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WRITING


THE LIGHT COMES IN + YOU AWAKE. WE ARE ALREADY THERE. TWO BLACK SUNS ARE MOVING OVER YOUR BANDAGED HEAD, OVER THE WALLS IN THE HYPERMARKET-HOSPITAL WHERE YOU SLEEP, INTO THE COLD LIGHT, INTO A SMALL SILENT PLACE THAT HIDES SECRETS IN ITS LEVEL SPRING AIR. YOU SMILE. THIS “SUDDEN SFORZANDO IN NATURE”, AS THEY’RE NOW CALLING IT, IS RAKING THROUGH THE EMPTY ARCHEOLOGY OF YOUR SKULL & SIGHT & HISTORY. BUT THESE APOCALYPTIC EVENTS JUST ALSO FEEL AS BORING AS OFFICE BLINDS DRAWING TO A CLOSE AT THE END OF THE DAY: IT’S LIKE FOLDING UP A BIT OF PAPER AND BURYING IT IN A KIND OF NICE, NEW, BLAZING LIGHT. YOU TAKE TO BURIAL. // & NOW IT’S NIGHT AGAIN. YOU CAN SENSE PITFALLS EVERYWHERE IN THE ROOM, LIGHT TRAPS AND GAPS IN THE BLACK WATERWAY, WATERY GAPS IN YOUR HEAD, GAPS IN THE ROOF, GAPS IN THE STAIRS, POTHOLES YOU MIGHT TRIP IN. YOU THINK BACk TO PLACES WHERE YOUR EYES WERE JUST VODKA RUMOURS IN SAD SUNLIT POOLS AT THE EDGES OF THE WORLD.YOU FIND A LITTLE NOTE YOU WROTE IN “CUTER TIMES” (AS IF ON A FAMOUS MYSTIC WRITING PAD), MARKED “O T H R”, WHICH READS: “I’M JUST LIKE A WASHBOARD, OR A BLANK THING THAT KEEPS GETTING WRITTEN OVER!” & “EVENING IN THE PALACE OF MY DRAB HEART. YOU ARE BY MY SIDE, IN MY STEPS, IN MY VOICE.” THESE LOOPHOLES FILL YOU WITH CRESTING LIGHT, & OUTSIDE REASON SHOOTS THROUGH THE WORM-EATEN GAPS IN THE LEAVES IN A BRIGHT LAUNDRY. // AND THIS NOTHING YOU FEEL - WHAT ARE YOU DOING DRIVING AROUND THE SUBURBS ALL NIGHT LOOKING FOR NOTHING? YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES AGAIN AND PICTURE THE WHITE CEREMONIAL GLOVES AND THE AFTERNOON LIGHT IN THE ARCHIVE, THE NEO-CLASSICAL “CONCEPT-GARDENS”, REMNANTS OF A PHASE OF HISTORICAL ALIENATION WHICH MAKES YOU FEEL SICK. YOU LOVE GARBAGE AND DECAYING SHIT. EACH SENTENCE WRITES THE NEXT, SO: “HERE YOU ARE, IN THIS PHOTO, ROOTING THROUGH AN ENTIRE CITY IN THE RAIN WATCHING THE RUIN OF YOUR HAND TOUCH THE RUIN OF THE OTHER RUIN UNDER THE EMPTY MOON MADE OF WHITE BANDAGES.” BUT IT’S NOT REALLY A PICTURE LIKE THAT IS IT? \\ // YOU GO BACK TO WORKING ON THE SWITCHBOARD OUT OF A SENSE OF GUILT AND COMPULSION & REALISE HOW EVERYTHING GETS CAUGHT IN THE CROSSING-PLACES AND LEAVES ITS TRACES EVERYWHERE. YOU THINK: “THE DISTANCES I WOULD HAVE TO CROSS TO REACH YOU!” YOU CATCH YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR WITH YOUR WIRES AND CROCODILE-CLIPS AND YOU LAUGH. THESE THINGS GET OLD SO QUICKLY. WE ALWAYS ARRIVE TOO LATE. \\ NOW YOU’RE INSIDE A WHITE CIRCULAR CELL, AN “ENGRAM-OF-THE-NEW-WORLD”, AND THE WALLS ARE CLOSING IN. // NOW YOU’RE IN A MEANDERING OVERGROWN CARPARK UNDER THE CITY, EATING WILD APPLES, HUMMING HAPPILY ALONG THE REASSURING PATH OF A MAZE. \\ NOW YOU’RE ALL HAZEL-EYED & TEARY IN MARIENBAD OR CRYSTAL PALACE. // & WHAT ARE YOU DOING SWIMMING ALONE IN THE TIDAL TUNNELCAVE ALL NIGHT? \\ WE TRACE A RIVER THROUGH YOUR EYES FROM A BORDERLESS COUNTRY TO A BORDERLESS COUNTRY LIKE A BLUE GLANCETHREAD MADE OF NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. // YOU REMEMBER A PLACE WHERE YOUR MIND WAS SOMEWHERE YOU WOULD DIVE FOR PEARLS IN. IT WAS SAFE AND LOVELY THEN. WE’LL HAVE TO REMEMBER YOU, COS WE CAN’T & DON’T FORGET. & AS FOR YOU, YOU’LL BE THERE IN THE LOFT, THE WAREHOUSE, THE HIGH RAFTERS OF THE OTHER PLACE, WAITING FOR YOURSELF.


