The Book of the Future

Boba Squat got off from work early and came to meet me in a dusk zone. He seemed a little bothered, somewhat grumpy. I asked him what was up but he declined to comment.

“Here…” he said “Take a look at this book.”

He handed me a coffee table style publication, it was one of those DK guidebooks and this one was full of Star Wars and futuristic cities.

Boba said “Look at this; did you know that H.R Giger was a planet designer in Star Wars until Lucasfilm went bust?”

There on the page in question, were fantastical illustrations of alien cities , weird enough to make a jaw drop.

“Lucasfilm went bust…” I muttered, registering the unlikely nature of the statement. Before I could contemplate this point further, I turned another page to see a different kind of city. This was a sprawling campus of technological magnitude that was matched equally by its highly creative denizens, it seemed to go on forever. So much so, the details in the imagery extended beyond the pages in my hands and surrounded me completely until I was immersed in a corridor, standing on a glowing glass floor  and gawping at the fractal etched tubular panelling that extended in front and beyond me.

I’m not sure where my friend was at this point, too many other distractions to contemplate. Narrations drifted past my ears like information in whisper form…

“These objects revolutionised immersive entertainment…”

“The creative team wanted to make a world that felt as real as possible for the players…”

“Once you were in, for the duration, it was impossible to tell that you were actually playing…”

A portal door in the tube wall beside me slid open, I stepped through into a cavernous room and recognised the hostess who had come to greet me.

“Blimey, you’re that actress who played Henry the Eighth’s wife!” (Tamzin Merchant) I proclaimed. She was quite beautiful.

It turned out that she actually  hadn’t played anyone. She was the hostess, it was just a quirky detail that I’d projected her face into the experience of remembering in the first place. This was getting confusing. Mandelbulb objects drifted around the hostess’s head like alien satellites, while she waited patiently for me to ‘get it.’ She sighed and said

“What you are experiencing is technology, the most advanced technology there is, just relax there’s no need to understand it yet…” There was a geometric, glowing glass shape in her hands, It was really starting to catch my attention…

Then suddenly I became aware that It was that thing I keep calling ‘morning‘ again.

Fragment #2

In the hinterland I begin to realise that my feet are equally at home in this world and another.

Fragment #1

“After I’d entered the art gallery – come cafe, my attention was quickly drawn to the flowery woman sucking my big toe. For fucks sake! Why was she sucking my bloody toe ?! How inappropriate.”

Johnny Juice.

*Judith Kirkland’s Little Emporium of Surreal Ephemera seemed to be doing well, located in the shade of St.Andrew’s  in that fine city of Norwichsmouth. A small brass bell tinkled as I strolled through the front door and saw her beaming skeletal smile as a first point of greeting. The shop’s interior was a dark affair in spite of it’s mainly glass door and display window. The contents were a combination of things that you would love to own but would never buy for the generally unlikelihood of their existence. My attention then turned to Judith. Five ft tall, quite scrawny, hair in a Cleopatra bob, slightly native American features with large neat white teeth that somehow  reminded one of the skull that was home to  them.

It had to be said that Judith was looking at least twenty years younger than when I’d last seen her in the common world. With  a loud Yankee voice that could launch a thousand migraines , she shrilled


before flinging her overly enthusiastic spindly arms around my shoulders and planting a smacker on my lips. I chose to ignore the fleeting brush of her probing tongue as it lasted a split second, although the incident was mentally noted with a concealed  mild disgust.

“Judith, you’re looking really well….no, you’re looking great!”

I said whilst focussing on the positive. She drawled

“Thank you honey, my secret is in this jarrrrrrr”

(Deep breath)

Judith whipped up a small , slightly ornate glass pot containing a watery substance with a pinkish tinge and a pearly glob of something floating in it.

“Go awwwwn. try some” she said as she thrust the container  towards me.

“Um, what’s In it Judith?”  I asked cautiously.

“Welll honey, it’s got some Rose water…”

“Uh-huh, what else?”

“and It’s got some soda water…”

“Yes, Judith but what else does it have?”

“It’s got some… Johnny Depp’s spunk.”

The End of the Line.

I found myself lying in an surgical operating theatre. Looking down the length of my body I could see that I had become bones, like some excavated remains from an archeological dig spread out in order on a metallic table. How could I have reached this point? To my left the theatre double doors swung open and my surgeon Dr Sharp strolled in nonchalantly.

“I’m afraid there’s no alternative…” he said. “I’m going to have to saw away your Femur just above the right knee. This will cause you to go into cardiac arrest and then you’ll die. Don’t worry, you’ll be breathing in plenty of gas while it happens and you won’t feel a thing.”

