Tuesday, 17 September 2019


What follows is the first half of a post from my gaming blog, Alone in the Labyrinth.

First it comes for those on watch, whose eyes become uncontrollably heavy. They will close them - only for  a second - but that is long enough. When they open them again, they see that the desert is quite different from how they remember it.

The Spectral City appears atop a shimmering sea where once there was sand. The tide laps gently at the travellers' feet, but they are quite distracted by the sight of the city itself: slender towers lit by white and purple light, dancing to a music of such uncommon beauty the spectator finds themselves hopelessly transfixed. They know that it probably isn't real, and that if it is, it is of a nature beyond their understanding, but they do not feel fear. They feel nothing but joy.

The sound of ghostly music awakens their companions: startled, they beseech the watchers for an explanation. None is forthcoming, and soon they too are hypnotised. Somehow, though the city seems far away, they can see the beautiful, diaphanous-skinned couples in pale luminous garments walking arm in arm along its splendid boulevards. They watch a carnival of barges, piled with silken cushions, encircle the cities walls, helmed by ghostly young men and women blowing horns of delicate sound.

And it will all be too much for one of them to bear any longer. At first hypnotised by the spectacle, they will snap from their reverie and, overcome by a desire to join in, will either call out to the occupants of the barge, or wade out into the water. As soon as this happens, the music stops, and the citizens of the Spectral City will affix the interloper with expressions of such disappointment that the individual will show no reaction other than hanging their head in profound shame.

Presently, the city fades from view and the ocean evaporates into the cold night, leaving behind nothing but a sea of sand and the incredulous expression of the weary travellers. They do not speak,; neither do they return to sleep. Instead they sit in silence, contemplating the void the city has left in the desert and also in their hearts.

As dawn breaks, they may crawl back to the shade of some palm, or whatever cover they have already erected; they may drink a little of their water, if they have any left; such will be the full extent of their actions. Their only desire now is to wait for the city's return.

Long after dusk is their wish granted, though later recollecting the precise moment proves impossible. The same gleaming spires and beautiful ghosts materialise before them, but this time it is as thought their revelry has been amplified: a true spectacle of the carnivalesque unfolds before their very eyes. Fireworks of wonderful intricacy bloom in the sky: laces, nets, starbursts of red and green and blue and silver. The promenades throng with  gay processions of outrageously costumed ghosts, dancing and marching to the unearthly music of the Spectral City.

Again, overcome by the sheer jubilance of the sight, one of the travellers is unable to resist temptation, and edges forward into the water. This time the carnival does not grind to a halt: the revellers are oblivious. Buoyed by this, the traveller will edge forward a little, wading into the ghostly waters, but something holds them back: they do not belong there. Glancing to their left and right they will see that their comrades have joined them, standing knee-deep in this illusory ocean, captivated by a carnival city of ghosts.

Here they remain, until the city and its seas fade with the rising sun.

Once again, the party are overwhelmed by torpor, and retire to positions around their camp where they might better await the coming night. But for one of them, there is a memory of another purpose, another journey they are supposed to be making. They remind their comrades of this fact, but are unable to rouse them. They pace the length of the imaginary shoreline, and the brief moment of clarity experienced begins to fade, as they contemplate a large sand dune that might afford them an evening grander view of the Spectral City come nightfall.

Here is the moment of truth. All hope for the travellers rests upon this one soul: this is their last chance for salvation. In exploring the site, even only absentmindedly, the traveller increases their chance of happening upon the desiccated remains of their predecessors. The mere sight of a mummified corpse sticking out of the desert sand will be enough to break the spell totally, and it will only take a few strong words for them to likewise rescue their colleagues.

Yet two days have already passed, two days in which the sun has shone and no food has been eaten and no-one has slept: there will be members of their party too weak to leave of their own volition, and decisions will have to be made. Do they try to carry the invalided with them, or leave them to their fate? They will receive no encouragement from those so incapacitated, whose dry lips intone that they will only slow the party down.

All to often this is the case: the party leaves at least one of their number as a sacrifice to this wicked vision, and continues their journey across the desert in bitter silence. It is a silence born not only of guilt, but also of envy: part of them wishes they could see the city too, just one last time.

Her eyes closed, just for a second, and when they opened it was just as she expected and more. An enormous silver moon bathed all in its luminescence: the towering spires of the Spectral City; its beautiful, ghostly inhabitants; its grand barges, like floating palaces. Unlike before, now she finds herself almost completely submerged, and she begins to tread water in the cool sea around her. Gondalas drift by, its passengers urging her to swim towards the city. Atop its walls the beautiful ghosts are calling to her to join them and, in time she will.

