by Daniel J. Sherburn
September 11th 2011.
We are born in the present, but we look into the past for the truth amid a chaos of colliding myth: we are the Guardians of History. We travel out of our corporal state and live in an illusionary world created by our loving minds touching the minds, of what we call miscreant-ions, throughout past time. The future is there too, but that is dangerous and the threads of truth are harder to bind, none dared to go there to take the truth. We stack up truth from the mouths of women and men for the benevolent trust of humanity and our place as the Star-men we have forgotten we are. We empathise together as the creantions with the need for everyone, bodiless or whole, to see clearly the truth amid the lies, corrupt hearts, and the greed and reach out to creation.
Part the First
On the road to find out.
But everything changed last night as I arrived in the Future: my present and a very new kind of challenge. I am in the future 11th of September 2151 and it is an ugly place of dispute and innuendo disappointingly, but expectantly, worse than the morning of the 11th September 2011, when I left the difficulties of achieving oneness and unity from the past and tried to achieve them from the future a future where all truth is erased in the wilderness of mythology a future we foresaw in the eti-centre or the empathic time-care institute centre, An institute located within Leeds, but not in the Leeds of the miscreants, one only located by the bodiless and inhabited parallel to Leeds, UK, 21st Century. A place that the miscreants couldn’t know was actually the centre of the universe for our eti-sensuality mission: a complex of rugged buildings, huge monolithic, blankly beautiful, starkly absent of miscreant art and simple with small defined black polarising windows spreading clean neutral natural light within the illusions walls. Surrounding the mono blocks hung gently flowing parks, forests and water, water sparkling in its truth: the ice-bow resolution of circular shine and a prism of nature all part of the mindset of the bodiless. The existence of the mono-building and its illusions went with my transition to the future. The History of the Past would be carried individually in personal missions to keep some semblance of our eti-order for ‘A’ future and all the concentrated brilliance of merged thoughts dispersed back to the individual lovers of truth on the day I left the present.
For 2151 there is a pleasure from violence that is a current cultural milieu for everyone, actually everybody, not for the eti-sents or us with eti-essence who still linger. No one doesn’t partake of the mindless greeting of slaps, insults, taunts, traps, falsehood and divide. So divided that I notice Leeds itself was very near a wasteland of canyons, pot holes and a murrain like grit all along the route east we took out from the main artery 140 years earlier. People stand around wary but compelled to expressions of overt anger as a reaction to the pleasures bought, used, caressed by hungry empty eyed living zombies. Love of violence, pain and reacting has become the way of life: a caress is a threatening tightness where fear is seen in the eyes of the underlings, male or female, but withstood as the reward for their servitude-ally respectful roles in this society: many died before the parallel ways of life became the accept normalcy and a return to feudal chains I have discovered.
I blinked into the future and my self willed control was immense and my illusions were impossible to see through. I could even pick faces to be followed by that wouldn’t see evidence of my sudden appearance out of the shadows, the third place beyond comprehension, the place were no miscreant could know. For my transition spot I chose ahead well after my invisible journey on a fast jet train: I had it prepared. A journey where I floated in the aisles asleep and out of consciousness, but beyond the perception of the hundreds of herded and chattering travellers from ‘the deep south (once London and the home counties): the fundamentally divided south’ and a place of oppression and omnipresent worshippers as my eti-sent journey man and his 1 escapee southern spy and her violent gambling boyfriend, a weak hinged individual from whom betting success would be followed by a succession of bloody noses and broken corporal mess, were to inform me as we travelled away from the station on my departure from my invisibility to wait in the scorching sun this September day 140 years on while the wind took away my thoughts suddenly. I substantiated into this journey above the skies south of Leeds to give my existence here credibility, where grids of power constructs played across the view linked together by Leeds itself. I have a feeling that these power constructs are how those around me travelled from their departure to our final destination. Thin across the sky and all coming to form under the earth where our craft pulled up to shortly. At first I mistook Leeds for some vast power station of pillions and cables and couldn’t make out many land forms or constructions where a vast population might live. On my appearance I realised a great tiredness in my whole being for this momentous leap forward and I sagged in my mind. Jay, someone I felt may be a Bodiless one from the far future made corporal in 2151, arrived there to meet me in a red land vehicle, part way between a bus and a truck under the girders of the station standing along beneath the sky. I could see the world dusty from my point on the edge of numerous destinations above and below the station. I could see also dark paths away from the natural light, there was a smell of diesel, sweat on bodies and flies. Most passengers looked greasy, dirty and unhappy. I waited 15 minutes tense as a black woman was close to me smoking and sweating and threatening me in glances. There were a few broken looking buildings below the sky and I wondered if life lived out there at all? I had to hope Jay wouldn’t be violent when I asked if he was my journeymen to start it all again? He wasn’t and he warned me that there were Bodied ones who were now a greater part of the effort than at any point I would’ve know, but not a lot and it was neither clever to advertise this adverseness openly in case of pillory. So I was to be taken to meet with the Future with one escaping from the faith-bound south into the wilderness of the waste lands of the north and her convivial violent, but sedated and suggestively controlled miscreant. She, the spy, was Gloria and her violent boyfriend was Jack. I was packed in the back of the bus next to Jack who was in a stupor, between gambling and drug abuse. I was warned that at no point to acknowledge the gambling man’s winning bet as this was likely to lead him into violence and reprisals on the 3 of us. The radio he listened to was playing out reports from horse racing or something akin as I couldn’t think horses or racetracks would exist in this hostile place? Through my influence, even though I was tired I made sure his bet’s were all lost, so no crescendo of violence could start. He was OK when losing it appeared and we spoke about losing as I tried to explain this was a positive thing not destructive one, not a vice like winning was for him. He remained relatively calm as we departed for the wilderness.
