While I struggled to understand how I could possibly be flying, I lost the ability to fly.
Just before I came crashing to earth I resigned myself that this was it....i was going to die.
The moment I forgot about flying the skill returned and in a matter of minutes I was able to alight safely with my new-found skill as an avian homo-sapien.
Nothing prepared me for the shock of landing for I became aware that I now had four legs and was some form of large cat, possibly a cougar or a panther.
All around me were geometric shapes and each of these shapes had two tones, one of colour and one of sound.
As my eyes flitted from one shape to another they each sounded in turn, producing not music but something much deeper and spiritual.
A musical colour of such exquisite richness that only an odour could represent it, somewhere between honeysuckle and dung..... it reverberated on every surface sending cross-echoes and feedback echoes wherever it bounced.
And boy did it bounce!!!!
Every now and then a shape would glow and shimmer and resonate at a new tone...... a tone that no-one but I had ever heard..... it felt that no-one would ever hear, see, smell this music ever again.... It was just for me, created by me for me, my own singing galaxy of the now!
I became aware of my own odour and was alarmed to find it distinctly feral of the feline variety.... Whatever I had become nothing was going to fuck with me.
That was the trigger, the cat was gone and I was a man again... the rain was falling, the grass resembled a bejewelled carpet undulating like a waterbed, the trees were baroque structures of quartz and driftwood with multi-coloured feathers in place of leaves.
As I stretched forward my hand to touch one of these feather/leaves it transformed into a wall-mounted toilet-roll holder and I realised I was still sitting on the toilet in my flat, but for some reason the walls, floor and ceiling had been replaced by giant playing cards.
For what seemed an eternity I gazed open-mouthed as the Jack of Hearts performed sleight of hand magic with a derringer of the mother-of-pearl inlay variety..... for his finale he held the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
The bathroom fragmented into a kaleidoscope of vibrant shards of colour which dissolved into sub-atomic butterflies who came together like a jigsaw puzzle, each butterfly interlocking with its neighbour until it formed a rolling pastoral scene of a bygone age....
Across vast plains tiny horses, no bigger than matchboxes galloped at breakneck speed toward the horizon where they dissolved into a glistening ocean of whinnying ebb and flow.
Electing to follow I reach the shore just as a wave of fatigue overwhelms me so I decide to rest.
For some reason I begin to construct a mound from the available sand  and once satisfied with my handiwork I drape it with seaweed...... onto this I clamber and lay down to contemplate the stars and the alpha wave of the ocean.
I gaze skywards and recognise Orion’s Belt and the geometric patterns return..... swirling.... Vortexing... lifting me up like Kansas Dorothy. The whole hoop of the Earth is a footstool to the galaxy and the galaxy a headrest to the Universe.
I look into the palm of my hand and see eternity slip through my fingers like phosphorescent mercury.
The universe, infinitely small, a droplet of liquid falls from my penis and is flushed away along with the playing card room and all becomes light..... so much light I can see nothing.... Only through darkness can anything be discerned.
In this radiant light nothing can be focussed on....
The mind becomes still.
An echo, somewhere distant, is either growing in intensity or drawing near, I can’t tell.......
Time passes.....
the echo recedes to its source and momentarily rings clear as “Ohm”...
but no sooner I hear this it transforms itself into every word in every language layered one atop the other...... it is Oglala, Aramaic, Yiddish, Cantonese, Maori, Gaelic, Slav, Innuit....
One word reverberating through time....
It is “John”... my jaw clenches.... Neurotransmitters fly down synapses like firemen on their poles.. the John section of my brain begins searching memories of experience to find a reference point in hypertime. What word was this? From whence had it come? Why me? Who was I? the answers came in an avalanche.... Jesus, Hitler, Nagasaki, Elridge Cleaver, Bukowski, Geronimo, Joseph Mengle, St Francis of Assisi, Pope Joan, Aliester Crowley, Tiny Tim, Catherine the Great, Myrddin and King Canute..
I am all of these and none of them. I am an Easter Island statue, a Mayan Pyramid, a breast implant, a footprint on the moon, a million billion trillion images of time..
I am Time... tick-tocking notches on myself.... Counting-down the double-helix of some cosmic hourglass.. the last grain of sand falls through the hole and the snake eats its tail, the mountains are made low and the low places made high.. and the last grain of sand now becomes the first... falling, tumbling through possible infinities and infinite possibilities..........