His surgical ‘matter of fact’ tone did nothing to comfort me as my poor heart reached a terrifying rhythm of utter despair.  His words became pictures, my skeleton lay there helpless, the beeping  sound of the  heart monitor accelerated as I watched the bone being cut…I could hear the flatline noise as everything faded to black.

(Fade to black)

A little while later, still lying on the operating table, I regained consciousness. Everything seemed cold, sterile and grey in there. I looked down my skeleton body again and it seemed that  my Femur had somehow re-joined itself. For all the good that would do me! I called out for someone, anyone to come and help me. I was so alone and afraid. The silence of the theatre was almost tangible.

Nobody came.

Eventually someone did come along, I thought it was another doctor, he looked like he should be, he wore  the standard white hospital doctors coat, he had that whole air of ‘consultant’ about him.

I told him I was glad he was there and asked if anyone was coming to fetch me out of here. His response was smirkingly arrogant and cold.

“Of course nobody’s coming to fetch you, you died, you’re DEAD. Dead people don’t get fetched.”

He took his arrogant little face out of the operating theatre while my corpse lay stunned and motionless on the cold metal table it had just died upon. I don’t think I’d ever felt so alone.

I think it was around then that I began to sob uncontrollably. Somehow through the blur of my dead tears I transitioned from the hospital to the edge of a rail network. I knew this place, I’ve been here several times throughout nocturnal life. It’s the  rail station for all souls. All lines begin and terminate here and the tracks you can see radiating out from this place stretch so far and wide that one begins to see infinity at the sight of it all.

I didn’t want to go there. NOT NOW! In desperation, between racking sobs, I blundered around at the edge of the tracks before spotting a solitary train line disappearing into a small arched tunnel.

Without thinking too greatly about what this meant, I staggered inside and began my journey away from the station. The solitary track by my feet started to look decayed after wandering down for a few meters, then I noticed that the lights above my head were dimming…taking a few steps further, I became aware that the tunnel before me was becoming black and lightless. I could hear rats scurrying around in the dark. I muttered to myself

“This way madness lies.”

My dead heart sunk further, for I knew I must turn back, I knew that my options now had narrowed down to one. I had to go to the station.I have no recollection of the steps I must have taken when turning back, nor do I recall any of the landscape, literal or emotional that led back to the central station, yet I found myself somehow at the heart of it all… White tiled tubes like the London Underground, hundreds of souls passing me from every direction, moving with purpose and intent, each on its own journey.

I noticed the glass window of a ticket booth in the wall adjacent to me. I approached it to see a slightly rotund middle aged looking woman with thick black rimmed spectacles and her hair in a bob gazing at me dispassionately.

“I think I need to take a journey.” I said.

“You’ll need to give me your identity and all your experiences.” she replied in a terse manner.

I felt tears welling up in my vision again and the sense that my dead heart was being ripped from my chest via my lungs.

“If you take my name  and all my experiences and from me, then I will lose everything I’ve ever known and loved!” I cried.

The ticket lady gave a disgruntled sigh then responded.

“Oh come on, don’t make such a fuss, you’ve done this how many times before?”

(Fade to white)

Blue Fluffy Mouse, Towering Victorian House.

My wife in the throes of passion didn’t see the view beyond her shoulder of the field mouse scurrying across the bedroom floor.

Nor did she notice when later,when I cornered the rodent using a transparent tube. She probably would have screamed when the mouse shot up the tube and started spinning like a little Tasmanian devil. My fist shuddered with the gyroscopic forces of the Mus musculus doing its turns. If it then escaped, well, then I’d have some explaining to do!

There was only one thing for it, I walloped the rodent on the skull with a wooden back-scratcher to slow it down. The mouse turned bright blue and fluffy, dazed and visibly concussed. I suddenly felt shame. What had I done? Would the little fella survive such an unkind thwack?

I carried him in the tube out to my garden and watched as he groggily wobbled out of the tube and sluggishly crawled away into the undergrowth. Oh dear.

As I lifted my head to observe the rest of the garden, I became fully aware of how it stretched out so much further than I’d previously noticed. I then noticed a Victorian house of magnificent proportions, it must have been at least fifteen storeys high. Punctuated with  black cast iron  drain pipes, and balconies, it’s splendour was in its sheer scale.

