BEYOND THE IMPLODE 3 - BRITISH AIRWAYS 0

The Text Magick rite was a complete success - for those who took part, rest assured that your innermost desires are now whizzing and zinging like psychic bullets in the cracked skull of CHANCE.

I'm aware that some sceptics considered this to be some sneaky little trick - that the number actually belonged to an ex-girlfriend or a police station or something, or that I was merely trying to see how many people fell for it before smearing their messages all over this blog for others' entertainment. It actually wasn't a prank and, as stated, the SIM card no longer exists, in this mortal world at least. Past attempts at sigilisation etc have largely been earth-bound rituals, so this experiment gives us the chance to observe whether 'Magick' works better when conducted 30,000 feet in the air.

Of course, I was exposing myself to great risk - had 20 disgruntled readers decided to text "I WISH FOR MARTIN'S PLANE TO BLOW UP ON THE WAY BACK HOME", who knows, that Noel Murphy LP sleeve could have been my virtual headstone. Anyway, I have a good feeling about this, so keep your feet on the ground but don't stop reaching for those stars.

There's this great shop down the Reeperbahn in Hamburg called 'Loonies', which is basically a Poundstretcher dedicated to ultraviolence. Among the wares - samurai swords, crossbows, crossbow pistols, red pepper spray, CS gas sprays, Black Widows and ball bearings, tazers, riot police-style batons, knives and those old skool leather gloves with the really hard metal bits sewn into the knuckles. Not that I'm a violent man, by any means. But you know these pampered prats in London who get together to play these incredibly juvenile 'urban games', where they have to track each other down with water pistols? Imagine signing up to one of these playschemes, only to dose your co-players with a faceful of CS gas! I'm sure the bored middle class homeowners who take part in this sort of bumfoolery would soon stay off the fucking streets if a couple of players stocked up in 'Loonies' before joining in.

But I mean! Samurai swords indeed. Bet the damn things fall to pieces as soon as you unsheath them. A true samurai sword is meant to be able to slice cleanly through a fully grown bamboo plant, or so a Japanese Jeff Mills fan once told me. These swords in 'Loonies' cost 55 Euros apiece, and I'm loathe to presume that any highly trained samurai warrior would flog such a prize for the same amount that the teenage girls in the street were demanding for hand shandies . The samurai (or is it samurais? oh who cares) were a bunch of fascist, aristocratic cunts anyway and I have nothing but contempt for the idiots who vicariously venerate those peasant-murdering bastards. The crossbow was probably crap too, as handy as it might be to own during the Xmas season.