke publicly for the first time since the inquest into the deaths of the Caldwells, telling the Daily Mirror:
“I am thoroughly sick of people talking about my daughters and I as if we were some triad of banshees. I don’t believe any of this ghostly nonsense about a ‘scream spot’. I place the blame squarely on my husband for claiming we were hysterical. After 24 years of marriage I can tell you that he has always proven inadequate in dealing with emotion in others – whether it comes from shock of seeing a terrible accident unfold or his own daughters upset at their pet cat Arthur dying of old age.”

David Southwell is an author of several published books on true crime and
conspiracies, which have been translated into a dozen languages.

However, these days,
he mostly writes about place.

Creator of the @HooklandGuide


Wyrd Daze Five : ReVerse Butcher

Wyrd Daze Five is live!
Best experienced with the PDF zine
which you can access here.

ReVerse Butcher

Pair of Portraits (1/2) – Self Portrait (2017)
Ink, acrylic, gold leaf. 
Pair of Portraits (2/2) – Kylie Supski (2017)
Ink, acrylic, gold leaf. 

ReVerse Butcher is a multi-disciplinary artist with focuses in making unique artist’s books, collages, visual art, writing & performance. She will use any medium necessary to engage and subvert reality until it is less dull and oppressive. When she grows up she wants to be a well-read recluse. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia.

ReVerse Butcher performing at COLLAGE live event 27/01/2019
photography by Kylie Supski 
ReVerse Butcher performing at COLLAGE live event 27/01/2019
photography by Kylie Supski 

“Here is a timelapse (2019) of ‘Songdom of God’. Used as live projections for COLLAGE (our live multimedia collage group). Made from cut up parts of the bible:”

“The Revenge” (appears in “Somewhere Dismembering”, Artists Book 2012.
Analogue collage, cut-up & erasure poetry)

When did poetry first find you and what was your reaction?

Poetry found me in my teens. It found me via music, theatre, and public libraries.
I had an early love for it.

Collaborative collage between ReVerse Butcher & Kylie Supski (2018)
“Black (W)hole Swallow”. Digital Collage, illustration, photography, calligram. 

When did you first begin expressing yourself with poetry
and how did it affect your life?

I started writing in my teens, which lead to attending local poetry readings. The way it most affected my life was finding a network of new things to read, listen to, go seek out.
It also put me in a strange position where the majority of my social group were, at minimum, 10 years older than me. I had clocked poetry as an excellent medium for disruption, because it was, at that time, largely unmediated. It seemed like the closest thing I could find to one of Hakim Bey’s “Temporary Autonomous Zones”. Nobody was watching, which meant anything could happen. So it also affected my early life in that it gave me a great playground to start experimenting & creating weird art.

I read in a previous interview that you used to sneak into open mic poetry nights at bars before you were of legal age. Can you tell us about some of your experiences around that time?

I started going to poetry readings when I was 17, so just before my 18th birthday. Some of them were in bars in afternoon sessions, a few in cafes later at night. I lived in a slightly isolated place at that time – so getting to and from some of these events was harder than gaining access! I wasn’t interested at all in drinking, so – as long as I didn’t approach the bar, or drink anything, I didn’t run into any trouble, and didn’t cause anyone any trouble.
I just wanted to listen, and perform.

“Here is the bandcamp for my spoken word/noise project,
“Slow Process” (2014)”

“Our Lady of the Visionary Way” (2018)
 Analogue Collage, illustration, ink, acrylic, gold leaf.

Then you embarked upon your first international tour when you were 25 –
what was that like?

I wrote extensive journals during that period of my life. I have since burned the journals.
It was a thrilling & very isolating period of time. I learned a lot about misogyny first hand. But, as to specifics… what happens on the road, stays on the road. 

You work in a variety of mediums and enjoy collaboration:
what is it that drives you toward experimentation in this way?

Language is magical, it builds every aspect of our identities, world(s), control systems, relationships, power(s), as well as all the ways that we qualify and quantify how we know anything. Writing is slippery, it’s not native or static to any one form(at). My goal in my creative life is to break language. I want to see what happens to power, and consciousness, and the status quo when we shatter language.  What would different methodologies for building literally everything look like? What could we achieve, or feel, or learn, or share if we had access to something like that? This is why I will use any medium necessary to subvert reality until it is less dull and oppressive.

If you could collaborate with any person, living or dead, who would it be, why, and what would you do?

Your heroes will disappoint you every time. It’s a rule in life. Don’t have heroes, follow the lines of inquiry. But I’m collaborating with some pretty dreamboat people right about now! My partner in art and life Kylie Supski is my #1 favourite collaborator (so aren’t I lucky?). I’ve also got a pretty great line-up of regular collaborators at the moment, including Josh Pollock, Chris Wenn, COLLAGE (a multimedia group in Melbourne feat. Roger Alsop, Yoram Symons, Sophie Rose & others). I’m working on a collaborative accordion style artist’s book with James Knight at the moment called Discordion. Basically, if we are both on a similar line of inquiry (or ones that intersect in an interesting way), you are quite possibly that person. Get in touch.

