Member of the wasteland collective. Independent practicioner of Magick.

"Welcome to staTTer's corn Ucop iuM of creative solutions and unexpected results."
"Gimme that orange stick thingie!"snapsfingers"the hollow one, tube, ahhm copper tube ..."
"Fly you tools ..."
"Preternatural science ..." *scoffs* "... it's your abnormally small field of vision that makes it look that way."

staTTer woke up. He woke up to some earthworms invading his nostrils. At least he was not to die from heat. He woke up to the strange sound a birdless forest makes whilst escaping from an ear canal. A lot of vertigo ensued. He walked or stumbled covered in the black rich soil that he had emerged from.

Leaning on a tree's trunk, his face collided with the bark, an arm stuck in a hole, his hand gripping a flask inside said hole. Freeing his arm, he fell sideways and his flaskless hand broke the soil again.

Another strange thing ... a metal handle stuck to something or another was grasped by staTTer. His day went on, playing a drunken master of not being in control, with governance of 1.73, Psi, Phi and Pi.

Times went by in many a way. Survival happened. Some guy and his flunky diddled some other guys gates. Someone died. staTTer traded an amulet for clothes and found some lands that are just plain wrong. there also was recursive stuff with iterations of faceless trees barking orders and a doghouse leaving baba-yaga-style.

Long story short, staTTer has some eerie talents that include finding and creating stuff that someone else is looking for. How? Magick? Science? Christopher Walken? The who knows!

Improving on improvisation, making make-believe stuff, believing in itself makes sense to staTTter. He believes in making the strange, the useful, the subversive and the experimentally shunned fabricate itself to its logical conclusion at an opportune moment in some reality or other.


{staTTer Blog Entry 038}

wasteland2570, as the grandmaester tends to call these lands, should boast about the tenacity of its inhabitants. met many of them, the tenacious living and the tenacious dead. no inferi, zombies, draugr or liches seem to be tolerated.

another thing that doesn't happen often is "cross dimensional incursion" with a way back to wherever. welcome to the blind alley, where the will of the world and the travellers will to leave, seem to be at an impasse. travellers use travel-guides, be they persons or books. 

this one seemed to be called "Doctor Styx" using a travelguide from the continent. PANTERION, declassified from TOP SECRET MAJESTIC OCTARIN DELTA P-1. seems like this doctor person could not return and perished. 

guess i'll keep the walking stick and travelguide, this "Augenfeld" person certainly knows his stuff. there have always been incursions. people tend to arrive and as the worldtree yields some of its fruit gifts have been exchanged, issues will be resolved. the means might alter their guise and outcomes will vary... scores shall be settled!

{staTTer Blog Entry 027}

squad of daybreak... 
hrmmm who breaks days? the night? 
night-squad might be a rather big shift of perspective.

so the grandmaester-entity brought us together, briefing us and dubbing us "THE SQUAD OF DAYBREAK".

funny i'd never been part of a squad before but i get a faint bit of that deja-feeling about a quadpod-squad.

we have no brooms, to fly on, that is! 

we discuss our options for weaponising parts of a belt that looks identical to the one Ch4r0n is wearing right now.
why is nobody freaking out about the two belts being the same!! 

every detail to the wee bit of rust on one of the rivets, the wear and tear on the fibers around the buckle...

st0nes is rather chill about the expedition and tries to get us moving with a smallish hay-wagon in tow for to transport all the great loot we might be getting from the center of the wrong-lands.

spr0ut looks for ways to conduct experiments on the fly.

50ULM4T3 helps the process of creating usable slingshots along. wow her calming and focusing aura does wonders for my state of mind.

g8s and Ch4r0n discuss the logistics/possibility of treegate-travel with our baggage.

to me, looking at Ch4r0n and 50ULM4T3 lively interactions, brings back the picture of the desiccated corpse.
i dearly hope we don't loose our weapons artificer.

ahh yes give him the long shoelaces, he seems to be looking for some kind of rope.
now they are all arguing despite 50ULM4T3's best efforts to keep us on topic.

tuf voyages await this ragtag group.