I zip-up, flush and leave the universe to the custody of my local water authority and try to get to grips with oven-chips and Windows XP

The sunlight leaks into the room through a narrow gap in the heavy drapes. The motes of dust and pollen dance like slo-mo-sufi-elders, it is a dance of the forest and the meadows, of opposites and attraction, it is Romeo and Julliette, it is Judas and Jesus together in a soft sesame bun, it is the brightness of moon-reflected sunlight at midnight, a never ending ebb and flow of oceanic proportions. Impulsively, almost childlike, I stretch forth my hand to touch this glittering universe of reflected photons, the movement of my hand through the air triggers vortices, waves, eddies, whirlpools of glowing fragments.... A cloud passes in front of the sun and once more I am stood in the darkness of the library utterly alone.....
The piano, of its own volition, begins to play.... The logs in the hearth ignite, bringing into reality the spines of the books that cover every available wallspace. And there, by the fire, in a Chesterfield chair is the Jack of Hearts eating my oven– chips......I am aware that there is a strong smell of urine.... As the logs begin to flare I notice there is steam rising from my playing card acquaintance.
“ah, there you are!” he blurts, scattering chips from his lips, “what’s the idea flushing me and my mates down the toilet?” The cloud passes and the room is plunged into darkness once more. I walk back to the shaft of light between the drapes, the dust has settled back into the rhythm of its sunlit waltz. I throw caution to the winds and once more extend my hand into the warm shaft of light, this time the dust does not scatter but is attracted to my hand.... All the dust particles are attaching themselves ...... my hand becomes a blur .... Soon my hand is a boxing– glove size ball of dust, my hand tingles.... Throbs... Ow! my hand!!.... my hand is being crushed, the dust feels like granite.... Millions of years are crushing my fingers...... it is beginning to creep up my arm..... my hand now weighs 72lbs and I can no longer support it in the light and I fall to the floor where my dust-covered hand explodes into a billion tiny, brightly coloured beads that roll away in every direction across the carpet.
“so why did you flush me, my hirsute friend?”says Jack who was by now dry but slightly crinkled..... I open my mouth to speak but find it full of beads.... Each time I part my lips to form a vowel sound, waterfalls of exquisitely coloured beads cascade to the floor and radiate away in concentric rings each of a different colour, each of a different tone...... each of a different odour.... I look at my hand.... At first glance it looks like a turtle then a cornish pastie, a bunch of bananas, a pound of sausages and finally comes into focus as a hand which is holding a swan feather quill and dipping it into a well of Pelikan ink. Upon closer inspection, I observe that there is a tiny beak on the end of the quill and it is daintily sipping at the ink in such a manner that only the faintest of blue can be detected around the edge of its beak..
it begins to write.... and write...... and write, pages fly everywhere... the quill becomes a blur. “All right!” “All right!” says Jack, “enough!” “I don’t need such a detailed answer.... Come! .. sit by the fire.... Draw up a chair... don’t despair..
I’m ever so fair..... I don’t really care.... To judge a mans solitary actions.... Rest now..... have an oven chip”
Suddenly, there in the air between him and me, appears an Elizabethan silver fork.
Just floating in the air... slightly bobbing as if there were shallow tidal ripples affecting its movements... upon its prongs sat my oven chip. As I reach for the fork it lunges at me three times, clearly with the intent of doing me physical harm.... On the third lunge I grab the chip but as it parts company from the fork blood begins to ooze from the prongholes.... Thick ketchuppy blood... I squeeze the chip and it makes the noise like a woman’s fanny fart.... The fork giggles in the shy manner of most Elizabethan cutlery....."TARTS NOT FARTS!!!!" says Jack who is now beside himself “Micro-chips not oven chips”.... “word processors not food processors”..... “lucid articles not dust particles”...... “get a grip solstice....I’ll forgive you the flushing incident if you’ll just quieten that giggling fork”
I gaze at the bleeding, farting chip in the palm of my hand and see that it is now blue..... blue as the pelikan ink.... I manage to get it into my mouth against the flow of beads and instantly the fork falls to the floor and becomes dust... the chip and beads dissolve upon my tongue like sherbet fountain... I sneeze and millions of text messages stream out of my nose..... “oh just great” says Jack, “that’s all we need.... Bloody microworms!”. To my amazement the words of my nasal discharge fly away into the books on the wall, future generations to enthral.. “Oi..no rhyming” says Jack, “can you smell burning?”..... “perhaps you left some scrag end wedgie chips int bottom o oven?” I reply
I now become aware of  a degree of  hedonic adaptation, my emotions soar to a point of elation and crash to utter desolation in the blink of an eye, the room dissolves and all is blue-black, I feel for a solid surface but can find none.... Even the floor beneath my feet has dissolved.... I am aware that something is supporting my body but when I raise my foot and put it down it meets no resistance and the sensation becomes one of falling..... falling... the blueblack grows blacker and blacker, I can no longer see my hand in front of my face... I attempt to touch my face but my hand passes through the space that my head should occupy. I feel shapeless, formless, a loosely connected collection of atomic particles. This state of affairs brings on waves of nausea, I struggle to hold back a rolling wall of vomit but it explodes in the darkness like some technicolour big-bang.... Now all is colour and light.... Nebulas, solar systems, comets, stars, moons as far as the eye can see. “let there be light” I hear myself say.... “let there be life”..... “let there be all”.... “let there be more”..... “let there be worlds without end”.