Whither the water?
This wilderness was a barren desert. All the water I knew 140 years ago was gone and the landscape was unnatural. I asked why this was so and Jay spoke of mad direction-less bombings of the dead land by anyone that angry and with the arms to destroy the dead land. Like a land free of life was also free to be destroyed without concern. I worried that our journey might come at a cost if someone was out to destroy today, but he said he didn’t know and put his faith in the truth. We travelled in the dusty light for a while, maybe 20 minutes, until we started to hear explosions the percussion of heavy explosives and the bright light and the wind of some device I assumed to be a nuclear in origin. As we travelled on this ‘route in destruction’ was getting closer and Jay finally worried we would be a sitting duck if we didn’t make the cover of some tunnel he was aiming for on our journey out of Leeds. From our right we could begin to see a helicopter like aircraft and he said, ‘bloody Japanese tourists’ as some insignia on the vehicle suggested is was oriental in origin and I could suddenly feel the tension. At this point Gloria had said nothing or acknowledged my existence, she had too many thoughts on her mind I guess and had been talking to Jay most of the way from Leeds, but now she turned and looked at me. That was all: a decisive look and a longingly desperate eye contact. I didn’t know what this might mean to me as she didn’t know me. The flashes of light and the wind was stronger and I assumed this meant we where closer to the Japanese tourists than comfort would allow. I knew we had to reach the safety of the tunnel soon or else we were dead or I’d be forced to reveal myself here and then to Jack the barbarian of the future. Jay pointed ahead, ‘there it is our haven’.
‘but that’s a few hundred metres from us and we’ll never make it in time, we’re prey for those out for sport’
Jay continued, ‘what can you do?’ from over his shoulder.
I know what I could do, but I expected my overwhelming tiredness and my violent traveller to be my undoing.
Gloria continued to stare at me and I wondered if she spoke English at all.
At the last minute a bright light took over the bus and I decided I was to absorb all the light and use it to force and push the momentum of a sun back beyond the frame of the bus and away in time for us to enter the tunnel and safety. I had never known I could sit and resist the force of the sun and at that point my body was warm beyond belief and all my power drained away just as Jay pulled into another tunnel and deeper earth bound safety. I wondered where we we and I wondered what my actions had done to my companions minds. One side on glance to my right told me Jack was rigid in an internal attack and his eyes were wild and preposterous. He had seen the kind of violence he was used to vanquished beyond his imagination by someone he had just met 25 minutes earlier who looked increasingly vague and bleached. But credit to him he resisted any attempt on my life until we stepped from the transport and towards a building and were in safety, but by then things were a little different for me.
Part no. 3.
Chances are slim.
I had left my previous past in a split moment decision as I reached the totally of my powers in conference with the Bodiless One moments earlier. He said he couldn’t repair the fungus of time-travel and amputation would be my only option unless I looked to the future eti-scense ones. The future he warned was unknown and uncountable and therefore a barrier we normally wouldn’t touch. My travels had been very extensive between our many centuries, up to and including the 13th century, were well known in the eti-centre, and I only ever displayed my pride knowingly when mention of this one event was discussed and was my most important legacy in the most important era ‘yet to be’. The era of Magna Carta, and the influence I had on John indirectly through his young son Henry, the Bishop of Winchester and the barons in the the English court but only from an English POV which is why I was unable to deal effectively with the Archbishop of Canterbury at the time, him being often in France and siding with a less truth seeking king. Even for 1215 there were many who questioned the society of unquestioning servitude and obligation whether to church or crown or even lord. The long goals I set off for them years began with John(an Englishman) in the early years of his life, but I quickly became aware his personality was too linked to the idea of his own undeniable truths in his majesty: his egocentric visions,etc. I blame the concept of consanguinity: an the untruth fostered in the pursuit of myth bound reality for all king, queens, emperors, popes that was deep at that point in collective history.
I couldn’t then, in my early years of temporal adjustment, substantiate out of my zone of influence and characteristics into the distinct and carefully controlled ‘other-zones’ of influence in Europe and beyond. Although I am one of the first to try recently, in Spain and Brazil, which almost worked in a moment of unbridled passion between me and my Russian nuisance in the last months of my existence in 2011 and when I was beyond the bodilessness of my peers. When turning the eyes of the entire beach of miscreants to the blindness of out deeply groaning love making there on the sand in Valencia and had those with eti-sents in Spain fighting the illusions I had installed for our restless and godlike colliding. In Spain on my first suggested rest prior my final, crucial exam with Bodiless One, I was bodied in the present for the first time ever known to the eti-sents. I went to convalesce in a naive hope that between the me and the universe the sea would act as catalyst to remember my ventures and my usefulness to the system and repair the damage done fungal(I am the first one to suffer this as a result of the numerous bodied time displacements and I have contracted and trapped this between the folds of time) . Back with the Universe at the sea to hope it listened to the hope I offered and protected its useful creantions from the torture of a slow agonising death from the last disease known to us creants: we are useful to creation, but not invincible and many have given there life to the cause and joined the ONE. I had paid for my skills with this disease like scar which told the the eti-sensual enclave I was the one that was foreseen and the one to entrust the future to; the one Bodiless One had to accept to carry the mission on as his successor by my ability now not to be required to leave my creant Body behind on the most complex missions and not just be an influential spirit, guardian, but a true frame of reference for our job out there from the past, present and future. It was why Magna Carta happened after all. The subtitles of indirect collusion could have no impact unless more direct influence could be managed. While constructing history through echoes in the shadows and suggestions worked on questioning minds for most likely events, but I believe I am the first person since the time of the bible writers to say my manifestations brought the truth closer to all the miscreants and the first one not to rely on myth, belief and faith to put forward concepts of oneness, unity and being, even if in the end the bible was corrupted for other ends. Now most of the creants have the skill of bodied presence in their work, yet they are restricted to the past only.
