a live multimedia performance detailing terminal psychedelic astral states.

original music, visuals, sound design and words by
Pereira Irving Paul (mata data / oneiric field)


#NaPoWriMo Days 8, 9, 10

Thirthia – Ten


Is this a
postcard holiday pic?
thermonuclear horizon
such beauty, of mushroom flowering
orange,black against the blue
green field, ocean
thermonuclear boiling
time and again I watch it
but it was peaceful last night
none the invasion
no debris raining down
no strange coercion
various phases of
thermonuclear life laid to waste
carry on
the light will be against my back
elsewhere, another horizon
no radiation
no fall out
open road ahead
it is nearing
just as the crater is farther away
no need for memorials
there is, there, the new city
or just home
where the thermonuclear heart finds no violence



Thirthia – Nine


I’m rushing through the rain because I’m late 
It’s a long way to walk, my feet hurt
I left my umbrella behind
Never mind, someone needs it
Such absentmindedness 
One minute away 
I’m nearly there
Few more steps
She smiles back
She drops her skirt
“Come to me my dear”
Her purring excites me
I’m on autopilot now
Losing my shirt, my tie, my pants
The fatigue of the day drops away
She pulls me to the bed and bites my neck

#singpowrimo#napowrimo#poetrychallenge9Pereira Irving Paul

We’re both lying there, on 
a bed, in the dark
We’re in a house made of wood
Candlelight blown out
No power lines run this deep into the forest
There is only moonlight and it’s not enough

The bed is soft and we’re sinking into it
Sinking into initiation
The priestess stands at the foot
She says, “Thoth is coming through.”
She begins to speak, but not in her voice.
It’s deep, masculine, alien, cloaked in greys and greens,
chords from the sub-conscious

the woman next to me begins ecstasy
it’s sexual and spiritual and surreal
lovemaking with invisible forces
“I’ve never felt anything like this!”
moaning, squirming, deep in heat
a river of fire scorches the right side of my body
building from within
cells and nerves and bloodstream burning
the woman sinks in deeper and I roll down the slope of bed
my back touches her right arm
the fire escalates

I wake up

The buzz from my body is still there
Fresh and following me out of the dream
But it was no dream

My system is altered by the voice of Thoth.


Thirthia, day seven

Sidewinding, skid marking into alternate history and
I’m still with the mad shouting couple
(their baby in pink in the back seat of a cramped car)

It wasn’t my fault
It was too crowded
Too immense, this megalithic mall
At some stage, I lost sense of which floor I was on
Trace back, recall, what did you do with the parking ticket?
We can’t get out
(the car had to reverse)
the drop gate won’t open without the ticket
the slot is starving but we can’t feed it
(dug my pockets countless times)
fade out receipt found on first search (left side, right side nothing)
half ripped movie ticket on another occasion (it was not there before)
the pocket regenerates lost paper
useless, folded evidence that won’t get us out

I’m highly stressed
Disoriented with the heartland mobs
(where did I throw away that ticket? Which beige dustbin?)
They all look the same, on every floor, each a gaping mouth receiving spectacular rubbish
Memory serves up imposter actions
(dug the pocket, dropped the ticket)
did I do that?
Escalators up and down, jam packed
I’m highly tired, angry
It’s not my fault
I want to scream and shout like the mad couple
I need to find a machine
Get a new ticket (but where the hell is this technology?)
No signs, no maps, no one to ask, everyone lost with the tide, following bulk patterns
Mass migration in the mall
To the south side
To the western hemisphere
Into basements obscured by an alley of food
Human tributaries converging into an ocean of annex
Money exchanging hands, fighting for deals
(I don’t know what to do with this)
they walk away holding strange objects of no value

I find a touch screen within a white wall
small messages, centralized, computerized, telling me to take the ticket
a card slips out of the slot of an oversized teller

we can get out now.

Back in the car, I’m with the pink baby
The mother, in passenger seating says
“she ate the ticket.”
It was her fault
But we don’t blame children
Her mouth is wet with saliva
Pieces of cardboard on her lap
Lapping up our ticket out of here
Half swallowed

we’ve got a second ticket now
for an alternate vehicle in an alternate universe, altering the other course
where the mad couple is divorced and there is no baby.

