Cometh the hour, drinketh the tea. Ceylon succours! Brist to thy mill, my decimo modulo. Undergunned and outperforated, nudibranches sprout multifariously from the Great Orme's latitudinous valve. Press thy lips to the slug's salty slime, scrotfurtler, and dance visceral fandangos where the moominfish fair grint. Listen Now Crank my ever-yodeling g…

Tan sandstone blocks, upon which lies like a shroud a vaporous husk, the branch system of a long-dead ivy, blushing dark cobweb of dusky vine. What enormous tonnage, what great weight of crumbling stone. All we lack is longterm thinking; the perspective of aeons. Civilisation as we know it can not be saved, could never in its entire history have ev…

How furcate is my volley! How splend the strand of string that strays from straggle heath to sponly suedes! As Swayze sways, these rays persuade, he's raised the waves from wasteful ways. A length of clothespipe, flurdled in a codheap. Did your mother mither? Does your mister pass muster? (I blessed a blister-blaster with much bluster.) You can eat…

Gnolling cloudless and winsome o'er the hobbledy froom, a snipjack trejury come treacling langwards from netherlandish parts. Hobskoosh onely wonders, the pibbletosh skim skimmety-skim on glasslake ribble. Nabberlack lip-licker frusking out the vanguard as pottle fall dreamylike through wode, long loomy wode, a light as baffleghast as wronglesky, t…

Jellyfish desperate to save their habitat crammed themselves a hundredfold into the nozzle, but the reactor continued to function. The queen's coronation pie was stuffed to the brim with lamprey, slave blood still dripping from their toothy maws, their gaping buccal funnels. They opened their pineal eyes and wept, as ancient worms transformed the S…

When tender frond the turlingdromes, and vestas whiffle from their homes, out in the misty magma moonlight, neeping in the afternoon, bright Lesmerelda flaunts her chubbles, great malinky double-bubbles. What a wald! I wadnae yield to see her famed delights revealed! But hush now son, and graze your kneesden. My poem's done. OH GOD NOT THE BEES-den…

The ungudly abuminations multiplied twentyfold in mere hours, gnashing their gnarled dentata and puffing out those coarsely bristled cheeks. The growls and grufflings bargled forth long and loudsome, trombonerous and chewbattic rumbunctions resonorating echoey through the corridrobes, surgeries and hauleyways. Listen Now. Lord Brannigan-7 relaxed b…

An old woman walking her dog in a field of clover came across a shepherdess looking over her flock of forty-six brown sheep and two dozen lambs. Each sheep wore upon its face a pair of half-moon spectacles and an embarrassed expression (the lambs just wore the glasses.) The old woman asked the shepherdess why her flock looked so bashful. The shephe…

Will you face the racing thoughts that swell and swirl around your goldfish bowl, those thoughts that swallow you up whole and wrap themselves around your soul? And did you ever stop to place a guiding gentle hand upon your face and say, be still now child, and stop your foolish self from running wild? Listen Now. In clear water running over sand c…

A sprinkling of dusty flakes, the dead skin that makes crusts upon the brow and which blizzards away as one's forehead creases in blowzy consternation, fall lightly upon the humpbacked bellypaunch, the curly-haired chest. One is reluctant to move, lest they drift onto the upholstery. Best remain, then, sofa-besnared, until the tender springs of sum…

There are several really interesting clocks in Berlin. I've never been myself, but horology is an abiding interest. At the intersection of sciences between horology and botany, we find the dandelion clock, which the French call pissenlit. The English name also stems from French, dents de lion; the lion's teeth. Two lions killed and ate 135 Kenyan r…

Scooping out great fistfuls of hogflesh: argument over who gets the choicest meat; me wants the bellymeat, no no no me wants the headmeat... Delicately flick the pointed tip of one's tongue into the vacant snout to slurp at the cool jelly up there. It is not true that we are three meals away from barbarism; we are there already. Listen Now. Why not…

