Matt Middleton


thugee/public assertion

_Goodness. Even a drop-out like me can keep a blog. Such power, kiwi luddite paranoids refer to us literate scum as 'feds'. Our nation, led and fed by our media, our society has made up its mind 'bout types like us. They don't like it. He don't work, but he got a web page. What is he?

The suspect drags his sorry ass down to the dairy. How arrogant. Each member of the group drank, and in unison spat the contents of their mouths onto each other, fountains of red-wine streaking the musty air of the restaurant, soiling clothing, stinging eyes. How reached for a pair of chopsticks, studied his guests briefly, selected a target and attacked. Chopstick into nasal cavity, piercing brain. Vomit and spasm. Inheritance. How had freed him. Inheritance. How had released the fool from his soporific life. ^The world's ATM population registered the new soul and funds spewed forth creating a ceaseless river of money.

Olive buckled and ran to the door, artistic assertion. The old man slammed it shut, produced a wok, and proceeded to break her face. Money families cheered; a grating, sick polyphonic yawn, invoking ancient money-ghosts.

They were nullified and weakened by their own very psychic attack. I am no snob. Dignity online.

You can lay low, working man. I distribute me molecules.

How thanked the restaurant staff, and gave them the night off. A risk taker, an adventurer, an innovator. Competitive and cunning. Inheritance.

"I'm not going to lie to you, we are stinking rich and we want to help you out. We know what we like and we'll support you 100%."

"These benefactors will have to prove they are trustworthy."

"We know how it is, you are trying the best you can with the resources available to you."

"Here's just a sample...take it...we can set up an account. Come back to our property in Central Otago and we can talk on it further. For now, we must continue eating. Come, sit back down."
"There will be no restrictions on your movements, Starky."
"You'll be on fire, you'll be flying.The only drawback will be the limitations of your mind, and the shackled body. Here, let me help you."
How gestured toward a waiter. "Take the night off."
"But, sir..."
"Take the night off. You are not required here."
The righteous, the real of the land.Poison idea: the lifestyle lazing and criminal. Vexing.
Unnatural? Evil? Bitten off more than I can chew? And You?
Out of yer league?


" I salute your power, Wax. To remain in control of these domains for so long requires such strength - you are a soldier, plain and true..."


" I commend your fortitude, Wax. To have bled such thoughts as these upon the people requires true courage."

"Thank you, master".

"Such a waste Wax, such a waste".

"Thank you, master."

Wax eyed the array of crude instruments before him. Unusual, no anxiety response, no flurry in his heart, no adrenaline, just the mountainous perfection that is finitude.
Charcoal crisp and jagged, deep orange cloud, ice as granite. Gratitude to all land-lords:
"Resignation is to be applauded, to step down is the better course. Home will now be the film surrounding your skin, that which the optical nerves register, the interior of the card. Reveal to me your hand!"

"Reveal to me your stomach!"

"Take the brand and fly"

"Take the brand and sing!"

"Take the brand and be!!"

"Repeat after me: All power be to those we attribute power unto. All else is false. All power is measured according to the new system. All else is false. Special measure, special dose. Net fast business 'em blast and conduct!"

"We will invest in private space enterprise, biomedical science, neuromedicine, biopharmaceuticals, superconductors, hydrogen, plasmas of all kinds, and of course terraforming".

"Let me explain. The solution to the problem is not immediate, it is a gradual process of the trial/error variety. If an ATM look back at you with a grimace,ask it what the problem is. If it don't want to talk, don't insert your card.The conversation is the new war. You allow the scan, you reveal the brand,you give your all. No conversation, then proceed. If debate occurs, engage. An ATM will recognise the righteous. Take How for example, the special transaction played last month - when asked "who do you work for?' ,hOW RESPONDED PERFECTLY. 'nOBODY.' "

"What is your function in our society?"

How manifested truth and truth alone.

"Human Being."

Nothing more than this is required.

"Slowly, Wax. Small steps, your being revealed purer and purer with each ATM transaction. If you maintain a solid and stable relationship with the ATM, a play a week for instance, those who need to know what you are will know. Just a few keys punched in each week, clock in, clock out. No more, no less."