It was never my fault


#napowrimo, #singpowrimo, #pereirairvingpaul, #napowrimoday7


Thirthia – episode 6


Mircrobiotics unfounded in corners, windswept clean

Singular chair


One-way glass observatory

The groom in an accused grey suit, black skin

He will not speak about the package in the taxi





Dehumidifier in my room.

Silent hum.

I was with him in the cab. Back seat

suspicious of few hundred-dollar fare


“How much does he know of the page?”

The woman is going through my typewritten document

a block of words, straight-laced

unfamiliar story

not done by my machine


false narrative to throw off trajectories


he does not break a sweat

so zen

is halogen buzzing like they do in movies?

“I will not cut a deal to send him in.”

she doesn’t whimper or smirk or offer consolance::


stripped free of macrobiotics

thickening of blood in his veins

darkening of blood in mine

osmosis through sight and thought and the male gaze

of shared injections

mutual transplants


she’s pointing out mistakes in the narrative


black blouse, curve of skirt, wave of hair falling in slander

neutral ossification


body found in trunk.


“There’s nothing I can offer you. About him”


He does not twitch or smile or offer condolences

they are forensic testing the cab we arrived in

dust particles, macrobiotics, D.N.A swabs, open fake mouths

“He does not belong in the grey room.”

“He won’t have to be there, if you cooperate.”

Her eyes are no more sensual

Not like that night

After drinks and petty footsies

Curled up on a naked bed


She’s a snare, a howling trap


Entangled hair

Sex soaked skin

Undercover operative


I told her, “A part of me, as a child, is in you.”

I’ve given her that.

“It’s not enough.”

It’s o.k.

The child knows what to do in her mind


No more.


He’s no longer in the room.

She leaves the block of words on crème paper, on the metallic table

“you decide what is truth”

the room is windswept, a clearing of presence

she’s no longer in the room



waited, I sit

where have they taken him?



Electric chair

Bed and breakfast

Scene of the crime


outside, agents mingle, whispers travel through aircon ducts

I think they killed the cab driver. Execution style.

I don’t know how I know this.

I can smell cheap coffee, gunpowder, guerilla tactical

Military industrial complex

He has something they want

I was just there for the ride, the forbidden vials, the basement experiment


They put a bag over my head

Led me out into the heat

Round and round in the bowels of secret bases

Insect songs buzzing, directionless, overhead P.A announcing numbers, color codes.

I heard noises of pain but not from him

There are others here


I’m strapped down

Steel bed

Needle arm

Extracting macrobiotics

“your blood will tell the truth.”

I doubt that

I’ve changed the course with sheer will

Internal organ tricks

Falsifying data from kidneys and livers

Dendrites delivering diversions


They will never find out


I tolerate.

#NaPoWriMo Day #5

quickly provide urine sample
quickly deflate purple balloon
quickly, decide, become couple
quickly visit wedding saloon

quickly Christians, donate something
quickly virgin, perverts return
quickly Jesus, second coming
quickly, priestess, banish phantom

quickly, lover, pants undone
quickly student, lessons, unlearn
quickly kneeling, worship Wotan
quickly robber, reload weapon

quickly, soldier, arrive intact
quickly pissing beside temple
quickly writer, poem, redact
quickly escape, panic, trample


Thirthia – Episode four – #napowrimo

doomed, last days of man
black skies, black sea, black time
black gates gape
hounds from hell, stalks our land

dark with mad rage
howl, lunge, force of bite breaks bones
holes in skin, torn neck, chewed heart, burst
gash, wounds, rip, eat
blood pours, won’t stop
trails of prey
hear them scream, cry, pray in all tongues
run, limp, crawl, push off beasts with bare hands, legs
(no use)
this foul force is too great, too wild, too bent, too set to kill
to eat all
all moms
all boys
all girls
shred, soiled dress
clumps of hair still stuck on scalps on wet roads




for fucks sake


doom dogs will hunt you down
red eyes in black night, sees through walls, heat sense, sharp ears


(no use)

be still

(no use)


