This sombre place is haunted by the sounds of lost acid house parties and the distant reverberations of 1986. Test Department . 303. 808. Traces of industrial noise.
The roundhouse was easy to get into, and the depot itself, disused for years is lit up with tags and dubs.
You can hear these deserted places, feel the tendrils creeping across the abandoned caverns, the derelict bunkers and broken terraces. Mid summer, blistering heat under the concrete, Armagideon Time(s), a hidden garden, to be found ,and lost again.
The Family Home, a catacomb of concrete chambers. The sky,livid pink and turquoise striations,
the bleeps and electronic distortions of a kinetic soundsystem.
1984 mutoid waste company happening, Steptoe and Son meets Mad Max, military hardware scavenged in East Berlin strewn across factory yards.
Tower block silhouettes, light almost green now. Tab wearing off , stepping anxiously through the ruins,
the occult worlds beneath the flyover.
Splintered images of that lost trogladite flash up. Envelope modulation, imperceptible frequencies. Pink and black paint spanned the walls in checkerboard formations. He was immersed in those underground chambers, a feral guardian of the last relics of acid culture. Five years since the last party but he held his plot, scavenging for food like a Ballardian crash victim.