“Oh Tanya would love to live in this.” I thought, but then I quickly reminded myself that the bills in such places can be horrendous. I then started to walk out of the garden and around the towering house into a busy street in the city of Bristath. Day had turned to night and I became aware that while I’d badly dealt with a small blue fluffy creature, and contemplated for a moment living in a building beyond my means, I’d also neglected to tell my wife where I’d gone.

She wouldn’t be happy.

The Spider Under The Bed.

“Look at that spider!”

“Christ it’s big.”

“I’ve never seen one that size in this country before.”

“Quick! Get it before it goes under the bed!”

“Shit, too late.”

“Oh my God, that was only the male, you should see the size of the female….”

“She’s under the bed too.”

The female emerges looking strangely like an angry shopping trolley…with big sharp fangs. Luckily I have steel tongs that are bigger than her mandibles, they lock around her, keeping her hissing venomous form safely away from mine.

I cut her a deal, If she and her mate go away, to the single bed in the middle of the nearby woods, no one will ever bother them again. The bargain is struck.

Later, a teenage boy and his girlfriend are seen sneaking into the woods to make-out and smoke crafty cigarettes. There is a sense of dread, my sight flashes and panics its way to a gruesome scene; the girlfriend has been eaten and her boyfriend has fused with the female spider now slowly disappearing under the mattress of a dirty, damp, decaying bed.

Splattman Returns

I’m Back!

Did you miss me? ;-P

Hey there friend/stranger/random visitor thanks for attending what has been the most boring website in Christendom. I’m sorry I let things slide for so long but then I’ve been busy in the real world and my usual visual creativity has been on extended pregnancy leave. However, as it started spitting out babies a couple of weeks ago I decided that an update to this web domain should be my first port of call.

House Matters:

The section called ‘@Night’ was originally hosted by Blogger and redirected by some html to appear in this site. I’ve now decided to cut out the middle man altogether and just host all content for that blog directly in these pages. It makes sense really and makes my life easier as I will no longer have to log in and create content for here elsewhere. As it stands, all old entries have be transported here. On the down side, you will no longer be able to click on the images to larger versions. I’ve no idea if  that was important to anyone so I’ll assume that it wasn’t.

My ambition is to soon start adding audio content to these pages; stuff that I’ve created. Stay tuned.

The section called ‘Flicks’ has been a royal pain in the bottom. I’ve struggled to find a way of presenting it in the way that I would have liked i.e: A self updating grid of Youtube clips of my choice that shows the most recent favourites and notables first. For the time being, I’m going to take the concept of ‘clip of the week’ and create a news feed of things I think are noteworthy on Youtube. For those of you who like the kind of things I draw attention to, this will be an improvement.

There will gradually be other tweeks and improvements to this domain over the coming weeks, I can’t really elaborate further, things just happen as they come to me. Feedback however, is always welcome.


Several things are drawing to a close in my life at the moment. I’m nearing the end of my NVQ in conservation skills. Hand in hand with that, I’m nearing the end of working with the bloke I did my stone masonry training with. I will now put my focus into securing full time work using all the skills I’ve acquired over the last four years.

I’m 40 in November, so this particular decade of my thirties is starting to draw to a close. I’m acutely aware of it, it feels bittersweet. I’ll divulge more on this in another entry at another time.

I’ve started paying more attention to my garden and gardening. (File under WTF?)

A few weekends ago en route to a day out in the strange town of Glastonbury, I drove past an amazing reclamation yard. It caught my eye because I noticed a Russian tank and a large missile gathering rust near the main entrance.  whilst exploring this awesome place I noticed a Jesus figure in side profile…except there was something really odd about it.

I noticed that its left arm was missing and that the foam inside the fibre glass figure had turned a horrible meaty red.

I think I uttered the words “Oh my God it’s ‘Stump Christ’! His face is horrible!”

“Aaaaaagh my fucking arm!”

My face would have the same expression if my left arm suddenly went missing. Isn’t that just the most bizarre Jesus you’ve ever seen? By all means, I’ve you’ve seen a weirder Jesus figure, feel free to send me a picture.

I’m currently playing Killzone 3 (Full review forthcoming), on the whole I love it. Anyway, the creators Guerilla Games devised a competition recently for fans to make a game trailer. Here’s my entry.

Anyone interested in joining me in blowing shit up and shooting space nazis can usually find me logged in on PSN playing Killzone 3 most nights between 10:30 & 11:30. ID: hiab-x

Well, that’s about it for this entry. Keep coming back, I promise I will make more of an effort to keep this site active and interesting. You can always see if anything new has occurred by logging into the home page. There’s a little text entry near the page title that notes updates.