restless, craving, money.
Oh and the sinister stalks and sinister balkers haggin' their
sick innards and infect office slurry t'wards big saatchi: Big Saatchi
watch man can't get dirty than dirty with fat fatty.
So we cajouled and caressed, thickened and pile drive
our down-slides. Perhaps a knob of lard there, a char-grilled lemon
rind here - but never a note.
Or a poke. For him it is: for you - all for you:
all the work set for you to use, to muse.
Oh you muse, as I lose.
It's the sinister feel underneath the talk and the peel
that worries me now. People aren't people anymore, they're data.
The queue in front of him trickled onward, each human
processed, sterilized, inoculated and paid.
How was no stranger to the queue.
His hand felt around for his card.
This material is detected by remote sensing and in-situ
spacecraft observations. The key to major interplanetary and
geomagnetic disturbances. Most of the ejected material
originally consisted of hot, highly ionized gas imbedded in
closed loop structures.
How was second in the queue. He was pleased. How radiated.
His sealed portions slathered at the ready.
How’s adrenals ejected. How was exited. A synaptic flood.
Goodness, always goodness. Good intentions - always good
intentions. His lacquered synthetic eyes scanned the building
cradling the ATM.
Omnipotent and indomitable it stood - shimmering greys and
deepest blood red - countless portals and cables - its peak
obscured by the aero-incubators [clouds injected with nano-
scale bio-droids which develop and maintain cloud-borne
micro-organisms [which are genetically engineered and sent to
other worlds as teraforming agents]
A masterpiece.
How exhumed the card from his jacket and kept it close to his
The card - so smart, so convenient was his saviour on many an
The plastic almost emitted a charge in anticipation.
His skin coiled and almost adhesed to the plastic: the bio-
mathematical process ahead practically complete in How’s
As mundane as this task was - it held special tactical
significance for How. For on the completion of this procedure,
scores of new paradigms would shift - world systems would
alter, and the 68 'candidates' would be brought out of their


The Mine was a hermitary of sorts. Portal one, portal two, crystal displays
and ATM parts cast lazily over the yellowed carpet, chewed and melted
credit cards caking the Styrofoam ceiling, an archive of spent prophylactics,
wrappers, flecks of vegimite arranged Pollock-like on the walls, cups breeding
aquamarine hued fungi. Despite 'the mess' this was a sanctuary of mind as clear
as polar skies. The ATM parts had become self-aware since the freak storms.
Somehow, catalysed by some sort of electro-chemical exchange or perhaps
a plasma based anomaly, the parts now appear conscious - processing the
outside world, burning their way out of their containers and interlocking,
organizing, purring, chattering - a spastic symphony of artificial will.
One of the paper spewing components ejaculated a document.
How knew this would be a good indication of the new AI's intent. It read:

death crystal/raro sunset jan 06

"They all gots a name fer me. Each vee-hickla poppin' past my scrawny carcass whistles out A different name. Namin' theory eight-o-two, categorize the deviant or you've lost control. In these parts a 'faggot' is any male who ain't ugly. In these parts a 'cunt' is anyone who is smilin'. In these parts a wanker is anyone who gots ambition. In these parts a 'fed' is anyone who know how to talks to folk online. In these parts the sun burns harder than in your parts."

So I ruffle ma neo-school-boy shirt and reinforce that uggers beige retro photography bag o'er ma feminyne shoulder.
Big town draws nearer, clearer, shinier, promise in the air, the plastic odours of cards and stu-dent loans and ay-tee-em groans, transaction after transaction, declined/accepted: eftpos ballet, budget shoppin', lil' jobs, ol' staffy/high street righteous squadron squeeze claims of 'fraud' my way, tourists give me the 'sealed lips' signal, shaggy haired bogans look at me angrily, I've busted their very existence with my very existence, piss trails greet me, the shop is open!!

A labourer stares into me, turns slowly to his colleague, darts back, mocking and sarcastic admiration his expression:
"Something stinks" , the phrase exudes from his cruel lips, all gaseous and wisp, inculcating both drop-in-centre member and DV-cam bearing tourist alike...

Howard Love withdraws a greasy bank note from the ATM machine, turns with a sense of accomplishment toward the camera and begins his soliloquy:

"If entertainment of oneself be precocity, then whim and wham have fine times on hand. Applying there betters and never looking back, our jesters and jongleurs in erudite embraces, heave and crunch of biped glues, crystal blooms and hues of vermillion jarring not the caustic airs. Oh yod, babel, thou art null and foetid statements in a rand pile south of Calcutta, tumorous trials and filial duties and swill, full ink blot tests were his lot. Major fury- these gardens need looking after - oh snobbish ruse, snobbish ruse and control, snobbish ruse and juries, lurid phantasmagoric hallowed eves and adams and carrion claws, rouge-ruddy cheek-choke and feral, moist bubbles - chemical soaps raking and scraping filth from thy limbs,
never let them boast!
never let them roast!!
For your lack of duty is but a gel!
Your limits dictated by your bank balance, and so power to do is aligned and assorted. POWER is not governance, power is freedom. And that is not freedom of choice, master. Freedom of choice is still not freedom. When there are no choices, one is free, for one has transcended the concept of selection forever. Selection can only be finite for this world is finite. How then can freedom of choice be regarded as freedom?

"And so it was. Howard buys himself a well-earned loooong black.