A few of us at the eti feel that the creants in the sensuality may be fighting a larger and opposite force due to the difficulty of bringing the truth forward against the tide of misunderstanding, but that had never been proven so remains a common mystery and a theory nothing more. If this is true then the Universe is undecided what to do with man. During my coital moment in Spain I feel I was being directly interfered with by some others to expose me and perhaps end me rather than just hamper me, but maybe I am finally stronger than them, if they exist and was able just to remove us to another reference point. I displaced Russia and I to a further, more remote and less foreseeable Brazil to complete this life giving fuck. A place where any eti-sensuality and even creants (or at least our) weren’t known to exist. The further you go in in terms of space, time and historical spread in distances from our own unit the probabilities are less defined and there consequentially improbable from our standpoint billions of many reference points away. We were able to finish what I think was the seed of the future: a creature to take eti-sensuality to the future in a time of bitter contradictions and dystopia: The end games of the 21st century. I will speak in more detail of Russia, or Alanna, later.
Me myself and I
My own journey of sensuality had begun some years before in the world of the miscreant when I got involved in an illusionary influencing group in Leeds with 4 others, who, 1 by 1, were killed during the many of our own illusionary missions, trying to guide thinkers and doers against mountainous opposition: the end of the 20th century. A tough end to a folly of misunderstanding I guess. The only survivor was me. One of the tendencies of mind time travel is to upset the concrete and make the possibilities play and dance like electric cables in water. Spitting out unknown challenges. I was then rescued by the creants at the point I had achieved what my friends and I had set as a small goal; as an independent sensor and unknowing the existence of the creant fraternity. Indeed I was still homo sapiens then and thought we we at the forefront of man’s mental evolution and about to become homo veritatis. Our fluke of self discovery happened through abuse of a combination of untested chemicals all pushing the brain in quite different directions individually, but together had a revelation-nary impact on our universe’s oneness and a clear understanding of the truth beyond the reason of the modern milieu in society. It boiled down to drugs the anti-thesis of anti choice consumer culture where truth was a mystery for billions of consumer slaves that set the 5 of us along our road out of the desert.
History is something which is constantly changing in the present as the miscreants are driven by culture to perceive only relevant aspects for the times; much is lost or warped beyond honesty. More discoveries change our understanding of that time to the present. These anarchic appearances can prevent the truth of that moment and present. The past is alive and isn’t fixed in words, art, etc., but in minds. The collective mind is what needs preserving to reveal the ongoing truth. There are times when truth was a mystery, an invention, pure make-believe but that was essential to purity and oneness. Now that too much mythologising is what often threatens the human truth and a lot needs doing in history to preserve the options of the human race. It is still a bastion of truth for those who work in its corridors. But now,when reality is so much more clearly a broken wheel on which those without hope spin, it is impossible to tie together those truths for everyone. Truth is a minor chord, but creates the triumph of the whole orchestra, and they can be plucked in time, believe me I have done this so often that maybe it only I who hope in those small actions. The opposite is true of that too used saying ‘the truth is out there’ when it actually the truth is inside every man, woman and child; forever. Inside, and it is by using our own combined truth we can bring history to achieve our essential oneness. Myth has created divisions and flaws in this unity; indeed it has created many mirror unities all of which hide all truth and or reality. It is our mission to bring hope, oneness, unity and reality to all. We act upon events and emphasise those in our collective consciousness so that together we will reach the future instead of crash out of existence just when we nearly made it.
The desirable past.
I/we meant to kill King John through assassination early in his reign, through indirect action, and that is why the 5 of us illusionary influencer’s set off on that day years ago, but it is when I first became substantiated and the other 4 had failed to break through and returned to whispering and shadowing thoughts, that my dreams became reality and my decisions were no longer driven by despair but hope. I appeared to Henry as a nine year old boy. My hope years before was through regicide, or the actions of Barons, the mad King could be eradicated, but we constantly failed. Luckily I was brought in by the creants before much more that the first act of 1216 of my conversations began with the very open eyed Henry, who by the time of his Majority, was the man I knew he could be: the first man to openly allow us all to judged independently of bias or prejudice.
We knew the old king was not a pious man so we had hoped his life could be directed towards to the adjustment of society from that position to one of humble awe in the knowable, but we hadn’t figured John’s latent aggression and the troubled childhood that tortured John’s ego. By the time he was 5 John had been so abused by his father, brothers and the system that all such problems within his stubborn independence of spirit were become malcontent. In 1185 while en-route to Ireland his attitude was one of an aloof emperor and no suggestions could seemingly make this journey into more that a show of John’s arrogance. I think maybe our shady appearances gave Lackland more justification for his actions to come as he saw himself chosen in some way. He didn’t feel threatened, but was satisfied that finally he was right to be so self-centred and unconscious of his viciousness.