{staTTer Blog Entry 026}

g8s seems to have a destination in mind.
still stumbling trough the semi-darkness. 

woah. got to see the offering ceremony for the working of a tree-gate. 
i, being the last to act thusly, offer some nails a bit of dried fish and a gulp of water.

awesome, i think the colour of the newly formed gate is just awsome.
fe4ther tries to walk through and tries are achieved.
bonkers! g8s pulls us trough the blue pearly sheen. 
back to the beginning of spring!

now we are sometime else or place, yess! place too.
first thing is the visual confirmation of being a month or two earlier
second comes the feeling of "the essence". Young, eager, purposeful! 
third is the impact of the lower temperature.
of the fourth thing i am not certain but it seems that the sun did a jump backwards.

could be, this place is behind in time in relation to shelter_one and it's surrounding area. 

hrmmm... that works only under a number of assumptions.
foremost that the world is one. a big one.
yes, back to my impressions.

the fifth thing, smell, is complimenting the first, second and third but made a tedious problem by the fourth.

after we are ready to continue on our way it takes us another day to catch sight of the cylindrical metal watchamcallits, that, so g8s and fe4ther assure me, is where "the collective" is located.

bonkers! g8s pulls us trough the blue pearly sheen.

{staTTer Blog Entry 025}

no sleep , no shelter

went to sleep, g8s thought it prudent to meditate on the topic of the -wronglands- by connecting to them.

now he begins to ramble in "spoken-word-mode", has a strange cadence to it, a warbling melody. 

believe that mode of communication is called "skat"!
hmmm statter still speaks about statters acts in # descriptive mode #

statter wonders about that. seem to be unable to go to sleep again.
ahh yes, thanks to the glowy-tree amulet, i can see in here despite the pitch black night and missing lighting fixtures.

g8s is getting skitish, seems to turn into a nervous wreck.

"we are in danger" he says. 
so i pack some stuff whilst feAther walks out to ask a tree to pretty please talk to some crows she knows.

i reckon she is peeved, because the key she found doesn't talk to her.
the tree took some of fe4thers essence for his services. 

the currency was blood!

i think i understand now. pack!

pack and leave ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 024}

late afternoon

turns out the two of them found -shelter_one- spent the night there and found some kind of key.

they are stoked to walk to their deaths.... want to venture into the -wrong-lands-...not on my watch!

as they begin to get in a visionary state i tell them again that our resting place is not my place of refuge.

panic grips me as my olfactory perception is assaulted by the stench of doom. 

a whiff of lavender and cardboard.

being terrified does not help my speech. i try to reach them with my voice and tempt my body to move.

"staTTer crawls away and mumbles: this is NOT my shelter! follow staTTer to safety." 

i even managed to pick up my stuff sans the pipe and move, on all four, away from the endangered place.

as hoped for, the two followed me after a few minutes and even helped me up.

my stumblin' around, reminds me of the day i arrived here in "strange but not a dream"-world.

my rescuers seem zonked out 

after nearly two hours, my wellspring of words seems to run dry. 
surroundings getting too dark, there is "no moon to keep my armour bright" as lenny used to sing.

the one hour trip took us about three hours.
but we arrived safely .... at -shelter_two-


{staTTer Blog Entry 023}

still at ritual site

they want to know more and feAther whispers comments to g8s about my speech-impediment. 

so i say: "staTTer smirks and tells them: i have problems seeing you, my hearing on the other hand is not as impaired".

they are eager to replicate my ritual and do not want to comprehend that my ritual-space is not my shelter aka -shelter_two- !

seems they are keen an resting. g8s displays a (shamanic?) time problem. every hour i talk about is transmuted to a day in his head.

feAther, i realize, is wearing g8s essence-collector prism. loaded with some spell of protection, or so she claims.

next she asks for a pipe which is in my trusty red sack. it is ready to smoke. the pipe not the sack. 

lovely things in it some young dried catnip, fly-agaric and psilocybe montana.
didn't need it for the ritual and if they are so keen on going on a journey then they are most welcome. 

downside is. have to make fire for lighting the pipe.

nope no downside. g8s is the proud owner of a metallic fire making kit! magical artefact?

while they begin to smoke i try for more food from my light luggage. still edible, good!

{staTTer Blog Entry 021}

unknown amounts of time after day eighteen

feel disconnected but SOME-time/-one/-thing is happening.

PAiN in my right eye.
can't even flinch away.

i am way too weak to sit up.
try opening both eyes see a staff and long blonde hair
beardless human face. 

one eye stays closed - lack of cooperation noted - pain still there.
sight distorted, blurred, misty.
try to start talking.