“Bacterial Girl”, 2018. Digital Collage.

How would you describe your art?

A multi-modal, highly-focused, very-meticulous, total mess.

How would you describe your process?

An attempt to silence a barrel full of bees, 
drunk, with a hammer, under water

How would you describe yourself? 

What,today? Or yesterday? Future-ReV? Alternate reality ReV? ReV as she is to me?
To Her? Or to you? Different every time.

Would you say you are more structured or free-form in your creative process?

I create complex structure(s) to provide adequate containers for free-formed work.

Do you like your creative space cluttered or tidy? Do you work with quiet or music?

I like it organised. I don’t know if my definition matches either ‘cluttered’ or ‘tidy’.
It depends on the project, or what I need to make it. My computer files are meticulous, but I superglued my fingers to a desk last week, and I currently can’t get paint out of my purple wig. Make sense? Music always.

How would you describe your relationship with words, with language?


How would you describe your relationship with sound, with music?

Nebulous. What even qualifies as music? Is it a language too? Can I disrupt it? Can I paint it? Does it want me to? Yes.

How would you describe your relationship with image, with art?

Bold. Exciting. A brave & irreverent new voice raging against a culture of vapid mass-production. Multi-layered.

Is there a spiritual or mystical yearning in your work?


“The Whole Cut Up Woman”, 2018. Digital Collage.
Collaborative album “Osmosis” (2019)
Graphic score by ReVerse Butcher
Music interpreted, played and recorded by Josh Pollock.

To what extent does a sense of place affect your creativity?

I’ve learned that my best art is done in a place where I feel safe. That being said, I don’t really leave my house unless there is a very compelling reason.

Collaborative album “The Garbage Fire vs. The Fainting Couch” (2017)
 Graphic score by ReVerse Butcher. Music interpreted, played and recorded by Josh Pollock.
(It doesn’t have a ‘right way up’ – it can intentionally
be played/interpreted from any angle/direction)

Is there any specific connection or thread that runs between your works?

Disruption. Experimentation. A sense of playfulness. A sense of rebellion.
An invitation to join in or start your own.
I hope, a sense of joy. If not a sense of joy,
at least a touch of tough love.

Front Cover of “Wild Tongue Vol 2.” (2018)
Hand-painted artists book,
text a collage of lines from content from the zine.
Available from (Wild Tongue Zine)

How would you describe the art scene and culture in Melbourne to someone who has never been there?

Please don’t make me.
I have to live here right now.

I understand you’re working on a multimedia project called
“The Illuminated Manuscripts?”

Yes. It’s a giant spatial poem. Think an illuminated manuscript gone feral in Virtual Reality backed by a badass rock band. Think burning books that never ash. Think living bookworlds that are 40 feet above you, and 40 feet below you and you’re floating in space. Think a writhing glitterpoem the size of a football field. Live and recorded poets doing original works, breaking language, re-contextualising meaning, unwriting books, and remixing & collaging texts.

I’m starting to livestream the creative process of making all this on Twitch from
March 2019 (
Tune in if you’re into it.

“The 5th C” is a videopoem published 28th January at Burning House Press

 A timelapse of ‘A Visionary Outraged’ (2018), an erasure/collage poem

“Here is a v-log of me talking about altered books
(my own and that of Christine Strelan, Nimbin-based artist) in 2014.”

“Here is a track that I did guest vocals with band
“Third Sky”, called “Meow Inhibitor” (2011)”

Video of live performance from the 
“On The Rod, An Artists Book” launch in Nov 2018

pp. 20-21 from “On The Rod, An Artists Book” (2018)
Portrait of Circus the Interdimensional Prince(ss). 
pp. 116-117 from “On The Rod, An Artists Book” (2018)
Analogue collage, erasure & cut-up poem, ink, coloured pencil, acrylic, glue.
pp. 174-175 from “On The Rod, An Artists Book” (2018)
Portrait of Australian feminist poet, Liz Hall-Downs.

Illustration, ink, paper, glue, acrylic.   
pp. 206-207 from “On The Rod, An Artists Book” (2018)
Portrait of Kerry Loughrey. Ink, paper, glue, acrylic. 

What else are you working on in the moment?

1. An experimental multimedia production of John Cage’s “Lecture on Nothing“. 

2. COLLAGE happens LAST SUNDAY of the month at The Burrow in
Melbourne, until at least March.

3. An ongoing performance poetry/experimental music project with Chris Wenn.

4. ‘Pinhole Theory’, a collaborative collage chapbook with Kylie Supski.

5. ‘Mad Boy’ is my next solo long-form collage book, which scissors up
Gustav Flaubert’s  ‘Madame Bovary’
& Louise Colet’s ‘Lui: View of Him’.
Poets have been talking shit about each other since time began, but these two stand in for a very formidable oppressive patriarchal dynamic I’d like to attend to.

6. I’m working on live-streaming more of both the making and the performance of my analogue and digital art adventures so that I can engage with a diverse & international range of creative communities.

You’ll be able to see & support developments on ALL of these projects online.

Come check me out here: (

or come find me on twitter