 

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   # 5

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WRITING


THE LIGHT COMES IN + YOU AWAKE. WE ARE ALREADY THERE. TWO BLACK SUNS ARE MOVING OVER YOUR BANDAGED HEAD, OVER THE WALLS IN THE HYPERMARKET-HOSPITAL WHERE YOU SLEEP, INTO THE COLD LIGHT, INTO A SMALL SILENT PLACE THAT HIDES SECRETS IN ITS LEVEL SPRING AIR. YOU SMILE. THIS “SUDDEN SFORZANDO IN NATURE”, AS THEY’RE NOW CALLING IT, IS RAKING THROUGH THE EMPTY ARCHEOLOGY OF YOUR SKULL & SIGHT & HISTORY. BUT THESE APOCALYPTIC EVENTS JUST ALSO FEEL AS BORING AS OFFICE BLINDS DRAWING TO A CLOSE AT THE END OF THE DAY: IT’S LIKE FOLDING UP A BIT OF PAPER AND BURYING IT IN A KIND OF NICE, NEW, BLAZING LIGHT. YOU TAKE TO BURIAL. // & NOW IT’S NIGHT AGAIN. YOU CAN SENSE PITFALLS EVERYWHERE IN THE ROOM, LIGHT TRAPS AND GAPS IN THE BLACK WATERWAY, WATERY GAPS IN YOUR HEAD, GAPS IN THE ROOF, GAPS IN THE STAIRS, POTHOLES YOU MIGHT TRIP IN. YOU THINK BACk TO PLACES WHERE YOUR EYES WERE JUST VODKA RUMOURS IN SAD SUNLIT POOLS AT THE EDGES OF THE WORLD.YOU FIND A LITTLE NOTE YOU WROTE IN “CUTER TIMES” (AS IF ON A FAMOUS MYSTIC WRITING PAD), MARKED “O T H R”, WHICH READS: “I’M JUST LIKE A WASHBOARD, OR A BLANK THING THAT KEEPS GETTING WRITTEN OVER!” & “EVENING IN THE PALACE OF MY DRAB HEART. YOU ARE BY MY SIDE, IN MY STEPS, IN MY VOICE.” THESE LOOPHOLES FILL YOU WITH CRESTING LIGHT, & OUTSIDE REASON SHOOTS THROUGH THE WORM-EATEN GAPS IN THE LEAVES IN A BRIGHT LAUNDRY. // AND THIS NOTHING YOU FEEL - WHAT ARE YOU DOING DRIVING AROUND THE SUBURBS ALL NIGHT LOOKING FOR NOTHING? YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES AGAIN AND PICTURE THE WHITE CEREMONIAL GLOVES AND THE AFTERNOON LIGHT IN THE ARCHIVE, THE NEO-CLASSICAL “CONCEPT-GARDENS”, REMNANTS OF A PHASE OF HISTORICAL ALIENATION WHICH MAKES YOU FEEL SICK. YOU LOVE GARBAGE AND DECAYING SHIT. EACH SENTENCE WRITES THE NEXT, SO: “HERE YOU ARE, IN THIS PHOTO, ROOTING THROUGH AN ENTIRE CITY IN THE RAIN WATCHING THE RUIN OF YOUR HAND TOUCH THE RUIN OF THE OTHER RUIN UNDER THE EMPTY MOON MADE OF WHITE BANDAGES.” BUT IT’S NOT REALLY A PICTURE LIKE THAT IS IT? \\ // YOU GO BACK TO WORKING ON THE SWITCHBOARD OUT OF A SENSE OF GUILT AND COMPULSION & REALISE HOW EVERYTHING GETS CAUGHT IN THE CROSSING-PLACES AND LEAVES ITS TRACES EVERYWHERE. YOU THINK: “THE DISTANCES I WOULD HAVE TO CROSS TO REACH YOU!” YOU CATCH YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR WITH YOUR WIRES AND CROCODILE-CLIPS AND YOU LAUGH. THESE THINGS GET OLD SO QUICKLY. WE ALWAYS ARRIVE TOO LATE. \\ NOW YOU’RE INSIDE A WHITE CIRCULAR CELL, AN “ENGRAM-OF-THE-NEW-WORLD”, AND THE WALLS ARE CLOSING IN. // NOW YOU’RE IN A MEANDERING OVERGROWN CARPARK UNDER THE CITY, EATING WILD APPLES, HUMMING HAPPILY ALONG THE REASSURING PATH OF A MAZE. \\ NOW YOU’RE ALL HAZEL-EYED & TEARY IN MARIENBAD OR CRYSTAL PALACE. // & WHAT ARE YOU DOING SWIMMING ALONE IN THE TIDAL TUNNELCAVE ALL NIGHT? \\ WE TRACE A RIVER THROUGH YOUR EYES FROM A BORDERLESS COUNTRY TO A BORDERLESS COUNTRY LIKE A BLUE GLANCETHREAD MADE OF NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. // YOU REMEMBER A PLACE WHERE YOUR MIND WAS SOMEWHERE YOU WOULD DIVE FOR PEARLS IN. IT WAS SAFE AND LOVELY THEN. WE’LL HAVE TO REMEMBER YOU, COS WE CAN’T & DON’T FORGET. & AS FOR YOU, YOU’LL BE THERE IN THE LOFT, THE WAREHOUSE, THE HIGH RAFTERS OF THE OTHER PLACE, WAITING FOR YOURSELF.


