Memoirs, a Soviet Sci-Fi trip.

Jetstream rain fell for weeks, a flood of black dogs ran riot.

I thought Spain at first, but……..

Hiding in books and films, Soviet sci-fi, Arkady and Boris Strugatsky took me on a Roadside Picnic with Stalker as guide under the direction of Tarkovsky.

There were bottles of booze at a bar then the trip began in a cloud of green weed smoke. It led to the Zone, nothing was as it seemed.

Nuts led the way, yes nuts like the weatherman. Radiation would be highest on the copper mountain wastelands, in another world.

Parys Mountain lit up, unbelievable colours, barren piles of ore. The sun shone, the dogs hunted under the cloud shadows.

The poison pools gave cover, a good place to sleep. Orange nebulae grew in the water at never ending depths.

A presence lurked and came with a net, a surreal image, was it from Figueres? The seams against the cloud edge gave it away.

Lord LEM.

Lord LEM.

I followed him, Mr Ijon Tichy, after his eight voyage, on the orders of The Rhohch.

I discovered Ijon and his kind were no longer in existence. A new and only life form had evolved. They scurried the planet like scarabs.

They had hard, stone-like shell bodies and wriggly metal appendages and huddled together at the sight of me, in fear it seemed.

Their resonances, when translated, indicated they were praying to an imaginary higher being, a god, their creator, Lord LEM.

Attack of the Euro Clones.

Attack of the Euro Clones.

I wondered what all the fuss was about and went to see the euro road.

Nice new tarmac, painted white lines, weeds grew though the pavement, the lights didn’t work.

I turned every junction, dead ends.

Talking Heads, ‘I’m on a road to nowhere.’

Raccoon City limits.

Mad Max.




The Steve Miller Band, ‘Take the money and run.’

I heard rustling in the bushes, caught glimpses, robot movements, shapes.

Euro Clones. They whispered words and waited.

A figure came along the road.

Hunting dogs.

I ran.