(no use)

fear scent too strong

they can smell you

you shut your eyes

(no use)

they see you

you know they are near when your skin crawls

guns won’t stop them
blades will fail
one can’t kill that which is dead

“oh God.”
“Oh, please”

watch the dogs
lick up blood from founts of vein
watch the dogs wag their tails as they drink from your dead loved ones
they love your blood, your meat, your red, soft heart
they won’t stop

pray you’ll die quick
have mercy
have mercy

run, till you can’t

force your legs
till you can’t


till you can’t

then give in
give up
close your eyes






Thirthia -episode three- #napowrimo

Dig out the red folder
from your mothers’ room
open the white door
go past browned, laminated birth certs
computer print outs
irrelevant doctors orders, hand—scrawled, abstaining you from weapons training
look for the right letterhead, the original

you’ll need it to change the future

burn the fake identities
toss transcripts into the fire
it’s all in your head now
aged and utilized
It’s all in your blood
leave no trace of the one you leave behind
follow the resurrected

You can stop running.

let it come to you
find the file and find the life
find your ruined black ballpoint
find the yellow highlights

sign the dotted line

you can stop fighting now
this ends the poverty of your starving heart
you know what you must do
you’re tired, but the past is put to rest
you’ve done this before

fold the original cert
fold the papers
put them together
drop it off
let time and detail do the rest


The woman on the phone said it’s alright
“We won’t change anything until we receive the papers.”
lick the envelope
postage paid by addressee
they can spare a few cents
they’ve taken enough from you
now you take it back

the institution can feed off the others. you are now the predator.

There is no crisis here
the crisis is ending
you can stop struggling now
this ends the poverty in your time
on your terms
you have safe passage, you have permission to pass, to build

this is your corner stone.

It all leads up to this
You’ve sent for your future
You have asked

Now all we have to do is wait



Thirthia – episode two – #napowrimo

lift lobby
contained by boundaries
unfamiliar neighbours coming and going

they are true strangers

fragments of visitations

World light suspended towards evening
(again, this frozen timescape)
I’m loitering
delivered here by scientific sleep,
a trespasser permitted to linger near postboxes
half threatening families with cigarette burning
paranoid behaviour stolen from memories and t.v screening.

The Recycle Cage is full

transparent turquoise plastic box
filled with pictures in broken frames
treasured vintage photographs found

The past is catching up
conditions are compromised
scavengers on bicycles come and go
digging for metals, architectural derivatives
taken from recycle cage
fulfilling directives from induced sleep phenomena

I open the box /scavenging/

silver, triangular frames with no stands
cheap copies of mural paintings shrunk from an older age
figures and fantastic beasts conversing in pastel / faded paint
collage from brochures
products of an absent museum
artefacts from a passed away time
I find photo albums
yellowed, dirtied, abandoned
contents, shocking
familiar faces
stark naked friends from a bygone period
full bodied, starved, in profile, next to each other, a centipede line

sexual organs limp and dangling
posing for the camera

The girl is in the middle
so skinny
bones and breasts, body pressed against boyfriend
pants down, bound around legs, ribcages shining beneath translucent skin

I am not in there

(I am behind the cam) so long ago.

time weakens the photos
turns it into oil and wet paint, plastered against clear plastic pockets
to move them is to smudge them
bending spaces, altering bodies trapped in celluloid

the girl in the pic comes out of the lift
She is alone
She idles, loiters
She knows I’m here
she’s all flesh and meat, oil and paint, heightened, bulked out, fat

moving the photo changed her.

she leans, back against the wall next to me
then slides down

she speaks in monologue
—I want to masturbate
—I want to sleep
—I have grown
this box belongs to her ancestry
this box follows the funeral

I’ve taken photos of her in bed before
long ago, I craved for her body.
—she has grown
—she wants to sleep
—I can only touch her in my mind

I know.

She’s no more a child.

The cigarette I give her is important
The smoke is a bridge between
1. The oneiric lab
2. spirit worlds

The neighbors come and go

The boundaries keep us in

She and I

(I have permission to pass through)
(She lives in the world of photographs)
(everyone else evacuates) aware of program erasure

The directive:
-Careful handling of photographs
-If they are ruined, the subjects will
appear / transform
-the subjects will want explanations

-Do not engage.

I have broken protocol.