In history you have to pick with care those you think might put your cause on the road to purity and his son was a riper fruit from the same tree. I recall becoming vividly visible, it was during a cornered episode, I could not be a shadow to that inquiring young boy. Far from running frightened he was intrigued by this apparition and when I thought I could run I became more corporal instead. I popped into existence my body was no longer in the 20th century. My body in its current modern dress came into the past. I felt like I had been pushed there by a giant hand. I wasn’t sure if that I’d be stuck in 1216, caught and probably burned at the stake or be on the run in 13th century England like one of the many outlaws created during John’s repressive regime. But I was able to speak to Henry at length about the purposes of man and even to a 9 year old I feel I made some happy sense for when I was plucked from 1216 from Gloucester I felt that once this boy was king he’d carry on the work towards the unity I aspired for.
The creants must’ve been alert to the 5 of us from the very beginning as we had no knowledge of them existing at all. We thought it was just us 5 and I know that I am the only man to know of the existence of the empathic time-care institute and probably only the second homo sapiens to become part of the sensuality. What is different about me? I have questioned the many teachers with in the institute without a complete and provable answer. Many hints and suggestions and theories have come to explain me: my own theory is that the Universe chose me as the linchpin between the creantions and the miscreantions. The one free of bias or freely suffering onirism in a society watched over by miscreants. My theory for something I didn’t choose. Everyone in my life had been a miscreant, but I never saw me as having anyone with whom to coexist; male or female. The first one to suggest I wasn’t wrong was Rob, a psychiatric nurse, using his onirism and his research of insanity to out our mental abilities. I knew him briefly and he was one of the first to die in the nebulousness of mental hallucinations and breakdown. Shame, such an open mind without tangents of hidden reflections that are a pretence for societies grossness. A saint of the truth.
End of Part the First.
Part the Second
If there is a hell below, we’ve already arrived.
We entered the minor derelict building set back on the right from the road running on this leg of the tunnel, after the left turn we took. At first it looked like a public house I’d once known in the years leading up to my sensuality, but it was filled with decay and all colour was washed from the upholstery, black and tar stained was the floor and all the bar was collapsed and glass was shattered all about. Jay directed me and the other 2 to follow him to the back of the pub. In what looked like the kitchen of this establishment. In a cluttered and tight space we stood close to each other. I was aware of Jack’s acrid breath on my neck as we began descending within the kitchen. After a short journey we left the kitchen and were in a dimly lit passage. I glance at Jack who looked terrified. From here we entered a room filled what I thought at first were people, but after a while I noticed they were more mechanical than creants and Jay confirmed they were robots. Robots decoying as miscreants. We were glanced at a in wide, wild eyed fury as we disturbed some controlled normalcy; one fat and puss filled miscreant-like glared: some giant gyrating slug coiling and throbbing in sight(what great copy I thought). Jay took us out of the room as quick as possible and we came along another passageway to another room, this time the size of a cleaning cupboard. We were very close in this space as again the room dropped down to another place. I could feel Jack’s troubled body within millimetres of my fragile pail shell. His head was red and he was sweating profusely. Within minutes, but what seemed far longer, the door opened onto a large room, with numerous entrances and exits, filled with what I could tell were true creants and those of the miscreants who were like Gloria: fighting for truth. Jay was warmly welcomed by a long blond haired man of around 50 years dressed in a Khaki suit and his hair in a tail. I guessed this man to be important as he turned to me and said
‘welcome to the future, we are sorry it’s not what you wanted to find here, I know things look bad, worse than bad.’
‘thank you…’ I replied
‘Kevin’ we shock hands.
‘hopefully Gloria brings us the news we have been expecting from beyond these shores and maybe we can help you? After all you have been expect for sometime.’
‘I realise things are very different and maybe all the past truth is lost but for the few I see here? Is this all that remains of the institute?’
‘yes and no. Or yes and we don’t know. Things have changed so much from 2011 that maybe there isn’t a chance for anyone above to see the truth. The earth is crying. It is mainly dead. All food is manufactured from farmed micro-fungal textured protein and chemicals blended to represent the balanced nutritional needs of a community where all living things are dead in the wild or in huge parks to be hunted for game in this angry society! We save what we are able in the few spaces man still is unable to conquer. We no longer look to pick the truths out of the fabricated world we are left with; instead we preserve the undeniable of both DNA truths: the records that might one day allow all this to be put back together again.’ as he explained tears welled as a spring and I could see the cold truth of the future. Nothing we had done for centuries had prevented this inevitable end. But what I wondered was how could they explain their own time while they were eti-sent in the 22nd century.
‘oh, in that time so little is left we just worry and protect for the past and your arrival’
‘when is that?’ I asked.
‘2511’ he replied, ‘when the stars look down on a barren and empty planet no different to Mars, where the atmosphere is non viable and we survive in our own minor illusions again. There are far too few of us to do much else. You would laugh at what we have become!’
‘We must speak at length, but I need sleep more than the vampire needs a coffin.’
‘We will talk at length soon’
Kevin moved on to speak to Gloria and Jay as I felt my body baulking at the tiredness I’d carried this far and it was only then I could register the emotional waves and see the furtive glances of Jack, a trapped animal, while we openly discussed the future and past. I didn’t know what he was thinking but looked like somebody scared enough to jump from the safety of a ship in the coral sea to be eaten alive.
I became aware of a subtle lightness in the area towards the back of the room we were now in. Something kinetic and powerful, but Kevin and Jay hadn’t seemed to notice it at all. I approached this space and felt suddenly taller than I had for hours, I felt washed and cleansed like never before: I grabbed a chair and sat basking in the radiating light until it was easing off and I was beginning to question its origins. Was this some manifestation of the oneness here now, but which only I could see.
‘why are you here?’ I asked hoping a reply along the duplex that filled my mind.
‘as it is your time to leave this place, today’.
‘just me, not everyone?’
‘no just you’
‘I have come to future to help them.’
