What is this compulsion to write? It gnaws, crawls up from behind at the most inopportune moments with words and phrases he barely understands. Short sentences. Long sentences with the flowery addition of adjectives that I cringe at and cut away until only little bits of him remain. Mountains of my own mind to be cut down to pebbles and tossed into the current of seven billion lives. Boats ceaselessly borne into the past. Or born ceaselessly, I can’t quite remember now. And into the future from whence ten billion, and more beside, are bound to come. But never the present. Never can a word capture right now, the first moment of its inception. That silent unfurling, the single spark between a million billion connections in the galaxy inside my head. My own mini cosmos. At once the most superficial and deepest part of me.

I am overrun by dreams.

It rushes out, in too-personal groans...

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici

Cinema, it has been said, distills truth 24 times per second. It renders the dream visible. And I have always had such grand dreams, dictated by Disney, then remixed by the anarchy in my head until I can’t quite tell Hook from crook, as crocodiles eat the sun and Edmond Dantés conducts Tchaikovsky’s overture to the dying gasps of Madame Justice.

So falls blind faith.

‘What utter nonsense’, the collaborator-in-my-head remarks. I only speak the truth though, is that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free.

‘Ah, the truth’, my collaborator scoffs. ‘You should’ve been a comedian.’

Fine. No truths. No lies. No literary conceits or intertextual references to revolutionary films. Just information. Because we are building a space where sharing information...

1) Harness the power of collective intelligence

Go to the swarm.fund site and apply to join. This may take a few days or weeks depending on where you are and what the team is busy with at that particular moment.

2) Get slack, mate!

Meanwhile, if you are interested, email me at tuddy0525@gmail.com and I will add you to one of the slack platforms I have set up for the various DCO’s I’ve created myself. Slack is simply a social platform which makes it easy to organise teams and work effectively while still socialising. Each DCO, or each individual, within swarm can create their own slack platform, so feel free to use it for other stuff too.

3) Time to graduate from counterstrike to counterwallet

Go to counterwallet.io and set up your own wallet. It is VERY, VERY important that you write down the 12 word passphrase as you will NEVER get it from anyone, ever again. So take it down in...

In my mind, it happened in a dreamland of veld and thorn trees and endless horizons. A land of a thousand folds, all running together, splitting apart. In a landscape that will always call to me, the forever-roads to nowhere, forgotten places full of people who remember. Do you know what that’s like, I wonder? To have something writ into your bones so deep that it feels like every fold in your mind, every twist and turn of the mini-cosmos in your head has its analogue in some quiet river bend where fish gather in ways known only to them, repeating a dance which has not changed since we started the clocks, released the crocs to chase away youth and eat the sun. And to never really be a part of it, to see it from a comfortable window as but the passing of moments to be described later, when it suits you?

How sweet it is, how tempting, that life.

My home filled with hungry dreamers...

I slip from shade to shadow

sniffing at the light,

tentative paw passing

shards of grass in icy sheaths,

pinpricked moonlight

as the world refracts, retracts

before my loping gait,

swift silence across

the flooded plains and

into welcome darkness.

Creature of the night,

wandering ages hence

where no wall nor fence

has ever stood and

standing, fell,

for no mending lasts

against shade and shadow

and the steady clock

tick-tock temporary line
until time is up.

The fox flows away

eyes alive to night,

returning me to I,

my little sight of life.

Still, sometimes she calls,

stealthy vixen of the dark,

across flooded fields
piercing, painful, sharp:
a reminder of within,

our many-voicéd kin.