"no need to give me the hallowing of odin, staTTer says while trying to get up" i say whilst trying to get up!

# entered descriptive mode # 
wtf?? this is like ...

rosenkrantzing my gueldenstern without a stoppard ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 022}

moments later
there is a second shape, as i become cautious, the need for hydrations cuts the line.

"need water! staTTer croaks", i try to enunciate clearly. i am quite parched ...
why is that?

figures that the second person and not the eye-stabber, is the one to hand me a small flask full of the wonderful liquid.

the two, g8s and feAther, were sent by the grandmaester-entity to have a look about the "wronglands" and if, by chance, i might still be alive.

hrmmm, so at least two days have gone by and the growth. indicated by the stakes i hammered into the soil at the outer edges of the "wrong-lands", has continued.

both of them are very nosey and i am close to no-say but get another gulp of water and a bit of food from my rescuers.

my manner of speech seems stuck in descriptive mode. right vexing that.

i watch myself, telling them about the dilapidating hut, the length of time it is away from here, how walking in the inimical environs of the "wrong-lands" will huskify the unprotected hiker.

make "small"talk about the dangerous unstable wood, my nearly breaking my legs because some floorboards broke under my weight. woodworms damn little homewreckers.

there is still so much stuff in there ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 020}

day seventeen.
scrying ritual. 

started a fire with birch bark and typha seedspikes as kindling ... it's good receptive water symbolism ...

put parts of the frog in it ...

the pictures, words and feelings all contain the same corruption. 
a indifferent, no a callous hunger for hmmm ... 

that's it. have to inform the grandmaester-entity about this. 
perhaps try to find out how much ground the wronglands cover. 
so tired, have to regenerate my will. 

stupid me thought itself invincible, feel too drained for a ritual. 

f..., it got to me. 
will need some assistance. 
stay awake stay aware stay conscious ... 

{staTTer Blog Entry 019}

day seventeen (early).
off again into the wronglands.

hope adebar's protection holds!
eerie adverseness in the air.
came by the stakes i put on the outskirts.

damn it is growing ...

came about the dilapidating hut.
crows token is still glowing, the protection holds.
picked more stuff from the shack, some packs of nails, axehead, a cast-iron pan and a sack of walnuts.

token begins to dim after a few minutes inside, now running.
took one of the mummified frogs on the way out.
will prepare that scrying ritual ...

damn, that shit is not good for me health.

The Wronglands are growing ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 018}

day sixteen.
reflections on meditation.

every now and then, the walking of one's mindscape leads close to/from/into/through a random well hidden memory.

number one.
sometimes memories are hidden by a metaphorical tarp. such a tarp can be made of a heavy, reflective and thick weave of suggestions.
"look left", "smells like custard" and "did i leave the candle burning?" are concrete examples of such.
the tarp technique doesn't hurt much and leads the seeker around the hidden remembrance.

number two.
some hiding places for memories are among heaps of other things. sometimes the "other stuff" is mostly pointy shards of stained glass, nested in barbed-, razor-wire and rusty nails.
fascinating to look at, but not eliciting the impulse to dive into it.

number three.
and i know of at least one time when memory was concealed under a layer of recollections from back when everything was swell, recall of orgasmic moments, mementos of oddly interesting things and intoxicating dens of thought, far off from the target.

it happened ... all of it ... to me.

from number three by number one into number two
sparkle sparkle flash boom bang memory hits me when it can

found it on a paved road about 22 years ago back in "otherworld" went nowhere without it.
sparkle sparkle flash boom bang

{staTTer Blog Entry 017}

day fifteen.

followed the trail of the desiccated one, right to the border of the wronglands. smells a bit like cardboard und lavender.

he lived there?
"what the fudge? yes minister!"

shall not take too long in his dilapidating house.

damn sour grapes.

he lived in a real house, with a tiled roof.
would have been to convenient to have access to a real bed.
took me three days to just dig out enough to stretch my legs in my cave/cellar.

the situation: have access to a house.
could reside there.
but the place will kill me if i do so.
perhaps in less than an hour?

drink now, walk briskly, be vigilant, take in what i see, carry what i can run with and get out before i die.
ok – no problem.

day fifteen. late afternoon.
hey, i made it back! 

put some things i could grab into a ammunition box. 
rope, keyring, hammer, small chain, silver cylinder, eleven by eleven on leather (a game?), some nailz ahmm nails ... 

why do i keep seeing a big blonde guy with rabies wearing an orange jumpsuit? 
have to wrestle that memory away.