‘they are lost unless you know about how fate is working for the whole of humanity?’
‘but they have not the skills, their eti-essence is incomplete still. How?’
‘you need to know more first and bring them to fuller understanding of what paths you all stand on now.’
I was no longer sat in the room, but now sat in a classroom with around me many other creants. And at the centre of this circular amphitheatre a being of such radiant simplicity a white core shining in a wet glistening visage; I hate to compare it to an apple but the flesh was akin to a freshly sliced granny smiths apple: the dew forming on the membrane of the flesh. I was here to learn from an entity very like the very fruit we had been told to be wary of throughout the millennia. The irony made me laugh until my laugh got the attention of the teacher…
‘is my appearance frightening?’
‘no, far from it, it is what I have come to expect from the games the universe plays with its creations. I think you’re a truly beautiful and pure teacher for one with our conceit.’ I was thinking it wasn’t all myth and falsehood we had been taught since the dawn of man.
The other creants were looking at me as I am guessing I was the first to say anything at all; I am usually the first (usually the clown). I was wondering if we all appeared at this place simultaneously and were these the others I felt may have existed alongside me back on that beach in sunny Spain as my lust reached true accord? I would need to ask. I looked around and smiled warmly to all those within my range. So these were those from the past come to a new present to consult with the future in time to salvage the truth from history? There is no way we alone could do this so maybe the entity bringing us together in this space was the Universe’s way of saying man was chosen, after all, to enter the reality and oneness that so far eluded us working as creants alone. I can see there is ‘A’ hope, not a final judgement.
Human after all?
This part of my evolution would take the longest. Time and history were not evolving in this confluence, but the light, the light. We were within the folds of space out of time so the education could continue while back in that basement in that info-zone 2155 Earth was essentially nothing, null, nowhere.
The first day was akin to a conference meet and greet. We didn’t wear name tags and we didn’t stop for coffee and biscuits at 11am. Mostly we explored each others fabric to discover who we were in terms of our histories in history. The entity explained that between all the individual eti-sents, and the multi illusions each conclave had created, a great deal of tugging and probing to the structures and conduits of human collective consciousness had been managed. We hadn’t failed at all. We had stepped forward at the point when the future needed us and the past was an irrelevance; we had a reserve of factual truth enough for our legacy. We searched each other for our place in the present and the combined trust we could provide both creants and miscreants alike.
Humanity’s time scales are too short and often we forget that billions of truths had to come and go before my clumsy search for them being began in the late 20th century. Those bodiless beings, in the eti-centre, had for millennia known more of the minute causality in truths than us of the borders could grasp; the inertia of time. Those levels of involvement in subconsciously holding humanities dreams in disparate and minute cords, between everybody in every role as miscreants and every-bodiless in the Off-centre could account for every error or dead-end explored by humanities needs and wants with the hope and clarity of the facets that can put us in the correct mode. What we had done was ‘not not’ enough; we had separated the wheat from the chaff. We had sorted the straw from the needle. We had collected a mote of dust out of the smallest sector of the dog’s eye. Look on the world and realise this broken and fragile disk was not broken but retreating from the micro-mass for the preservation of the macro-mass: the matter of fact truth.
I want you (She’s so heavy)
I met Alanna once. I knew not of her before or since that time when I was manifested in my bodliness. She was there as I questioned the waters as to my flawed time parasite. It was the morning while the sun climbed the edge of the sky and the waves lapped on European histories most important sea as I questioned my reason and the reason for my impending death at time’s empty wrung hands. No answer came as I hovered between a shadow and a being on that light sand. She stood behind me while I played out my doom. I was unaware, because I felt nothing could threaten me there and then in oceanic conference.
A voice in tones akin to the sea’s rolling current touched the consciousness I had left anchored by the miscreant space beyond my illusion. Like a tail of smoke it coiled around my fallacy and I felt it’s fine digits caressing my head-space. My eyes. It played in my eyes in accord with sky beyond me. Then it questioned me to whom I was in this other-zone.
Salty bodies of waters are both physical and metaphysical barriers: like poisons of molten lead to the minds searching to step beyond while in a bodiless form. Illusionary water is not a true barrier: an unreal structure living between my 1 and my -1 the oneness-self: the ‘not 0’ point of the lynch of any DNA/anti-DNA of any anti-structure; where all switches meet. But some physical attribute of my +DNA at the point of singularity in the -DNA bodied form allowed me to step beyond into, onto and unto both miscreant and creant existence in one plain. While I was in conference with the bodiless one I questioned him to the possibility of me having no barriers any more. Past, future or reference zones. Poisons could be only toxic in thread like veins. Threads too small like bottle necks or the pinch in a hourglass. Long but tenuous. Like corpuscles frayed across time. But by taking my body between the numerous, too numerous to conceive, possibilities: the light shone through and the warp of the thin encasements no-longer played the tune. I was beyond walls, but within time itself. I was not a minor string vibrating simultaneous. I was all strings at all time moving infinity.
On that beach I still swayed about the human frailty that meant I was doomed, like all men, and I was still ego centric then. I had just stepped from my conferences with the eti-centres medics as to my profession K.
In waves of bubbles playing into more bubbles and expanding concentrically. Snapping and smoothing into the film of the new personal reality. Referenced from all waves and impulses. Back to 0. I am a circle. The sphere of history arching through the spans of space and time: transecting X, Y, T and C on the Axis and presenting H transecting as the Thth dimension; a right angle of space- time.
As I look into the sea and the chords play into me I feel I know how all past is ploughing through to the future following along all dimensions independent but as an adjunct in unity with all of them.
