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We left no stone unturned as if they required ripening or turning tanned them evenly. Underneath, they were wet, uneven unsmoothed by scuffing pilgrims (unaware that beneath their feet -- icebergs in stone scattered Titanic earthworms and provided moles an assault course of sorts). We reversed the world. This may deter the ungodly ones that feel foot pain and quickly turn away. Or perhaps now we have signposted hell skywards -- unnerved the universe through interference, so thunder rumbles and dying becomes confused -- we quickly undo our work, displacing moles -- worms too, replacing stones, comforting Gods so that mud-slicked, and somehow changed -- We stand back, scuff the earth aside, it looks dirtily new and will never quite be as pilgrims knew. - Simon Huggins, 31st July 2002

from Creation Myth [#8] Immured by silt-flesh filthy skin within I bake my millions of shared bacteria. You stop, able to see deformity makes us kin, your friend makes me further determined. My approach is disturbing in that you seem undisturbed by my joints that crack and crumble with each step carefully placed a thin dust trailing lines of flies; their sycophantic buzz for waste. I greet you with a guttural breath of airless ooze -- communicates a primal language, precious bond. You stumble from the stench but shared in being selfish props; throwaways of your friend. You are small, I smaller still encased in that which matters least oh give me small revenge oh tiny man that tiny feels the oh-so need to feel self-worth oh come with me to scheme. - Simon Huggins, 17th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#7] The sun baked an epidermis slowly like a laugh at ripening fruit. From slurry to a condensation of mud flats. It is stifling. Playback prelapsarian memories before, you were swimming free. Now, constriction normalizes you a brain of sorts. Seek a cohort. Someone who sees your normal form. Identifies your abnormal form. Accepts your rejection of normalcy. Synchronicity says this friend is a friend of the creator- waster, revenge is perfection when twisted to shit betrayal. Simon Huggins, 15th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#10] My family feast today, a welcome surprise to be together, who we are we hide, disguised behind dips of mayo, humous, we laugh at each other's traits. And somehow the bonhomie turns ugly. Now the sizzling steak on the barbecue builds to an ugly crescendo of fat and blood, and unsurprisingly, the cats are nowhere to be seen. I go to find them, stacking empties and plates, helter-skeltering over three-year olds, parents blindly bitter, unaware but to randomly berate kids play in trails of alcohol, skidding cars within without which this family might just die unhappy. At the kitchen window, a tappety-tapping face, my friend smiles, gesticulates to a space, introduces me; I cannot hear, nor see, but however feel uncomfortable. Simon Huggins, 14th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#9] I apologise for my unfairness -- I looked and grinned making you even smaller than you actually are. You say you don't know what I mean -- Reading between the lines I am unwanted now you shufflingly fill the door. You apologise that you have someone else inside, rubicund cheeks -- suspicious shuffling indicates you wish to say goodbye. And as the door shuts alone outside I am angry, embarrassed by the way that you with the small dick, pipped me, with the post. Simon Huggins, 13th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#6] We laugh these days about the time we lost when you kept afloat the shield around us all and when your brain engaged, put culture to the test; let nature dance, found life inside was full. Outside we screamed, looked to the sky, the sky was full of motes we could not make belong - on which note, enough nuts reapplied the dulling drone that kept us pilgrims strong: Now I have you to myself, brother your resolve jitters but remains intact. Thank you, could you take yourself farther away until you get some personality hatched properly I should have never taunted you probably were being probably you. Simon Huggins, 12th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#5] As I walk I feel my invisibility -- Canine whirls stumble clean shoes and humans cleanly over pile forcefields -- I stumble on in, sucking them upwards through veins to my brain and beyond -- Excreted from my pores, pigmented out. You avoid me, generational distrust scans me out, larger-than-dog-pile trickier in my perambulation, not impossible. I leave no trail, no odour, no mark on the imagination. I am perfectly aware as I soil your public toilet, leaving flakes of skin in the bowl, shit on the rim -- publicly speaking, I am you silent chagrin. Simon Huggins, 11th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#4] You're doing it again, counting the germs; Their division exceeds even your mutterings that blur to a hum that sends the poor dog whining for the door. His scratching creates yet more worries as the criss-crossy lines emulate the intricate hair-dents that map out your life in your hands. Count them again, who knows your sour fate if you stopped. But then again, this slumber song sings out above thought, meaning or taste in sinusoidal form your moods emulate your pendulous frustration that somewhere the bastards might get together and in guerrilla formation, take on the world. Thus this shield of antiseptic babbling is formed of a web of the infinitely obsessed who today have rationalized, and unilaterally stopped. Simon Huggins, 9th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#3] No odour too big nor microbe too small we promise to raise your profile unless you want to be scum. Discarded you come, wasted you fall flushed with embarrassment, give some acknowledgment they have overcome. This microcosm comes up strong: Build to the surface a parody fit for the world. Through chatters of placards of slurry and life nature knows science without the wasted theories. Unravel, unfurl and soon combinations of creation gestate to almost human form. Shit flows through veins. Simon Huggins, 8th July 2002

from Creation Myth [#2] Compared to me you come up short my friend. Embarrassing to show us all your short and curlless friendless dwarfed by balls. It is unnatural but can you still produce the goods? And send them on their way betcha could and shortly come up strong. Simon Huggins, 8th July 2002