Really loving what these housing developments in Wakefield are doing to my head. Makes me want to become an estate agent.
Psychedelic jogging is certainly bracing and very good for the constitution, but the woodland spirits I keep passing seem such a solemn bunch. Wonder what's eating them.
Mike Oldfield endlessly multitracking his pleasant and inoffensive noodling may seem innocuous enough, but it's altering the very fabric of space-time.
Here's what Hubble's been picking up.
New levels of fucking fuckedness from the hunting, shooting and fishing crowd.
Bauble from a set of Noel Edmonds themed Christmas decorations. To know that these only exist in my mind at present may bring you a sense of relief, but to exist in a mind is to nevertheless exist. Bad trip hell personified.
The housing development just across from Wakefield Aldi is sure worth a wander while your third eye's open...
Is the window dresser making a genuine attempt to sell things here? OR JUST MESSING WITH THE MINDS OF PASSING ACID HEADS??????????
[PS Is there any shit more fucked up than a doll shop?]
"a good looking 50 year old man with floppy brown hair and a stripey t-shirt has a conversation with a sentient vain waterfall"
This is something that my friend Gemma Rossi has very deftly linguistically shepherded AI into generating, inspired by that recent encounter of mine with a particularly assured and forceful waterfall in Aysgarth. Note the terms to use if you want to make an AI version of me, though you will basically end up with a French bloke.