She was learning about me as I was learning much more. I was at a point of insanity on the brink of nothing and she held me there. She was following my current becoming fuller in her own essence. Twined in this way. Russia behind and I calling the universe on the beach to the east. The never ceasing east. All directions are east. All lead back to 0. The mystery of her origins. Intruding my inanity and my pleas. Men are west, the sinking sun. Women are east, the striking sun.
A chorus of sea birds played their part; a song croaking doom.
I came too in that instant. I felt a liar and a cheat if I could challenge creation to look to me and repair me. The fool I was to stand there in arrogance and demand I was this thing; not a part but THE part. I realised my folly. I turned to Russia and then I knew she had been with me in my folly. What a sham I must appear: my vanity there on the shores. But she had seen my aching, my desperation, my hunger. In that look I was saved. My death was possible, yes, and that was neither good nor bad, but maybe I could save myself while saving the future or die trying to save the present? The year 2011 made most problems seem final acts of a selfish humanity. I needed to be entrusted by the Bodiless One to take our fight further than the past or the now. Where next?
You’re a star.
I was born to a working class family. A normal simple cordial family in 1972. My father was a coal-miner and my mother was an ex-band member for the same colliery as my father(who was ten years her senior). They had started a new life far from the dirty, polluted streets of the town of the village they were both born in: my father was 1 of 8 and my mother was 1 of 4. My father’s family were lower on the social scale, but only fractionally. I was born in the south away from the appalling stench and poverty of back-to-back terrace housing in a pre-industrial rural idyll; a ratio of 2:1. From my earliest life I heard sounds and wanted to discover more of the rhythms, loops and tones. I would ‘wish’ a LP record on its journey. I was surrounded by the happy voices and contented somnambulance of this idyllic life my parents had let me free in. I had this simple existence forming nearly 2 years of my earliest memories, before we as a family unit, with the added melancholy sadness of my father’s previous marriage descending on us, moved back north and nothing was ever the same again.
Born into an altered reality forced on us by these 2 malcontent, my sister joined our fold on the North East coast in 1974. Nothing would ever be the same again. We were out of our ‘Eden’, never once to return, before I left to open my mind to drugs in 1990 and would harrow my own plot.
It came to pass that I transcended normality. I can trace a route from the mid 1980’s when I felt displaced and unhappy with everything standard, expected, presented and controlled. I drank and smoked heavily: both Nicotine and Tetrahydrocannabinol, by my 15th birthday. I robbed from shops, friends, banks (indirectly), I was dropping out of school, I wore swastika’s on my shirts, played AC/DC, DIO, Black Sabbath and the Sex Pistols with my parents frantic at this crazy phase I was heading through. I broke into a house and stole the whole stash of a dope dealer. I caused all the lights to go out in my suburb by shorting the overhead cables. I destroyed any object in my path on my drunken sprawling. I blew up or smashed telephone booths, post boxes, I broke wind screens on cars; with or without occupants. I spat and puked my way to 16: 1988. All this just snowballed into my latter teens, twenties and early thirties. I destroyed as often as I could, but I began directing this at people. Little horrible pranks on those who would think me cleaner than clean. I would look harmless while being the cause of much grief. I was the one who robbed the revolver and put it back in another draw while your back was turned. I was the one who… But never mind I knew I was a good person revolting against something I couldn’t win against. I started hating everything other than me. I despised my father, mother, my sister, my ‘so called’ friends and suddenly I realised I was alone. Finally alone. I trudged along Ashfield one night and thought am I crazy? Is it me or is it them that are all wrong? Am I a million to one? I felt meaningless and close to suicide then. My destructive streak had vanished, I was making no impact, I was becoming boring, expected, present and controlled by the society I had always abhorred. I was up against the wall with little options. I looked at the monstrous Victorian houses and felt suddenly very small. surrounding me like walls on all sides were swaying trees and ghoulishly starring windows. Drugs had come and gone leaving me feeling they had been hijacked by vain, egocentric, happy, trustworthy, wannabies. I was a wannadie.
I went into a terminal blank O: a paranoid dot. An un-confident, self loathing and unloving nothing. I rotted from my heart and my head, I was being corroded and oxidised by my own index of indifference. We often are our own undoing: there are acts of random violence we can’t rationalise or quantify, but mostly we do it to our selves. I was blank, stationary, my feet were in cement. I couldn’t grasp the value of anything I saw. It was all nothing to me. I couldn’t get myself out of this sickness. It was 2007.
End of Part the Second.
Part the Third
I Me Mine
Where do we go from here?
The mind is a funny place: full of contradicting personal emotions ruled over by an accompaniment of complex completing synaptic receptors driven by chemical factors or electrical force. Chemicals we find from our selves or from the food, drink and pharmacy we ingest. Electrical responses between synapses ruled by visual patterns, vibrating sounds and verifying touch. For me a combination of the consumption of 4 distinctly separate chemicals each acting on different aspects of my psyche and the electrical responses that resulted in my neurons set a chain reaction that would transform me from jaded miscreant, to a being able to take his body where his mind had gone. The perception of history and its time within space. Within my mind I could take the collective consciousnesses of aeons and travel in this ribbon-like current touching all people throughout all history to relocate my locus. Our ability to time-travel actually comes from the subatomic levels in our own bodies: the stems that reach beyond chemical bonds to within nuclei. The particles that are in all places at all times the strings that connect light as a wave and a particle. In each mind is the possibility of understanding the ‘being of everywhere’ as long as there is a focus-point and actual event, whether this is a heartbeat, a gunshot or a war. This ‘being of everywhere’ also suggests that there is an opposite ‘being of nowhere’: at all times they are cancelled out and we remain fixed in the now. If it is possible to create in the mind some of either of the ‘beings’ then we can leave ‘time’ chose our destination in ‘space’ and return at will. Taking the body though is impossible, unless the body is no longer real in the sense of substance, mass and density. Something else made my body join my mind in 1216 and now I no longer have a true body. Since 2007, when I was exploring Gloucester in 1216, my corpse would be the only thing left of me and that must be buried or in an urn somewhere? Some subatomic factors allowed a part of my body to be alive and dead in both locations in time. These subatomic structures are the key to our own freedom. Some mutation in me between those 2 junctions in time-history freed me of the need to carry my physical mass with me at the era I was created in…
At this time I am without time in the structureless void described in space-time warp-age so none of the above is very relevant, but it feels point-full to share this moment of in time and my affairs in it?