I am able to now make out familiar patterns in the area to my left, a small spiral swarm of stars seems to de drawing me toward it. Ah!.... the solar system, why theres saturn, that means the earth must be close by. No sooner do I think this and I am laying face-down in wet grass.... I tilt my head and see a 65ft high Fly Agaric that is dripping vomit on me... the smell is overpowering.... It sparkles and crackles with electricity........ssshpsssh!!.... a two foot square of diced carrot narrowly misses me and breaks on impact to become six perfectly square ladybirds all scurrying away in opposite directions.... After a few metres they all turn in unison and I realise they are marking out the Seal of Solomon with a pungent pheromone that stains the grass to the colour of 70magenta, 25yellow and 5cyan that has no numerical smell-by-date but is irritating to the mucus membranes of mammals. I sneeze, somewhere distant a sheep farts and two feet below my two feet a mole begins to salivate with such force that he drowns in his own spit.
“and a very good morning to you” says a disembodied voice somewhere between my aforementioned feet........."like mushrooms do we?”
“who are you?” I reply, not sure if it was a good thing to be conversing with voices
“queng’s the name!... poetry’s the game!” said the voice, which seemed to be emanating from the vicinity of a small cluster of narrow, spindly mushrooms.
As I peered closer these seemed to be arranged in groups of four.... Three forming a triangle with the other in the middle...... and one of these middlemushrooms was communicating with me....! Logic intervened in my thought process with “C’mon john it’s a mushroom.... Mushrooms don’t speak.... Get a grip!...is anyone watching?
Dropping to my knees in the meadow I begin inspecting the tiny quadclusters .. each cluster was definitely a triangle but the overall impression was of a honeycomb...... ”did one of you say queng’s the name poetrys the game?....... cos if you didnae I’ve still got the basis for a lyric.... If that’s all right with you and that?”
“it was I, Queng” said a voice behind me which took me somewhat by surprise causing me to attempt a combined rising turning manoeuvre that results in my ankles adopting a knotted motif with the rest of me landing on my arse between two cow-pats which I promptly put my hands in!
“SHIT!” I exclaim, trying not to sound obvious....."Hail to the Holy Green Suace!"sing a thousand tiny voices that sound like a heavenly choir “Hail the Mighty Green Manna from heaven!”...... “Hail the Mighty Green Manna from heaven!”......
“WAIT..wait.... no seriously, wait a minute... how do I know which one of you is queng? ..and I have the temporary inconvenience of havin my hands covered in shit!” I blurt out.
“Will you stop calling the Holy Suace shit?” says a voice between my knees.... As I commence to scrutinise this group, I become aware that one in particular appeared to be secreting  some sort of attractant and I feel myself being drawn into its very essence ..... the voice is everywhere inside my head, but everywhere outside my head at the same time.......it feels like it is vibrating through my body touching every nerve-ending and cell..... even the shit on my hands seems to be radiating a warm glow of calming energy........ “So your name’s Queng then?” I venture, my eyes still scanning the horizon in case anyone should see me kneeling, conversing with a clump of mushrooms....."Certainly is" said the vibration that entered my knees and buzzed like shorting electricity.... Somewhere, directly between my ears, level with my eyes. I realised that I wasn’t actually, technicaly as you would call it 'talking’ to the mushroom.... It was like I was hearing MY voice in MY head, just holding a conversation without consulting myself.... My  brain was just getting on with it, whilst I got on with the task of looking faintly ridiculous
In fact, I thought it  better all round if I stayed out of the process... in fact I felt slightly guilty about eavesdropping on the dialogue....."Qweng’s the name, consciousness raising is my aim....”
There is sudden, electrical, static, radio crackle inside my head .............
