A unit can be many things, as we say in our explanation to what a unit actually is. And to be honest, we don’t really know either. Here are some images you can photocopy and use to make up units of your own, or maybe inspire you to find similar things.
Category: Accringtonia
PINS – RULE FOUR: WRITE OUT ORDERS
According to the photocopy that shows the rules, we have to write out orders for each move for each unit – “without a clue to the objective.”
In writing orders and ignoring objectives, we must remember the second Golden Rule of the Buddha, or consult Old Moore’s Almanac, or at least, Shurmer’s Official Guide of Hyndburn. None of these can be found in the Yellow Pages.
PINS – RULE TWO: FINDING SOMEONE
Do you remember the Beginning? No? Never mind. The second rule-post says we need to find someone, to tell the C.O.s to do something. Remember what or who the C.O.s are? No? Never mind. We should find someone.
I know this is difficult. There are so many people to choose from.
Maybe find someone who knows about
Aquilégia
Alb
Agrimony
Adónis
Actǣa
Anis
Átriplex
Acontíum
Aira
Coaming
PINS – The Beginning
RULE ONE: THE BEGINNING
(AKA “The Heap of Trouble is a pile of rubble.”)
The first thing to do is to say we are at the Beginning.
For all rules, please go to The Museum Curator’s Substack.
These copies will be placed regularly, and OVER TIME. The Museum will host the elements of PINS that need no explanation, they are here for you to photocopy and use, perhaps with photocopies of your own. To make your own beginnings.
PINS is a game for all anonymous egos, everywhere, made through repositioning and reproducing old dreams and documents.
Clayton Orange Alternative
We must take our luck where we can. Hence a dreamlike visitation of Wrocław’s Krasnoludek in East Lancashire. Victorian streets that cling on in the gloaming, spaces where schools and factories were, pubs that made way for motorways. We need a better narrative. Myths are needed to make us feel noticed, or carefree, again.
The Memory Vortex – Stasis #2
In the Spring of 2000, the Photocopier left England to live in a caravan in the Netherlands. He took a lot of pictures before leaving and on arriving.
Back then, photographs were taken on a camera. Some turned out well, some didn’t. Some are of a Lancashire long gone, some of a Holland just discovered but now disappeared for ever.
What remains in these photocopies of photographs is the stasis, the time that never existed, the time that floated around not asking to be captured. That’s the time that stays with us when we see it again.
The Memory Vortex – Stasis #1
In the Spring of 2000, the Photocopier left England to live in a caravan in the Netherlands. He took a lot of pictures before leaving and on arriving.
Back then, photographs were taken on a camera. Some turned out well, some didn’t. Some are of a Lancashire long gone, some of a Holland just discovered but now disappeared for ever.
What remains in these photocopies of photographs is the stasis, the time that never existed, the time that floated around not asking to be captured. That’s the time that stays with us when we see it again.
Entering the Memory Vortex #2
Let’s introduce one new thing by talking about another. Let’s not. Let’s do nothing, but stare at memories of the East Lancashire Moors. For what else is there to do? We can wander round places we have never ever been to, that’s what. Let’s enter the Memory Vortex.
Entering the Memory Vortex #1
Let’s introduce one new thing by talking about another. Let’s not. Let’s do nothing, but stare at memories of the East Lancashire Moors. For what else is there to do? We can wander round places we have never ever been to, that’s what. Let’s enter the Memory Vortex.
The Theory of the Duck #3
There is good and there is evil. In between, somewhere, is the duck.
These words, spoken by Accrington artist and visionary Tim Whittaker, come back to haunt us in these ribald, brittle, stretched months of 2020 and 2021, where ghosts of the threshing floor rise to meet us.
These photocopies hark back to another, happier time and maybe presage a third.
We just need to locate the duck.
You have to act. Burn them, commune with their indolent, witless, stolid spirit. Or photocopy them endlessly to erase their presence.
Maybe you can draw on humanity’s creative commons to give you another answer. It’s what the internet is for.
I’m staying in my lane. To be precise, Hollins Lane. But that stops in Baxenden. Where then?