By coming together, or brought together, in that timeless moment a great deal of the fragments of understanding of creantion-ism and our border-lined existence explains a kind of fine fabric of weave between the world of miscreant, creant and a our placement by another entity in the later days of the 20th Century. Although there were years between all of us gathered there the number was much less than a generation and more closely resembled a cohort of a number of years. Something in the late 20th Century was much more of a concern to the entities than the collections of coils of fine truths by the creants in their illusions and we here ‘nowhere’ now were to be educated in our role to the fulfilment, but also our self explored systematic duality that was some mutation on the +/- DNA strand and the point-full O. The universe was waiting for a few interdependent persons to take the next step through the accidental contribution of a number of sensually separate catalysts. We had to be at a stage in history where chemical synthesis was possible, the chemical and electrical behaviour was known and understood, where some cocktail of meta-harmonious elemental substances could act upon the ragged divide between consciousness and subconsciousness
What the human mind blend could re-duct in the combination of α-Methyltryptamine, Methoxetamine, 6-(2-aminopropyl)benzofuran and 5,6-Methylenedioxy-2-aminoindane (MDAI) as a new product that would, depending on the dosage, put the control of the mind firmly in the hands of one so bold. Modern man is closer to alchemy than at any time since the shaman and iron founders did cast and digest the simple, but useful, substances at their disposal into the fires of the hearth and the pipes they had build themselves. Where the mind leads then the body often follows. This is the truth.
Black Maria scared me so.
The beach filled throughout the morning until the heat of midday and we two were understanding much more of our urgencies in the wilderness alone; together: alone. We spoke of our past lives and loves, heartaches and headaches, out angsts and angers. Our misfit existence fluctuating as a moth does a flame between the moon and a neon bulb. Our need to give love and feel love free of pretence and social integrity. We searched each others’ eyes for hours beneath the sun, by the many eyes and beside the swaying doldrums of the turquoise brine. Slowly we felt we could touch and massage. The faint playing of hands tracing within hands linking and touching crevices and indents. The knowing of each others palms and fingers, ridges and lines; mysterious and sensual fingers. With each heartbeat the touch becoming more urgent and less graceful and more forceful. A definite cajoling of moods and tenderness’s. Breathing in a new depth of breath of often unapproachable senses.
The beach was beginning to colour with play, sounds, spray and happiness. A beach ball rolled in the gentle breeze playing left to right. The tussock grass swayed behind our backs up on the dunes. Flies came and went on their million missions. Some black and yellow stripped caterpillars climbed the few sedge like plants who could suffer the salty and well drained sands. Men of Southern American temperament where martially the arts of Capoeira and kicking a football with the art of a conjurer or trickster: a skill that transcends pure form and becomes bone deep artisan-ship. Crafting and swaying in the breeze. Running brown and black, folding and diving in their momentum flowing and growing; a force of nature bonded to natures core as I was bonding to the core of Alanna’s being.
The rites of summer’s passage through July in this open vista brings solace to once tired and torrid minds and allows humanities instinctual collective presence to assert itself; back to primitive hunter gatherer social meetings and cultural exchange on the banks of the Danube, Rhine, Elbe, Po, Volga, Dnieper, Seine, Vtlava and any one of thousands of colossal rivers where the home psyche was built and where all truth of the routes of man was learnt. The time of festival, dance, food, pleasure, family building and the beginnings of collective social consciousness and our history. A place of drug worship and animal worship and star worship and cult without boundaries and omnipotent mass media fears. A place from where all joy and rhythm came, before man reduced fellow man to a possession and a thing to be corralled like a wild animal for domestication. Where the truth was all around without question and without guile.
Alanna and I assumed our passionate form and, had to in that primitive state, perform a repeated climatic of unity and soul bound desire. The boundless quantity and quality of that drive focused all our metaphysical lusts, but presented us to the creants and other forces that may be happy to undo our expressions. The dribbling of our sources onto, into and unto the central constructs of our bodied bodilessness. The pivot of all passions like ours. I began to sense beyond us some threat that our submission to each other had presented openly, and perhaps selfishly, as a open door. I pushed my illusions beyond the restrictions of the beach, but the overwhelming intensity of threat and exposition forced me to reach further. Beyond the lightly drifting duality I had had within the eti-centre and the expanding of the miscreant/creant definition in past times and the illusions bonded between all creants: We grasped the future of all man and woman, stepped beyond mere clandestine hearing of our peers and the reactions of our past homo sapiens. I took us somewhere I had never been so had no reference to in my subconscious: I pictured a long tight ribbon of sand on which to stepping to the 4th place where those who knew the 3rd place couldn’t know. On Lagoinha do Leste I lost my mind to the future of man, but needed to speak to the Bodiless One before leaving the past to its whimsy, emptiness and triviality to reconnect at a time of much greater urgency for all.
