21st June, 41031 BCE

The man stands at the water's edge, gazing down into the pool. There's a faint smell in the air - something he recognises - something sweet. His beard whips about in the wind, a gale whistling up the crack of his arse. The solstice sun burns down on his head. He glances left and right, then back down. And then, slowly, almost painfully, things begin to happen inside his head. He stares at his reflection. It stares back.

His head grinds, cogs banging off each other, machine parts unused to contact screeching into life. He raises his hand, points and grunts. At himself. And then it happens.

He makes a sound. A sound with two sounds. He makes it again. He points at his reflection - his reflection points at him. He giggles, jumps up and down, his beard flapping around. He makes the sound again, beginning to spin in circles, laughing uncontrollably, pointing, giggling, sniggering like a madman. He makes the sound again and laughs again. Sound, image and object connect. The axis tilts. And nothing is ever the same.

Standing behind him, a woman with big green eyes and brown hair puts her hands to her face and shakes her head. She looks back, takes a picture and slips her iPhone back into her bra.

21st June, 37031 BCE

The woman looks distinctly unimpressed. He was supposed to return home with some food. Instead, he's covered in sweat, blood, bite marks and mud. There's no food. But there is a slightly glazed look on his face - like he's been licking those mushroom things again. He looks rather sheepish.

She makes a sound, placing her hips on her hands. He thinks for a second, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He scratches his arse. And then he starts. He grunts, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder. He walks on the spot, whistling as he goes. Then he jumps, as though in fright - raising his hands to mimic the actions of a big animal with claws. He bares his teeth, snarling, roaring, then he screams, he starts furiously pumping his arms as though sprinting away from the unseen beastie. The missus looks distinctly nonplussed, flicks her hair as she spins on her heel and stalks back into the cave. From inside, the sound of a crying baby girl drifts out.

The man sighs and lets his shoulders slump. His little song and dance - his story - has worked for now. The axis tilts. And nothing is ever the same.

21st June, CE 2007

The doorbell rings. The man stands up, walks out of his living room and steps to the front door. Quickly glancing at his watch, he pulls the door open. A woman with green eyes and brown hair stands there, a slight smile creeping across her face.
'I need to tell you a story' she says.
'I'm sorry - have we met before?' he says slowly.
'Yes, you could say that. Can I come in?' she asks.
'Uhm. I suppose you... where did we meet?'
'Not where - when' she says.
'Oh' he says. 'Fuck. It's you then is it?'
'Yep' she says. 'It is'
'You're late' he says. 'And you have a ring on your wedding finger'
'Yes. Hmm. Sorry about that. It took a while to find your house'
The axis tilts. And nothing is ever the same.

+Choon+

'Aquarius' by Boards Of Canada

+Art+

Image by Dr. Joanne

+In Search of Ragged Robin+

Inspired by Grant Morrison's 'The Invisibles'

+Stream+

Image stream from flickr.com (via Gickr). Search tag: Grant Morrison

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