 

M  E  M  O  R  Y

BLACK
&
BLUE
   # 5

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N E W  W R I T I N G
LITERATURE / THEORY / ART


&

R E V O L U T I O N 
BLACK & BLUE #4

 
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Revolution


R E V O L U T I O N

Black & BLUE #4
Nov. '14

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Revolution


R E V O L U T I O N

Black & BLUE #4
Nov. '14

Black & BLUE  R E V O L U T I O N 
published on the 5th of November

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Pamphlets


Black & BLUE PAMPHLETS
Series One, Eleven Pamphlets

A brand new series of poetic-revolutionary pamphlets,
written by Black & BLUE, costing a pound each
and delivered as a folded post card with text inside.

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Pamphlets


Black & BLUE PAMPHLETS
Series One, Eleven Pamphlets

A brand new series of poetic-revolutionary pamphlets,
written by Black & BLUE, costing a pound each
and delivered as a folded post card with text inside.

A brand new series of revolutionary pamphlets by Black & BLUE.

Political writing, poetry, and written in prose, these pamphlets aim to blur the boundary and cross the divide between literary & political genres. They cover eleven heart-felt themes, and all contain the phrase 'wind through the keyhole'.

 

Throw them away, plagiarise them, stick them up, leave them in a public place, photocopy them, give them to someone - whatever you like. They won't be online, and we've put no copyright on them.

Black type. 120gsm Blue paper. Beautifully designed, and folded to a post-card format.

 

Series One

(1)Animal, (2)Bordercrossing, 
(3)Facebook, (4)Nietzsche, 
(5)Stranger, (6)Alphabet, 
(7)Ghost,  (8)Espionage, 
(9)Paris, (10)Warpaint, 
(11)Sea

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Pamphlet:
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ABOUT


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ABOUT


Black & BLUE WAS FOUNDED IN 2011 IN MANCHESTER. 
IT PUTS TOGETHER BEAUTIFULLY DESIGNED PHYSICAL
ANTHOLOGIES OF CREATIVE WRITING.

THE LATEST ANTHOLOGY WAS REVOLUTION
IT PRODUCES POLITICAL-POETIC PAMPHLETS
IT ORGANISES EXHIBITIONS FOR TEXTUAL ART
IT WRITES ABOUT LITERATURE, ART & THEORY

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