She feels a joy like no other when she is lifted up by one hundred hands, and held aloft to watch a sky erupt into a chaotic ballet of iridescent fireworks, but is brief. Her exertions have bettered her, and within she descends into oblivion.

Perhaps her former colleagues will come by this way again. They will not have forgotten the Spectral City, even if they have forgotten their companion. In spite of knowing the dangers it poses, part of them will yearn to see it again. Perhaps they will.

If they do, they will notice amongst the throng a familiar figure: she will be more youthful and more alive in appearance than they ever remember her being, in spite of her non-corporeality. They will want to join her (foolish) or try to rescue her (even more so), bu tit is not her. It is the ghost of her final moments, a trace of her animating spirit that knew such glee in its final moments. Her soul, that which was truly her, was utterly annihilated long ago.

Inspired by The Pilgrims in Jack Vance's Eyes of the Overworld.
Contains paraphrased passages and quotes from that work, not cited. Fair use etc.

Monday, 25 March 2019


You're not going to read this, are you?


This is a derive in writing. Sights/sites we will be taking in along the way include psychogeography, the zone in the Tarkovsky's movie Stalker/ the Strugatskys' novel Roadside Picnic, and the OSR (old-school renaissance) in tabletop rpgs (role-playing games).

After this brief introductory tour, readers are invited to consider four site investigation strategies inspired by the old-school style of tabletop role-playing.

Strap in... and don't forget your flask of weak lemon drink.


Iain Sinclair returns to the 1970s Russian science fiction movie Stalker throughout his writing. Indeed, references to "the zone" infect his social interactions, as the above warning was issued by him to Robert Macfarlane, as they boldly circumnavigated the perimeter of London's  (at that time) prospective Olympic Park. There are multiple reasons for Sinclair doing this, but perhaps the most obvious reason is the parallels Sinclair sees between his own praxis and the movie's eponymous protagonist.

The 1979 movie was an adaptation of an earlier sci-fi novel, Roadside Picnic by the Strugatsky brothers, and follows the expedition of the mysterious stalker and his two clients - a writer and a scientist - into an area known as "the zone". The zone is "an area in which the normal laws of reality do not apply and remnants of seemingly extraterrestrial activity lie undisturbed amongst its ruins" (according to wikipedia). Only the stalker as able to perceive the true dangers of the zone, most of which are invisible. He alone is able to navigate a path safely through the landscape. His clients have hired him for this precise purpose: to lead them "the room", wherein their innermost desires will be rendered true.


In Roadside Picnic, the novel upon which Stalker was based, six of the aforementioned zones are described, though the events of the novel all take place within the environs of one zone in particular, in the fictional Canadian town of Harmont. The six zones were each the site of an earlier extraterrestrial event known as The Visitation, having been "visited" by unseen extraterrestrials over a two day period, and are now subject to dangerous, reality-bending phenomena. Furthermore, mysterious artifacts of extra-terrestrial origin have also been left behind, artifacts that appear to have supernatural properties. In an effort to contain the threat to global stability posed by the zones and their artifacts, governments have restricted access to these sites. 

The novel follows eight years in the life of Redrick Schuhart, who at the beginning of the novel is a stalker illegally entering the zone to retrieve alien artifacts and sell them for profit.

The title of the novel is taken from a passage in the novel's introduction, an interview with the fictional Dr. Pilman. Pilman compares the The Visitation to a brief stop-off as part of a much larger journey; humanity are as baffled and insignificant as the wildlife observing but not comprehending said picnic:

A picnic. Picture a forest, a country road, a meadow. Cars drive off the country road into the meadow, a group of young people get out carrying bottles, baskets of food, transistor radios, and cameras. They light fires, pitch tents, turn on the music. In the morning they leave. The animals, birds, and insects that watched in horror through the long night creep out from their hiding places. And what do they see? Old spark plugs and old filters strewn around... Rags, burnt-out bulbs, and a monkey wrench left behind... And of course, the usual mess—apple cores, candy wrappers, charred remains of the campfire, cans, bottles, somebody’s handkerchief, somebody’s penknife, torn newspapers, coins, faded flowers picked in another meadow.


...and now for something completely different... or maybe not as different as people might at first expect.

Since Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson introduced the world to Dungeons & Dragons back in the 1970s, tabletop role-playing games have grown from the obscure pursuit of hobbyists into an international industry. In addition to more than five editions of the original game, rival rulesets and campaign worlds have been created, covering multiple genres of fiction beyond the sword & sorcery that inspired the original game. It is possible to purchase games enabling you and your friends to take in the a huge range of roles - from investigators into Lovecraftian horror in 1920s New Salem to a group of magical ponies in the land of Equestria... if that's your thing, of course, and no judgement is being passed.