So many layers of cryptic meaning envelop this week's Epidose that I feel frankly giddy just imagining the possibility of thinking about it. Listen Now. You are intelligent creatures, at least so I'm given to understand, so you'll have no problem in whittling out the obdurate reality lurking behind these gauzy fairy-sprinkles of discombobulating gl…

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away. Andrew Ridgely's transplant unit hijinks on Boxing Day notwithstanding, we are pleased as plum duff to present this somewhat delayed selection box of seasonally-flavoured musical monstrosities for your consideration: Listen Now. Everyone enjoys Christmas music, don't they…

A year and a day ago, the first Epidose of Esoteric Music Lounge careened forth, lurching and uncontrollable, like a jellied emission coughed quivering from the clot-flecked and mucous lungs of a verminous shoulder-whisperer, its uncertain trajectory revealing little portent of the steamrollering cosmic uberforce it would shortly become. Join us in…

Imagine building an enormous sandwich packed full with all the world's rugs. That would take some serious eating. How big would one's mouth have to be to munch the ultimate rug sandwich? Pretty big mouth, I'm saying. Spreading alternate layers of mayonnaise and mustard upon each rug before lifting the next carefully into place. Listen Now. Not all …

A foul wind blew from the west, and deathly silence fell across the land. Winter fell. The ground hardened, crusted over with ice sheets as hard as granite. Our hearts needs must become as the speckled lights of a hundred million tiny candles each kept sheltered and nourished through neverending night. Listen Now. It's Britpop Memorial Day down on …

Hoppo, Stadlin, Hellwain, Puckle: Mony's the mickle that macketh th' muckle. Listen Now. Firestone, Malkin, Jinny-the-Green, The crones of the coven work curses unseen, Work hexes of horror to succour your fears, Deathly, the evil they bring to your ears: The Hare And The Moon - The Willows Twink with Steve Peregrine Took - The Coming Of The Other …

The mist grows heavy, the cobblestones slicken and black, and treacherous rumours go murmuring along dark alleyways. Lantern candles amber the faces of wanton gargoyles, and polyvinyl curtains slap like sea-leather from cullis windows. Out into this night ventures our hero, sideways-peeking behind from corner-folds, and yet though he does not pass …

It is certainly impossible to think; impossible, really, to do anything at all. Circularity inhabits the wheel, and sheer exhaustion is all that keeps us pushing it forward. Had we only the energy to see it, we might then have the energy to stop. Centuries are dust; civilizations only the marginal scribblings in a disregarded apocrypha, the footnot…

Throw open your curlews, gentlefolds, and behold the tremulous chirruping of damsel-pies in dewy-fronded distress. What menacingly trite apparitions come emanating from yonder dismal crenels and merlons? Be it bunyip? Or quinkin? Ebu Gogo? Popobawa? Oh, all of these, all of these crawling slimy things, all the nightmares that lay a clammy flap upon…

On the summit skyline, a series of T-shapes in silhouette against thunderclouds. The bearded ones wander freely, unnoticed and undetected. Is it such a terrible thing, this thing they do? Since when has justice not allied herself to persecution? Parking restriction notices are the impenetrable glyphs of the apocalypse. Listen Now. The warden comes …

The scale is wrong: the vanishing points inconsistent. The steps between notes form no tone or half-tone, the perspective is forced or false. Lunging crazily over the skyline, the lunatic figure of a kingkong wraithed in moth-tattered robes, thrusting stubby fingers up, up, towards the imagined chemtrails of poisonous radiation-dipped seagulls. Lis…

A score of tortoise-shells are piled before the prince. Sand and salt spray lift from the waves, whip across the face, form a crust around the eyes and ears. Thunder rolls across the ocean; a watercolour painted in grey. Listen Now. Perform the incrustation, and you'll unleash these mighty molluscs: Harry Cox - What Will Become Of England? Pigeonhe…

Brexit came, and Turner the Worm was sick all over Donald Trump's face. "The conjunction of symbols at the vertex of chance is what the classical scholars called synchronicity." Yijing and yarrow float nebulously overhead and every course plotted seems full of ominous foreboding. Why needs must you tread on the tiger's tail? Listen Now. £0.10 for a…