“newsflash!.......breaking news......on the wire....news in from Stonehenge, at 12 minutes past 8 in front of startled tourists, an earthquake struck this most ancient of monuments with such ferocity that not a single stone was left standing.......a crack has appeared running toward the horizon ........ looking into the crack has illicited a variety of reactions, ranging from: “it’s just totally black man!” to “joss loik the back o one o them thunderbugs but wi starz urnt it” Later about half nine a group of seismologists commenced an echo-sounding experiment that left many with puzzled faces as the results were microwaved back from London as UNREADABLE.......by lunchtime crowds had begun to gather and as the sun passed directly overhead many reported seeing tiny sparkling lights from the bottom of the chasm...... professor Choco Noah of Norwich University said “many times this has happened before and we have studied this phenomenon in many parts of the globe and it is wonderful to be studying this phenomenon in this phenomenal location
at what is quite a phenomenal time to be asked this question... thank you”.... By 1pm it became clear that most reports had been very unclear as to the immensity of the calamity. Earlier reports of stones falling into the chasm were given a bizzare twist ten hours later when a 'garden make–
over’ team who were recording a promo in downtown Los Angeles were interupted thus: “join us after the break when we’ll be constructing a plastic patio, and Dodgy Bob from SneakyGameshow will be making a cocktail cabinet from some old tea chests” when seven oblong stones fell out of the sky and transformed “Honest-Al’s” Car-lot into a forty mile wide crater that fills up with the Pacific ocean. By teatime the Stock Exchange is no longer exchanging and has transformed itself into a South American airline. At six thirty local time the crack at Stonehenge had got bigger  ....meanwhile meteor storms are battering the eastern seaboard of the United States ....more updates at update time... this is Kent Cigarette
for XYZ teevee handin’ you back to your normal medication .....friendly
cheery, neighbourly..."Corporation Farm”

“Oi!......pay attention!” said the 'qweng’ voice “anything you hear may be a time-echo” Not realy understanding what a time-echo was I decided the best course of action was to keep my mouth shut and focus on the little cluster of mushrooms between my knees.... “so... you’ve decided to keep your mouth shut?..Good move”

                      “LIFE IS JUST AN  EFFIN’ LIE”
                     “LIFE IS JUST AN  EFFIN’ LIE”
They all begin singing and giggling in unison...... “Pardon?” I think to myself
“it’s a play on words, mate” they answer ...... “oh how very drole”
“Drole?...don’t you mean droll?”they chorus “the words you use are our creations
Mr Solstice, and we would prefer you to stick to the rules”...\n"you started it with F in LIE" I thought “we start everything don’t you know....
And by the way.....how long is it since you touched an elephant?” they retorted
“three years and fourteen days” I thought, trying feverishly to compute circumferences and radii equations of my schooldays...... “now who’s being droll?” interjected the liberty-bonneted zoophites as one voice.....
                             “beauty is the memory of this waterfall
                            ugliness is nothing left inside
                        beauty is the memory of this waterfall
                     ugliness is nothing left inside”
“that’s me about invisible by them deductions” says the I
                        “a waterfall is the beauty of memory......
                                                  the things we forgot
                                              while stoppin’ the rot
                                     that sets in ever so quickly
                                         could turn on  its head
                                       and look ever so dread
                                to those not able to sight it” they chorused. My brain by now
was brown jam....jam down........deep sound
                                 tones of colour and sound
                                               drawing me down
                                   to the heart of the matter
                               in the land of Mad Hatter
                                      reality just shatters
and there they were again, tiny little mushrooms conversin’ with my brain like I wasn’t there or summat????? Internal dialogue? Captains bloody log, more like
Reality arrives in bytes
Flickering neon light
   Techno malogikal light....
                  .........waves
             breaking on shores
                     opening doors
and I swayed as one with the shrooms....and the field turned to hay on a moonlit night.....in an armchair of hay.....gazing on the whole of creation
             the goddess drew me deep inside my own goddess inside me
                                                                    and we did confide, we
                                                                and all at once I sight she
                                                           and she was there before me
                                              .....when the Jack o Hearts stabs me
from behind... and I am face-down on cold frosty moorland ground
                                                             and the only sound
                                 is the Jack Frost cackle
                  as he makes my bones rattle
    and the pain is too much to bear
my dark venal blood oozes out onto the heather and I can smell the rotting of my internal organs......the light begins to dim........pain fades........all is dark
                                                                                                        dark
                                                                                                  dark
                                                                                          dark
                                                                                 dark
                                                                         dark
                                                                dark
                                                      dark
                                             dark
              suddenly all is light and its six thirty am third of february up all night

INSOMNIA, OVEN CHIPS AND OROMORPH
INSOMNIA, OVEN CHIPS AND OROMORPH