Matt Kings Unbelievable Hype



____________________________________________


 
         Welcome to you all; loveable and unloving beings 
         and creatures.Fleshy visitors with pulse, warm 
         blood and skin.Let me cut to the snatch. 
         This is a two way give and take thing.
         Hopefully in this mess of pages will be a snippet 
         of gobbledegook with some value to you. 
         If a little electric miracle occurs and begins a 
         domino run in your synapses then please let out your
         feedback, whether it gushes or trickles, 
         into this drain known as

mattyking@hotmail.com

Or Click Here To Confess At The Altar
(..er its a guestbook)


Check out my Webrings


Super New is my chat/board/interactive drawing pad

NEW FROM APRIL 1999: Visit the sister site
of MK's Unbelivable Hype

Also New a photo of Matt looking merry


______________________________________________________

Before you examine the slim pickings of The Hype Catalogue, I recommend that you switch off your computer and read some of these books instead.


Or check out these killerLINKS




_____________________________________

THE HYPE CATALOGUE



_____________________________________


Are you feeling like a bit of a pray, but you find all that Jesus stuff a bit dated?
Fear not because here we like to worship in a way more compatible to our
21st century, pomo, cyberfart, digiwank generation.
Enter into this sacred prayer zone by clicking here.
Thanks to Norbert Hayley, the greatest planet aligner south of the Watford Gap.


____________________________________


One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing. Click on the SCROLL to read the result of that experiment.


____________________________________



A great friend of mine Matt Morton did some computer keyboard tapping when we shared a flat in 1998. I thought it deserved posting. What do you think?


____________________________________






LODESTAR

The singed carpet fag butt pressed in
An island a resort my head aglow
Searching by its own will scanning
A clue a spark the guidance sure
Roll over body eyes view skylight black
The Lodestar speaks and showers the mind
A course set compass rigging tight
So long wasted time as I trip out eternal.


return to the catalogue



____________________________________







TEA TIME CHARLIE

She mistook him for a tea time charlie
A shrugging dunked biscuit
He plasticity, uncared bullied boy
sorted it all by shaking neck with his head loose
and staring around or through everyone and their
daft fractured perceptions, so classified they and he,
never were we,
and she and he neither became us.

the end.


return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________







Abolish Fingering 

The lemon squeezer is in the dish washer
The potato peeler is sealed in an oily film
The teapot is for growing chives
And now I've gone and left the lid up again


return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________






Good Old English Warfare devlish inane bedsprings for rotten criminals do good slapstick in a trench abode over the top with monocles and bread sing the pipes and suck in the last breath polish off with our lords finest claret



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________






You Know Who U.R. There were gasps An acrobatic display Clever sounds were heard Vinyl wedges and a bassbin All lost and crucified Dancers in limbo Flying on a breeze And let down gently Sighs of confusion Same body, different soul? Oh no my friends It is us, thats all



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________



1 Imbibe the full crest 2 Shaken lanced its over 3 Effects, ye pleasures the faker 4 Tomb, his wizzened stagnant nest 5 Again no grit to grind 6 Accept the dry snail shell 7 Spiral visions only half life 8 The sluggish fool knows it



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________






In training for the prize we are the starving convicts radical law lovers at best jokers from the lowest plane an abysmal puzzle but we are not waiting for the hierarchal lies in exposure we find strength and destiny breaks several eggs should the doubt linger in silence shining gusto in the hands of a switchblade baby apologies to the hip groove and cleanse our tactics never chapter two what the fuck is a chapbook get out of your cafes and start living rip it up and start again dead in the present when the future is now you dont think you know enough you know too much of nothing you forgot your ass when you stopped shitting dancing in formality is no way to dance unless museums and wars are your ideal poetry about your fears is about you and for noone I'm trying not to be elitist but I'm interested in the power of multiple brain speak that can occur when egocentric sentiment isnt present. Dont argue with my contradictions. 3ways clumsy payoff rocking horse gag choosing random numbers may win you the national lottery but then whose playing chapbookers 4th device note how pleased we are to be here. Yeah of course it exists. a divine stream only forgotten if you are busy playing the other three games this is where we are always.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________



