# today our friend went to londonium you awoke in bed at 7 this morning next to an empty space a cold in house which now clamps around the skin shell a shivering cinematic ex war veteran seconds after they escape in a movie of ir own life you dress quickly and shuffle downstairs in our wilde slippers to make a cup of organically grown green tea spend most of morning downloading a classic generic first person sci fi shoot em' up playspace off private rotating aztec blue data storage cubes online later on you're still not having much luck with either the file or the weather travel down to a research lab on d900 visiting middle lower levels is often enjoyable because the power jet lifts sometimes plays oldie sitcoms on a small monitor screen set in the wall today's show was called shelly - a researcher who doesn't agree with the entire concept of work and spends ir days being obliquely sarcastic to authority figurines in ir immediate suburban community depressing with excessive 70's drearyness in abundance one can't watch too much of it at any one sitting we often don't like watching these old sitcoms as apart from mere fact most of them are cobblers they're symbolically indicative of the mindlessness of an entire generation constantly yaffling along to laugh tracks on tepid brain-liquefying tv shows we've always been stuck in the places shelly regularly hangs out at when we were young our mother would hold our hand tightly leading us from one unknown destination in ancient crumbling londonium to the next we'd travel to where they worked then during lunchtime they'd go to the post office or to the shops after ir day job was over and before ir next we'd take the bus to the house of one of ir friends after a long climb up a steep set of stairs we'd arrive at another stranger's home where we'd be handed brightly coloured pens to draw with andor be told to sit and watch holo-tv all these things we'd do unquestioningly with wide eyed ambient apprehension and disembodied delight tv shots of old londonium in the 70's resonates psycho-socially we've never visited most of these places since but part of us still imagines they all exist totally unchanged tall narrow houses overlooking mysterious back gardens which are always seen through upstairs windows dusty panes smeared with the thin grey film of dead dry time speaking psychogeographically these places in memory / imagination are always cold and anonymous single people live there alone with a cat and forever wilting houseplants some old clock over the fireplace ticks loudly as if intent on stating the philosophical importance of the sound of its own echo off bare apple whitewashed walls of slow spreading existential desperation expansive sprawling leather furniture full length charity shop curtains the classic nfr70s colour of quote horrible orange lingering scents of either pork or chicken marinated and cooked in fresh chilli soy sauce cane sugar vinegar crushed garlic bay leaf black peppercorns and served with a metric ton of thin fried rice noodles andor steamed jasmine rice hmmm forever feeling like a stranger around strangers of not being part of the scene whilst others like dear mother feels right at home chatting with the locals this mood has ever left and part of us continually feels without a real home oh so temporary lost and isolated in situations somehow always just beyond our understanding or control researcher kode: did you know a lot of found urban dream poetry calls upon feelings of uncertainty and fear associated with emotions of not belonging of being continually detained for invalid papers or found out for not having completed certain large scale scientific research projects by a set date // republic of bob