Phantom Ave

Rubbish truck swallowing a bunch of balloons. 

Two young men in black New World outfits, a long way from the supermarket.

Do the guys in the BP Connect, connect?

Man sleeping against an ATM. No one can get to their money.

Walking past the same tree having the same doubt.

Each week I start at zero. I go as deep as I can into negative numbers then head back to zero.

In a nightmare the prime minister strangled me with his tie.

An enormous obvious out my front window. I stare at it all day. Its light floods the room all night.

The old cemetery was incorporated into the new shopping mall. Trolleys scuff the headstones. Some shoppers leave fresh flowers, bought at the mall florists. 

Somewhere on a screen I cross the park in the moonlight.

Papyrus thriving in concrete. 

I try to hypnotize other passengers on the bus, other passengers try to hypnotize me.

Imagine passing habitable planets as uninhabitable ones. 

Conversations in K-Mart look really different when you can see auras.

On one side of the motorway there's an empire of locks, on the other side, there's an empire of keys.

Wabi-sabi police car.

I think I might be grey, not going grey, madly screamingly grey.

Any steps can be temple steps.

Sometimes, the billboards are the only refuge of colour.

Paradox Mall

Rocks lining the road stop it floating away. 

You wake up at sunset, work all day at sunset, go to bed at sunset.

He had a convincing voice. He barely needed to open his mouth before you were convinced completely. He didn’t even need to open his mouth, or his eyes. He just sat there convincing everybody, including himself. 

An armchair on an asteroid.

Bank of the Self. 

The only passenger on the bus, the only person in the gas station, the only shopper in a supermarket aisle, a cat sitting in the road late at night.

Furniture breaks free and wanders across the city, joins a herd. The herds are rounded up by furniture trucks.

Before I can start seeing I have to watch some ads.

At first, I could only make out tiny fragments. Then images began to form, shadowy blobs, which slowly took on colour, clarity and volume. I moved among them, hearing sounds and sensing living presences.

The suburb has wind machines installed in the four quarters.

The new city will be made of an indestructible material which will radiate a vibration that eliminates all tension.

From the bus window, I glimpse someone in a brown dressing gown heading towards their letterbox. Later, I find a brown dressing gown in my wardrobe.

Laundromats began as cave temples. Faint constellations are still visible on the ceilings. People descended into the caves, stripped off and threw their clothes into spinning drums. They stared at the spinning drums and went into a trance then danced naked all night under the stars.

When I first arrived here there was nothing to see, just an empty field. Then some locals turned up and began to gesticulate. After a while, the town began to appear to me, in exquisite detail, right down to the numbers on letterboxes.

I own the Bank of the Self. I have only one customer.

Sometimes it’s good to stop and imitate things you see. A swaying tree.

Pyramid supermarket - select items by pressing on hieroglyphs. Later the shopping rolls out in a sarcophagus.

Spirit supermarkets are not arranged in aisles, but isles. Don't overload your boat.

Exclamation mark crash-landing site.

Rocks lining the road stop it floating away.

Corner of Depression Drive and Suffocation Street

You can drive right into the restaurant, drive right up to the counter, through the kitchen, up the wall and across the ceiling. 

The hidden supermarket has no sign, no carpark. Shoppers feel along the darkened aisles, tossing items hopefully into their trolleys. The usual announcements and music help normalise the atmosphere.

On the bus, I try to hypnotize other passengers. Other passengers try to hypnotize me.

Billboard sky. Billboard cloud. Billboard sea. 

With each improvement the city gets worse.