While a potted history of RPGs is beyond the remit of this post, it is worth noting that the expanse of the hobby and its evolution into a form of collaborative storytelling led to a backlash against modern iterations (particularly the 3rd and 4th editions of D&D). Around a decade or so ago groups of rpg enthusiasts began to take advantage of the open game licence and began issuing their own content inspired by earlier versions of Dungeons and Dragons. The goal was to return to the roots of the game: namely, increasing player agency. This movement became known as OSR (itself an homage to the company which originally marketed D&D, TSR), or the Old School revival/Renaissance.

Copyright Stuart Robertson, used under creative commons.
If you are unfamiliar with the traditional model of D&D it goes something like this: a group of players take on the role of adventurers exploring an underground complex. One player assumes the role of Dungeon Master (DM) and describes what the player's characters are experiencing, as they in turn explain what they want their characters to do. The DM will keep a collection of secret notes and maps detailing the obstacles they are likely to encounter. However, they may also have to improvise as the players have their characters perform actions for which the DM is not prepared. Dice are used to generate random numbers and to decide the outcome of actions, the results being modified by a pre-agreed set of values relating to the character's abilities and talents.

In an old school rpg a party of four adventurers will venture into a dungeon, overcome various traps and obstacles (including rival adventurers, wandering monsters, supernatural forces and well-placed puzzles and traps), and emerge (probably having suffered at least some minor wounds) laden with treasure and a little tougher and wiser than before. Just as the players become more experienced at problem solving with each "adventure", so too do their characters improve in toughness and talent as they become more "experienced". 


If the parallels between the actions of a D&D adventure party and those of a stalker of the zone are not immediately obvious, perhaps the following quote from reddit user u/vilecultofshapes will prove illuminating:
This book [Roadside Picnic] is definitely and purely OSR style gaming at its finest. Deadbeat outcasts hunting for fantastic treasures in a lethal and physics-defying hellhole full of traps. 
Like the D&D adventurer, the Stalker is crossing the boundary between the ordinary world and the other, in the hope of retrieving treasure. Sometimes that treasure is physical, other times it is more abstract. Both these characters have to rely on their wits and trust their intuition as they negotiate labyrinths of mysterious danger. 

Both the stalker and the dungeoneer are urban explorers, and all three have much to teach the psychogeographer.


Sinclair once said something about psychogeography being walking without knowing the destination, but still possessing intent. Without getting too mired in debate about what psychogeography is or isn't (and no-one wants to read that Debord quote again, I'm sure), it can be agreed that it any derive requires a strategy. Classic psychogeographic strategies involve superimposition: a walker attempts to navigate Berlin with a map of London; another attempts to negotiate the streets of Hanoi by following the dark ring of coffee staining their street map. Likewise, one can superimpose the strategies of another practice to achieve psychogeographical "effects".

Four strategies have been proposed, and since the classic D&D party consisted of four adventurers, I've matched each strategy to a corresponding classic character "class" (class and race are referred to constantly in D&D, and have radically different meanings to those used in social theory).

Of the four strategies, the first two are the most performative and yet conversely the least inspired by the OSR.

Keywords: believe, commit, have faith, FISHER KING.

If you employ this strategy you will need to visit the chosen site in full performance mode. You, as practitioner, must assume the role of an archetypal fantasy character embarking on a quest, with a defined set of criteria that will determine how and when the quest will be concluded. The goal might be to slay a dragon, save a prince/ princess, or recover a lost artifact. The meta-goal is to stay in character for as long as possible while being confronted by the disdain, incredulity an/or indifference of the general populace one encounters. The practitioner attempts to parody fantasy tropes by juxtaposing them against mundane reality.

The performance may or may not be recorded audio-visually. You may or may not garner the attention of a fascinated audience.

Keywords: It's only a game, it's good to be laughed at, fight to WIN
LARP stands for live action role play. Unlike tabletop rpgs, LARPs involve players physically performing their characters actions in real time. As a strategy, this approach is superficially similar to the above parody, but differs in multiple ways.

You must first assemble a group of at least three collaborators. For an agreed period of time, the group undertakes to represent members of rival factions, playing out some conflict of interest across the site. In addition to an underlying plot, practitioners must agree upon rules concerning conflict resolution. PLEASE NOTE: do not attempt to resolve imaginary conflicts with real violence whilst employing this strategy. In fact, try to avoid using real violence wherever possible.

To reap the best rewards from this strategy, practitioners truly have to look upon the urban landscape with a fresh set of eyes: multistorey car parks might be castles, or wizard's towers... or even multistorey car parks. Beware of monsters.