{staTTer Blog Entry 016}

day fourteen.
border to the wronglands.

went there to put stakes in the ground.
smack-bang where the feeling of the wrongness begins.

hope it doesn't grow.

did about twenty warning stakes and went back home.
i do not know what constitutes a normal day in this world, but i hope this is not the new normal.

there is a stiff guy on the way to -shelter_two-.
not the "i'm am just sooooo happy to see you" kind of stiff.
i'm talking about the "laying till decaying" stiffness.

the one that, if not cleaned up, results in a stinky goo.
must tell the crows, i wonder how they haven't noticed this humble ex-human.

search the corpse?
will do a visual examination first.

seems slightly desiccated, clothes not torn, some scratches, no liquid blood, uneven brown, short cropped hair.

will search for his shelter, after a good night's sleep.

took some of the garments and a belt. belt looks familiar.
if i ever find a needle ... no, when i find a needle,
wrong again! 

when i find at least two needles, because one is reserved for ru3b3, then the pieces of cloth will be useful to me.

{staTTer Blog Entry 015}

day thirteen.

can't do much about rituals today.

still weak from yesterday's foray into the wronglands. f

ound a steeldrum today. really need tools to work with metal and wood.

as always, my thoughts go back to my faithful multitool.
won't throw a temper-tantrum.
no, i won't!

well ...
maybe i will.

have to stock up on my food resources first.

a trip to the pond is in order.
after that i'll have my tantrum, including stomping of the feet and looking mightily upset.
pfff ...
sometimes i really amuse myself ... 

i remember the great stamets' words: 
"the doing happens. i know i am me, all the time."

{staTTer Blog Entry 014}

twelfth day
since my unearthing.

-shelter_two- is partially usable.

after traveling about an hour by foot, i began finding mummified wildlife.
no mushrooms, vegetation is doing alright.

a few minutes later the count goes from a few to an imperial shitton of mummys.
no birds in the trees.
everything here feels wrong.

feel thirsty.
crows token begins to dim.

turn around.
leave now.

will return with better protection.

a mummified frog

{staTTer Blog Entry 013}

eleventh day. 

found crows skull in the sandy stone.

used memory on essence manipulation to make a token. 

applied it to cast a wide web, for trying to contact g8s. 
seems important. 

found his face but he seemed concentrated.
no immediate answer.
got back to digging.
so g8s sent a new vision thingie. 

craps on the grandmaester-entity's intentions, or not. 
lie, prank or soothsaying. 

do not or do trust cause it's a lie. 
can't be more unclear. 

four days till grandmaester's reply ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 012}

must be the tenth day.

woke up to strange sound.

crow or raven is gone.
rubbed my eyebrow. bleeding again.

found "not-quite-stone".
made with my techniques, but there are unknown glyps on it.

might have to come here, to bury it, before i arrive.
once i've figured it out.
bit of a timebreak or dance?

{staTTer Blog Entry 011}

day 9-1.

stumbled upon a wellspring close to a small rock formation and a hill of sandy stone, whatever it might be called.


will be all alone in the moonlight!
might break some flat stones to dig, cut and tunnel my new earth cellar home.
managed to go deep enough.

might stay unseen while i rest my weary head.

it is way past noon, still weary. 
arms hurt. 
stupid diggy hole earworm. 
i am not much of a dwarf. 

woke to a measure of pain, being stabbed hurts. 
a crow! singular. or a raven? could have taken my eye. 
but cut my brow. 

well, lonely crow, have some dried fish.
let me sleep.

{staTTer Blog Entry 010}

nighttime day eight.

so g8s found the grandmaester's "collective".
the vision smells of great distance.

sun is just going down there, and it's seems colder.
by stamet's hairy bollocks!
g8s must have figured out how the address system works.

stupid, stupid.
should have done more information exchange.

wake up ...
arise ...
thrive ...

yah mate, i am, thriving that is. 
i will take my time. 
will spread mycelium, become more of myself. 

take my time. 
make -shelter_two-.

