The Akh-naut settled into the Sarcophagus cocoon of its craft. It would sleep for the duration of the space voyage, lasting both a nanosecond and an eternity. Its dreams were the bard’s tale, strummed in the theatre of mannequined harlequins ; reality = dream and vice versa.

In Days of Pollen, (stride the beach in search of Venus)

Navigating moons and asteroids towards point zero, eventual return to home sun the machine lights blinked as the Akh-naut lay buried in nocturne's chamber, tube fed and umbilical cord attached. And so the dreams began.
The archways of the dream were built by fractals, giant looming towers of infinity. In a shower of sparks, the stained glass window of the virtual void slowly opened. A shore corralled with coves lay skeletal bare.
A fine dust fell from the sky covering the Akh-naut’s amphibious suit.
Something always played at the corner of its eye, elusive to the grasp. A stray molecule of dreams haunted memory. Then it emerged.
From the ocean waters Venus like and holding a sceptre the Akh-naut glimpsed the other. A secretion of words formed at the apex as the other spoke,

“I seen you in the depth and I fell right down
Something in the wind that time won’t take
Fall on peaks, dashing bones
No one left, no home
Lifting wrecks, lifting smoke
Watch the skies let’s go
The entrails point north
All the sin’s stained sheets
Navigate the seas
Love go higher, cross the wire, home”

Who Got Horsie

Circles in the circus, a moustache bent like a tragedy on the Ring Master standing on show. The man (Ring Master) cracked a whip and he (horsie) was away running orbs within loops, leaping hoops like a monkey and grunting a neo cathartic whinny that stood hairs on end. With countless lashes he (horsie) despaired the meaningless dance towards distant onlookers. He (horsie) longed for freedom, to bury his metal hoof in earth soiled worms away from the bondage of the subjugated stares of the small minded clowns of this town. Belching dragon fire from nostril whim he (horsie) struck a canter fused with the harmonies of the dead and bolted the back gate. Hurdling fences and pedestrians he made for the Forests of Ash.
Typing a three part symphony in the theme of ‘control’ were the Terminal children, thusly named for they never left their terminals, small cubicles atop tree canopies inside the Forests of Ash. The children were the secret Government, the Apophrycal, for their superior wisdom in Electro Mantic arts allowed them to patch into the planet’s neural networks and guide numbers and rules to ways that would suit them. Their true purpose was unknown, be it good or evil though some said they themselves were under the spell of a God that strove for some haunted sequence of numbers, a task as futile as trying to manipulate the patterns of snowflakes into arranged submission.
Midgets and clowns gathered in a cloistered group plotting the return of the mechanical Horsie. It was the circus star performer, but there was another much more important reason for why the Horsie had to be returned. Only the Ring Master knew this, for he had purchased it under dubious circumstances from a small time dictator. The Horsie’s dark secret was that it was a killing machine. It was a nuclear weapon.
“Fuck that thing could go ballistic,” muttered the fat Ring Master smoking a Cuban and coughing while he accidentally inhaled.
The Circus began to move out, a scene of demented hunches, ex police squids, shady government types, and bearded ladies all mounting giant bulldozers with the fat Ring Master leading the charge.
Inside the Forests of Ash the Terminal Children looked on apprehensively. The circus was bad news and their forecasts had not prepared them for this. An anomalous freak had occurred, and the Horsie was the epicentre of the rippled pool. Attempting to patch into the mechanical Horsie was futile as some spark of consciousness, a spirit had entered its steely jaw and was playing havoc with the Terminal Children’s attempt of viral piracy. So for fear of their discovery by the circus and its ridiculous ring master, the Terminal Children hacked into any robotic units they could find and began to create a perimeter around the forest.

He (horsie) leaped in delight at his new found freedom. Cutting a dressage through the forest undergrowth he clipped a sigh and wondered whether this was all a dream. Wasn’t he just the Akh-naut deep in sleep aboard its ship in far flung galaxy dreaming that he (horsie) was a mechanical Horse bolting for freedom? Perhaps but it didn’t matter. He (horsie) chose to live in the moment proudly stalking the trees.
The bulldozers cut to a halt just outside the Forest. A ring of metal appliances, kitchen robots, picking machines, and robotic gardeners, all under the viral spell of the Terminal Children blocked their path.
“Bring us the Horsie,” the fat Ring Master yelled into a microphone fancying himself the next Elvis.
“We will not,” chirped the machines in chorus. “It has free will, it does as it wants. You will not enter the Forest.”
Pondering this briefly then hurling insults like dead flies at a window sill, the Ring Master called to arms his band of looters and clowns as they rushed the appliances. A mighty battle begun as foes traded blows and much blood and electricity came gushing forth from severed limbs and broken shafts.
He (horsie) heard the melee and went to take a look. Puzzled at the sight he whinnied in contemplation. What new fun is this? Perhaps I can join this new force of motley machines and fight the circus. “Yes I will”, he (horsie - the Akh-naut?) decided. Firing hydrogen filled nostrils the Horsie reared then bolted straight towards the scene.
“Oh fuck.”
From a distance a giant mushroom cloud could be seen as little Johnny picked his nose, examined it slowly and then ate it.

HORSIE FILM CLIP