STRATEGY #3: THE URB[an]EX[plorer] (Thief)

Keywords: cartography, exploration, BE PREPARED and BE CAREFUL

So you've packed your ten-foot pole and your fifty feet of hempen rope. Did you bring the flasks of oil? Okay, it doesn't matter: just don't forget your thieves' tools, you'll need them to pick the lock. Sneak past the guards, hiding in shadows when necessary, jump the chain link fence and scale the cranes. Only then will you be able to retrieve the Macguffin.

This strategy seeks to employ the approach of the typical OD&D adventuring party: caution, preparation, and the ability to solve most problems with a ten-foot pole. You should map everywhere you go on graph paper (use 5mm but scale it to 10 feet per square), travelling no faster than 120' every ten minutes (unless you are in an encounter, in which case 40' per round is permitted).

When you reach your goal, don't post a picture of the stunning view to Instagram, take a picture of your crappy map instead. Ask yourself if it really happened if there was no photographic evidence of it ever happening...

Keywords: You will Eat Yourself, Artistic Licence, Wandering Monster Tables

With the skills of an ancient wizard, your mission is to bend reality back on its self not once but twice. First, you will need to follow the URBEX strategy outlined above, but you will need to do a little bit more than the cartography. You will be reverse engineering your adventure back into a module, similar to the one pictured at the beginning of this post.

A module is a document containing all (or most of) the information required by a DM to run an adventure. A module will contain one or more plot hooks to incite the interest of your players, several maps of important locations, and details of anticipated encounters and/or NPCs. Sometimes this will also include tools to randomise such encounters.

Based upon your previous adventure, catalogue and rationalise your experience into a coherent narrative. Consider also the paths that you did not follow, and where they may have led had you done so. Think about the encounters you had. How many were random? Populate some wandering monster charts. Scan your maps and tidy them up using image editing software, but don't lose that handmade effect. Type up all your notes in Korinna bold, staple them together, and bind them in glossy paper of at least 180g per square metre in weight.

For added ouroboros, get a group of friends together and play your adventure as a game of D&D and see what happens. For added added ouroboros, replay that adventure as a LARP, using the strategies outlined above...


A final note: like every fucking corner of the internet, the OSR is a battleground in this ongoing "culture war" that the idiots are determined to force us all into, regardless of its futility. Boorish blowhards antagonise left-leaning liberals, who in turn overreact to the obvious trolling, prompting another round of bear-baiting provocation. Phrases like "nazi", "social justice warrior", "alt-right apologist", "stalinist", "feminazi" etc. are chucked around with gay abandon. 

The OSR appealed to many on the left because of its rejection of corporate homogeneity, its embrace of the punk/DIY aesthetic, and the general gonzo weirdness of a lot of the material being produced. Likewise, this also appealed to many people whose sympathies leaned more to the libertarian right. For the most part, however, people just wanted to play games, and while nothing is apolitical, following the letters OSR does not automatically place anyone in a particular camp.  


Just want to add that the OSR also attracts centrist liberals, small "c" conservatives and actual fascists. 


Wednesday, 20 March 2019


More than one year ago, this was posted, promising the end of another great silence. It was, of course, a lie, as the ensuing year of nothing has testified. While it would be easy to say that life got in the way of this ongoing project (a project whose ambitions have always exceeded its capacity to deliver), in truth its authors (or, more honestly, its author) has been paralysed by equivocation. So: while major life changes such as the birth of a child,  shifting geographies, and career tangents have all played their part, in the main the site author simply hasn't known what to do.

The previous post closed with a call to action: "readers, what is psychocartography to you?"

No one replied and so the question remains unanswered.

In the meantime, some minor synchronicity:


Reddit thread: adapting The Roadside Picnic as a tabletop RPG.

Wednesday, 6 December 2017


After what had been one of the most productive years so far, we accidentally forgot what we were supposed to be doing and neglected to post anything in the latter half of 2017.

That is UNTIL NOW.

Sadly, all we have to offer is this sorry excuse for an explanation and the promise that next year WE WILL BE BACK...

...with greater focus...

(or a broader-angled lens, decisions are yet to be made).

In the meantime, what does PSYCHOCARTOGRAPHY mean to you?

Really, we're actually doing it... we're inviting you to... COMMENT BELOW:

(see you in 2018)

Wednesday, 26 July 2017


Another homage to Tschumi:

Russian anarchist Michael Bakunin once claimed that “the urge to destroy is also a creative urge”. 
His great political rival, Marx, identified the concept of creative destruction as the process by which capitalism clears the ground (be it through war or economic crisis), to pave the way for new innovation. 

The organism sweeps across the landscape, consuming all.

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