{staTTer Blog Entry 009}

day 7.

can't live without them.

found more spicy leavy stuff, less potent than garlic.
mellows out close to the campfire.

lots of nettles, some tasty purple-blossomed, ground-covering plant and one with really small starlike flowers, stellaria something, i believe.

cutting stuff with stones or shards of glass is tricky and time consuming.
who the hell are a tool and multi? old companions?

remember calling someone a tool ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 008}

fire portals – day six, morning post, 10:28 a.m.

found a vivid memory, tried it with a stick.
"accio public transportation."

only pulled campfire flames towards me.
why doesn't it work?

fire on my cloak extinguished.
cloak now wet.

{staTTer Blog Entry 007}

mute g8s trading. 
bandana g8s is also looking for the grandmaester entity. 
share my visions with him. 
might call him g8s the mute, no, leave the mute. 

g8s already carries an essence-collector in crystal form. 
he traded me two sets of garments for the glowy tree amulet. 

feel less exposed but also less reassured. 

great stamets give me guidance ... 
guy dance? 

perhaps a dance ritual, something to do with Kali? 

fire, blood, mycelium, tangents ... and double-step? 
plz need clearer memories. 

go to sleep. 
good night, world.

{staTTer Blog Entry 006}

day five.
now wandering. 

looking for better accomodations. 
doing three hour hikes in different directions. 

when i come back to -shelter_one-, i am suddenly face to face with bandana-guy.

he flailes wildly with his arms. 
think i am being attacked, so i attempt to hit him with a stick. 

why a stick? 
well, i am one banana short of actually having a banana. 
the same can be said for having a knife. 
so ... 

he steps back, raises his hands, kneels and begins drawing in the soil. 
"try a written dialogue, will you?" he points his intense stare at my glowy tree, writes something. 
about gates i think. 

g8s ... 
hmmm ... 
eight and infinity, fitting! 

bandana guy seems to be the right sort. 
anyway this could take a while. 

be sharing a meal before trading ...

{staTTer Blog Entry 005}

day three here in "strange but not a dream"-world.

made some pottery.
most of it cracked.

enough clay near the brook und lots of stones.

still call ...
wait, what?
no more loops!
no, NO!
not again.

in the name of Bey and Affix, IT IS DAY FOUR!

young twigs, weave 'em for catching little fish, need more charcoal ...
and clothes...
nettles perhaps?

too small right now.

fire, fire, water, charcoal ...
basic water filtration unit working for now.

for now i am well fed. 

moving from -shelter_one-.

{staTTer Blog Entry 004}

third day here in "strange but not a dream"-world.

made some pottery.
most of it cracked.

enough clay near the brook und lots of stones.

still call this place -shelter_one-.

made myself some garlicy_leaf-soup.
saw some small fish in the waterway.

getting communications from that grandmaester-entity.
remember now.
fragments, memory-fragments from before i came here.

a talk over great distance a skip-call.
dumb name, didn't have to skip for communications.

remaining still works better.

wild garlic under a yew tree?

{staTTer Blog Entry 003}

so ... second day.

wandered t'wards the rising sun. 
at least it's only one sun. 

having strange visions of a sand covered place with two of them. 
do i hail from there? 
would explain my hatred of the heat. 

hmmm, something to think about when I have found food an' shelter. 

amulet seems to change when i'm near some trees, but not others. 

where is my mind? 

feel i should understand that stuff. 

found a bubbling brook and a glowy place betwixt some birch trees. 

shelter, food, how to catch an' cook the little fish. 
have to make due with stone tools ... 
or this shard of glass. 

now stones, dry branches and tinder. 
wonderful shrooms – stamets be praised. 

gonna make something to cook in, nice. 

will try my hand at pottery and call this place -shelter_one-.

{staTTer Blog Entry 002}

first night.

what a hell of a night ...
and morning.

covered myself in leaves next to a pillar.
shitty shelter!

come dawn, something stirred next to me and a bandana wearing hooligan emerges gasping for air.

backpedals und runs for the hills.
strange times.
he is clothed. 

oh, the unfairness.

{staTTer Blog Entry 001}

day one.

woke up to some earthworms invading my nostrils.

had to unearth myself.
at least gravity pointed the way.
oddly reassuring.

so. i'm here with a flask, a box and an imprint of treebark on my face. 
no memories of this place and, funnily enough, myself. 

need clothes. 
it's fucking two inches cold! 

opened the box, no garments. 
funky googles and a strangely familiar amulet. 
did i make this? little tree in a square. 
glows in the dark seems to change colour in sunlight.