SINGLE DAD Crinkle cut slut in a door jam, Christian bacon sandwich slouching, Swagger dick in dad's sov. ring, And cradle snatch a slapped cheek. In a Primrose Hill mansion, Lies a sawdust timber job, Your sweetheart's snoozing in leather, And you drive the kid to school.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________



I'll come to the crunch in the end you tossbags. I felt it was right to walk all over the town. Because it was not too big and I repeated my efficient routes passing the same shops graffiti and pieces of dog turd that gradually got washed away or more stamped on as I passed by time and again. Them one day the Spanish bag lady had me cornered in an alley. The mad witch in front of me and a Pincher with frothy teeth and a studded black collar behind me. She spoke first, "Sunny sunny my you little bastard I'm gonna keel you Oh baby are you scared hugh hugh come here." I didn't say anything but got away after she got bored and was looking through some bins. Then there was the other mad lady who wanted me to go upstairs and look at her etchings. She put her cold hand across my face feeling the shape of it. "You are just like my husband" she said "your face is the same, it feels the same." I let her continue not much I could do. Anyhow it was the kinkiest thing that had happened to me whilst delivering boring old bollocks papers. "He was a star and he and I were going to be superstars, only he died in a hang-gliding accident." Then came the old upstairs and see the paintings she'd just done. But the mention of death and the prospect of a sexual experience with a nutter was too much for this boy to deal with. So he wriggled away and trundled along the same old streets. This kind of weird stuff didn't happen much in this small town, so he tended to remember these incidents and then mix up the old half forgotten ones. So that he can make a little nutty cake for the outlaw who he has to prove himself to; painful initiation rites with razor blades and nipple clamps.

return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________


I'M A VAGUE RANT Tonight when yorr blinds are shut pulled down. And snail tracks after a night on the Guinness. Like cats eyes on the hall's carpet. So we pushed and pulled. Not together. Eventually silent. And kept numb like that. Then you began to snore. And we smelt bad. But warm and I was glad. The rain all next day. Walking about in it. Up and down the same roads. It could only be a barren event. As you said. So i didn't go into the gallery or the pub. Just wet pavements and Big Star on the hedphones.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________


LIST 1. Damage limitation exercise 2. Self pity in small towns 3. Fags 'n' Booze 4. In the multistorey car park 5. Buying new light bulbs 6. Bleeding the radiators 7. Repeating the past 8. Gay graffiti in the Gents 9. Video shop debt 10. Eating more fruit 11. Radiohead cd on repeat



return to the catalogue



___________________________________________________


DWELLING WITH VULTURES

Time unaltered. Gives me defences. And fortunately a barrel of tea cup apologists. Terminate the treadmill. Vanquish the mist(myst). Zeal feel goood no??? Brothers begone. Admirable able orrible. So far and goose step brillo guest ghost nerd fog happen hope driller servant waxy grinning younghasty forever just in k's time an ape and colours growth yung jung millstones powder breath zebraboy starchy man gnome fright hallways with no doors leer lech untouched possessed but not scarred slapped but not tickled a gift with gain beyond playing shed forge t hunters dogs treasure halcyon krill ocean depth . Chaptrs too proud numb bridle grown cypher trickle juice skin observe slice bleed need suck animal clawed fingers feeding raw bellow grunt moan fart heave eat chew swallow breathe slap scratch. So disable that device on the never arriving tommorrow, and we'll plunder the good heart for beaten eggs. Earth is our stable. Mars is our mirror. The day we discovered fire making. Uh oh. I sense disagreement. YES I AM BLOCKED. That is why we must prevail. Cuntinue the species. Yellow grass neath blackened tent. And the glory days with a bakewell tart.I didnt bury her. Too dangerous with them snooping with hounds. A professional confessional at the mighty pyre. Bit of a feast it were.
The third city. Entry to the aftermath of the maggot fest. An orgy of sunlight . Mellow rays at play in the scorched grass. NAKED smeared ashes come free blood where did those feathers appear incidental alchemy you see yes but still writhing about in my awakening detritus. Morning glory stabbing the hot ashes. A thrill still ill. Make it so and grow stand up arise urize glow fortune prays with a clucking luck. Digging clawing at the earth to swim in soil beneath. String along come and go enjoy while it lasts. Sun is still, viewing.
Dont look back, fuck the earth she's there she's there.
Scald me hot coals.

