Trepanning for Hippie Cyborgs

When I was invited to write for this blog by the Resident Writers group I was excited, alarmed and frankly felt as if I was made out of wobbly dread-blamange. What if they are a powerful cartel whose tentacles are far reaching, I speculated. Would I turn up for my day job only to find I have been dismissed for failure to submit a blog? The manger would call me into his office and impart in grave Devonian tones “look it’s out of my hands boy, THEY have spoken…”.

So I calmed down, tore off the grubby flannel of procrastination squatting on my face, drowned the satanic parrot doing backstrokes in the black waters of my imagination, browsed my brain for ideas, dialled down the metaphors and tapped that funky laptop key-boy. Here’s what I came up with:

A series of photos, taken recently, and displayed here for the purpose of hacking out globules of my mind with all the subtly of a medieval trepanning instrument. I hope you enjoy them and try not to get brain in under your finger nails – it takes ages to scrub out and frankly it smells.

Ooh what a feeling when I’m squashed by the ceiling…


I came down stairs this morning to find my housemate’s bedroom ceiling had fallen in, as a result of a leak from the shower above. What if I looked up, peered through the fetid slats, and the leering skull of a Victorian child stared back at me. This terrible thought in my mind I left for work where I performed my admin duties. My task for today was to file all the spiders alphabetically – this was bothersome and meant I had to learn spider language first to ask them all their names (OK that bit was made up).

The heart of Exeter…


At the weekend I attended a party hosted by a prominent Exeter hippie. He was ‘hatched’ in 1952 and has been gathering momentum ever since, as his beard grew so did his power. He is currently at hippie level 10. It was a dark night, ensconced around a carefully crafted fire, spitting with spritely flavour, and as I listened to my friends waxing philosophical it occurred to me how strange it was to be sat here nestled amongst the stars, as remote as coyotes howling down a canyon. Yet geographically in the heart ofExeter. Warmed by the heart and feeling the fire. And possibly a little bit pretentious.

Just a nice tree, really…


I discovered this tree in the woods near Killerton estate, Broadclyst one Sunday evening. The sun was particularly sticky that evening and got caught in the branches, dripped between the leaves and splashed on the roots. That tree’s not hunting the light – it’s fighting for its life. So I caught it in its last few moments before twilight.

If you like trees and want to see more visit Killerton in Devon:

On that same evening…


I came across this fellow. A noble terminator from the court of King Cyborg. Funnily enough the gentleman whose grounds I had temporarily broached to capture this neo-knight didn’t look best pleased as he watched me snap away from his balcony on high. “I don’t know why people keep coming to see that psychotic robot and his laser guns. He’s a bloomin nuisance if you ask me – he’s vaporised two of my best sheep dogs this past year- I wish he would get lost” – thought the man from his balcony, or so I imagine.

Well that’s the extent of my mental meanderings for now. I will leave you with this ensuing idea, which I am about to describe. Now. A London art gallery is putting on an exhibition of invisible art in which, and I quote from the linked article below, “curators argue the collection of pieces will demonstrate that art is about “firing the imagination” rather than simply viewing objects.”

So in sympathy for this exhibition I have left a blank space below these words for the reader to project their own images. Keep staring at the screen and await inspiration. Consider it my gift to your imagination.