This hiss. I had copied and pasted this mantra from sacred space and post-modernized it. And why not - the owner of the voice would've probably liked it - he was an egomaniac after all. So this work of mine continues, that's right, copying, pasting, IP's worst E-enemy , last privilege, the last freedom of the keyboard warriors. Pens, mightier than fists, mightier than diseases - perhaps the cure - a cure-all tonic - brazen and blood-red against the night sky. What is this machine I must engage? This chug and whir - not music no - it's a bloody machine, meta-technology maybe - propping up what lies dormant - compensation for lack of money-making skill, yeah...psycho-masturbation - feeding, always feeding something -sound-as-nutrient - a program - a code, a code without a key. Black choppers of the sub-conscious throbbing against amyloid - plaquing them all up nice and tight - work on...Lock on bud, crack open that case and feast yer eyes. Soiled, not slate. Dressed in a nice carbon nano-tube netting. It's beyond me, the flaming psycho masturbator. Each 'song' is a scene - a setting - a stupid stupid landscape. Chopper fetish and synthetic vvvvinds!
Scene 1.loss of energy through wasted and inefficient travel decisions.
Scene 2. Humiliation through 'being seen' to be immobile, unfit, and broke.
Scene 3.single-bed, and little metallic speakers to entertain ourselves.
Scene 4. as we scratched through week to week to week, the populace would look on, knowing full well of our under-utilization, knowing full well of our pathetic and embarrassing weekly incomes.
Scene 5. Always seen blowing our money on booze, publicly drunk.
Scene 6. and then people started bringin' over gifts, money, alcohol, food, love and good times. all the time.
Scene 7.hopeless projectile : projectile learned savvy saving on thrust and gust inward tranquil and heavy - 20 and 30 or more and its heaving hells and tiered levels and terrains of gothic hue and triffid loves hang just in execution gardens.
Scene 8. Being something quite easy to handle, being something with which to place a magnet unto.
Scene 9. constantly under attack by a barrage of angry fellow citizens, angry voices of disapproval by the righteous and real of the land
Scene 10. And so, the psychic action ----------well, basically, reading his document is enough at this stage.

Magneto! Magneto! Magneto! Magneto! Magneto!

Is this your need - your portion?

On hills and in gardens - told quiet and made bare -

Will lord of naught leave us be

And make your afflictions clear?


Wednesday, March 22, 2006
"Absolute incarceration. The New Zealand day. A subconscious clot. Ordinary New Zealanders' faces buckle. Worry lines and pavlova. Dairy hearts , sheeps brains. Absolute closure. The 'cunt' and 'faggot' of the ordinary New Zealander. Optionless Thursdays and mainstreams of mediocre blood and rugby piss. The finger pointed, the clod of beef firmly rooted, the righteous and the real of New Zealand. The vein thickly coated, the posteur bent in submission, the face homogenous and avoidant. The voice slurred and mumbling, ne'er lording it about. Never a smart cunt. Never a wanker. Fate sealed and finances assigned. Options and options. Skills and experience. Never a wanker though, a good man. The clod of beef firmly placed. Flatmate fathers and mothers and flecks of vegemite and the arts. Brats raised on butter get what they want. Better stock get the good jobs. This was his 11th year on a benefit. This was a personal failure. He would record adventurous types of music and sometimes individuals from other countries would order titles. Sometimes he would find a good domestic client. Their favorite quote would be 'there is no depression in New Zealand'. No, this is no longer the early nineties. There are shitloads of jobs out there. Take off the blinkers, mate. "

"Would someone just wire him ten grand. We know what we like and we'll support him 100%. Come back to our property in Central Otago. Bring a friend, bring your collection. You've done all this work while living on a slap in the face piece of shit wage. You are to be commended. Look, I won't lie to you, we're stinking rich. Anything you want, money is simply no object. We understand your needs and trust your decisions. We know how you work, and we want your work to thrive.

"You could see the hate and loneliness in his puppy fat. The anger and resentment was something he had been collecting, item by item, quietly and consistently.

"I knew my place. If I was going to get nothing out of this, when the populace would look on, knowing full well of my situation only to do nothing - perhaps a grimace or sneer or one of those 'i hear you man' half smiles - then, why not expose them?"

" Understandable - fairly selfish though. A naive outlook".

" Yeah"

"Did you write this drivel?"


The well-dressed couple simultaneously lit up a second cigarette. James lazily regarded the loose-leaf manuscript on the couch.

"What are you trying to achieve with this" James asked, gently pushing the well-drawn smoke out of his mouth, his eyes sitting tightly in his sockets."

Linear deconstruction. Displacement of subject. "

"I see."

"Windows, really small paintings badly arranged and marketed poorly. "

" Absolute meaning in the mess."

James lightly brushed Lorraines' shoulder. "Like I said How, come back to our property in central Otago. Bring a friend. We'll support you 100%. what do you need? Equipment - a technical crew? We can fully furnish your every whim How. Whatever work method you use, we'll respect. You need days, weeks of down-time to recharge the creative engine - take as much time as you need. The cult of youth is a farce. Be old, don't be afraid to move slowly. Take your ease - we respect the vision within How. Any transport issues are now non-issues. We own a string of studios in 26 cities worldwide. Whatever you want to do - just tell us what you need. "

"Perhaps a personal allowance could be set up for me? "

"Sure, just name a figure."

"Okay, to fully activate my ideas, to satiate corporeal needs and pay the bills - would $1,000 PW be fair?"

"That’s nothing, How."