Of course it was worth it . For fucks sake its always worth it.


return to the catalogue



___________________________________________________


This strangely crap poem was written on Koh Tao Island in 1995. I dedicate it to Ghaoglai Yasuree. The spook increases time Beyond the whisper Jane and Mary And tremors know the secrets Visitations All too clearly A vine demands a conduct Baboons racing Never cheering I walked beneath the outer rim A tooth less Never fearing And now divine encompasses A truth dies Never hearing Be smart my chief In shallow grief We shall now clasp in sharing A claim intact Be fair a ridge In heavy weathers' clearing And sleeping willows Wave their curse While sparrows weave in daring Behold tonight We come at last False wind the bag is mended And love and fear Of loss the pain Our stomachs tight suspended.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________


Written in Glasgow 1997. I realised afterwards that this 
read better in reverse. Here is the correct reversed version.

   Apollo Tomorrow

   Rocking with a shine tip and a human bulb of fear
   Crimson hair and it grooves with her voice
   Cradle shock smile and a joy tear
   We do it now      more than fine
   In my fragment    and your time
   For a case of night spilled and locks cut
   In the clanking chase
   A bum steer       no fear
   Dark matter       in tact
   Sleek stars shying away

   Stand tall dissolve create dismantle
   A beam of gravity the full moon
   Agrees to delight with the monthly ball
   The heat and flesh fabric on skin
   And singing in torrents the sweat
   Highlights the curl
   Pretty boys and a girl to match
   In ascendance
   A curtain drama
   Transcend ten as the plain unfolds.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________


    

These are some of my favourite books and authors.
  • 'Out' by Ronald Sukenick
  • 'Journey to the end of the night' and 'Guignol's Band'
    by Louis-Ferdinand Celine
  • 'The Master and Margaritte' by Mikhail Bulgakov
  • 'Another roadside attraction' by Tom Robbins
  • 'The Magus' by John Fowles
  • 'Empire of the sun' and 'The kindness of women'
    by J.G.Ballard
  • 'Time and the Hunter' by Italo Calvino
  • 'Cyrus, Cyrus' by Adam Zameenzad
  • 'Breakfast of Champions' by Kurt Vonnegut
  • 'Vurt' by Jeff Noon
  • 'Blood Music' by Greg Bear
  • 'The Cosmological Eye' and 'The Air Conditioned Nightmare'
    by Henry Miller
  • 'Cremer 2' by Jan Cremer
  • 'Selected Poems' by William Blake
  • 'Lectures on Ancient Philosophy' by Manly P. Hall



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________



CHECK OUT THESE LINKS!!


EDIBLE BRAIN
Brains have never tasted this good before. Fresh, vital and electric.
CYANOSIS
This is a page with some seriously fascinating essays for all you poetic-genius nutters out there.
SYSTEM-ZERO
This is the homepage of Cyanosis and also has unhinged arty stuff from San Francisco.
NETWORK 23
This is a techno/direct action/drugs/arts/fun/reclaim the streets kind of site with minizines spreading across the UK and the world!!
t0 PUBLIC NETBASE
This is a large site based in Vienna with many fascinating essays written by some deep thinkers.
'Out' by Ronald Sukenick
Here is a fantastic novel available in full online at a site called ALT X. Download, printout and read. You will not regret it!!
A distorted view of famous faeces of the world
Turn these irritating media whores into the devils hiding beneath their slick surface images.
Glebe's Thrift Funnel
If you are from outside the UK, Chris Morris is a British comedy sketch/ satirist/ spoof reporter guy. He is a genius who dares to cross all boundaries and expose the hell of the media world and our lives in general.
The William Blake archive home page
Gaze at the gorgeous illuminated books of Blake. Also find the Tate Gallery UK for the paintings.
Urban 75 uk underground
Find out where the festivals and demos are. A bit 'south england trendy', but good info.
Rob Brezny's Real Astrology
This is a fab site. Hate all astrology nonsense? Come on in, you'll love it.
The Wise Woman of Wedmore
These wise ones will crack you up. A cup of tea, and a chocolate biscuit is all you require.
The Hype Radiostation
This is my personalised station. It will get more defined if I get round to it.



return to the catalogue


___________________________________________________



Unless otherwise stated, all that is written here
    is �� 1998,1999 Matthew James King.
       All Rights Reserved.