When I had left the world of 2155 for my meeting with all the past’s border-lined creants and miscreants I left behind two inheritors of the present, although they were not to know it yet: Gloria the spy and Jack the gambling fury, 2 miscreants to take mankind into the evolution of homo sapiens veritatis and prevent the calamity that Guy and Kevin represented: perhaps Guy and Kevin knew of this hope and put themselves in way of the road, like bold chickens, we had to run: between the harsh reality of 2155 and the almost future of 2511 was a thick con-vexing lens of possibilities reaching to the end of human time.
Back to the old house.
Gloria came from a town nestled in the southern folds of Brittany’s Finisterre coast: a land where the Atlantic ocean lacks pace and hurry and monstrosity of the currents, a land deeply hidden from its overt threat and a place where man had always come to rationalise his place on the earth, below the stars and within the dreams of dreams. When all humanity was struggling for irrational hatred and barbarous aggression against each other Brittany’s looping and rugged southern extremes had protected it from the volatility I had witnesses in the Japanese bombarded invasion up in the old home of the Brigantes: where Britain had be sold to moneyed and violent orientals. An El-dorado, a Shanghai-la, a Xanadu on the edge of France, where humanity had always been seekers of truth a land of Revelation and fraternity since 1789.
She had become interested in the lack of truth, oneness and unity left in the world as a young woman living in a collectively run farmstead lingering on the edge of the Ar Forest Fouenant just beyond Concarneau on the southern tip of Quimper arrondisement. Born in the year 2131 to the Jane and Michel le Marron on the largely forgotten farmstead. Educated by the collective and hidden from the eyes of the horrors of the world: growing the micro-fungal food that provided the world with all its protein, they plough their furrows and searched their hearts for reason in the madness of colliding violence, religious oppression and colluding greeds. Until in time the world began encroaching further and no longer could a fringe of non-aggressive beauty exist in that extremity of what had been France.
The collective was terminated in the year 2140, fifteen years before I met this woman, she was dragged to be re-ducted into the religious society and spat out hating differing and conflicting culture and intolerant of alternative means of being. Her parent’s she didn’t see again, them having paid the price of religious segregation and non-violent anti-extremism, they were bulldozed with their farmstead and the remaining collectivists into the dirt to be erased as mechanical fungal farming was positioned to exploit Brittany’s southern coasts micro-climate. Dragged away kicking and screaming, she was thrown, with all the herded children, into a jet powered flying vehicle to be taken away to be adjusted by society to conform to the servitude-ally ordered society: to be a slave to the religiously ordered tiers within this pogromic consumerist dream.
A socially engineered mega-college where all lower level covert anti-establishment fugitive children were sent to be reformed, de-passioned and reawakened towards the consumer goals of a megalithic corporate evangelical theocracy: the fear in three piece suits, neat ensemble hair, clipped symbolic wordiness and thaler greedy totemic: Your children will be safe.
The structure built as interlocking rings in a simultaneous conduit to the relationships of belief, consumption, destruction and hierarchy. A pyramid with four individual sections linked to a middle higher and omnipotent crest: four mountains surrounding one monster of state sanctioned extremism: all you want at all times.
The reconditioning in school began on a unsubmissive, stubborn, unrepentant happy nine year old. The first lesson was servitude to everyone: her clerical superiors and the wanton students whose forthcoming elevation to corporate society was complete. Bearing repeated rape, beatings, brutal and nearing fatal assaults. Anger and hostility in openly acid toned damnations to reduce the independence of spirit and reform the subject to painful numbing of the security in solitary escape becoming a blank lonely empty vessel for corporate religion to place ethos and engender interdependence in the ‘soul’ of the newly religionized, but also create a lifelong hatred of all people in society and a desire to destroy.
As ever in this totemic society stood the work and deeds of the creants of the future who ceaselessly worked for the minute details of truth that existed even then in a time of horrors. In their bodied form they could search out the tiniest abstract truth and collect the dregs of oneness still happening there in the 22nd Century: Gloria became a target of their relentless drive and forever in the torture of her daily trials did they appear to support and emphasise and mother, father and bless their helpless child. So that in the fullness of time of her outward conversion to corporate faith she had within her a core many questions and knowledge which would’ve been wiped clean as she began her adulthood as a corporate slave to one of the Theocratic consumer hosts. Her life would become a whim of another’s prayers and another’s desires and another’s greeds. To play a harem whore’s role in turn for a place within the hierarchy of governance and bend to please the Clord’s manifestations and the Cleric’s dispositions to regulations of life and drum-like beat of belief in corporately greedy god.
Much of her life was much like that of other’s in the same society in what was once France. Within all the world existed just 1 form of this corporate duality which represented the legacy of the Yen and the People’s Empire of Asia conquest of the known world in 2017
In an era of mounting economic strains and the unusually pathlessness of world leaders during the years when the banks went stiff. Democracy couldn’t and wouldn’t work at this point and, although the western powers had no rational way to deal with this, the leaders of the ‘free’ world tried to cajole both disenfranchised and unemployed masses back to the old ways of post-war retail, private ownership and class divided ruthlessness. Following on from the collapse of the European Bank, the Euro and the Euro-zone the USA found itself in a position of fewer trading partners and huge corporate indebtedness to the far eastern manufactures and a banking system that couldn’t repair the damage it had done. Also around 2012 China, India and the far-eastern nations became closer and closer orientated through trade agreements, political agreements and through a sense of their place in the future: the Orient had learnt well from the Colonialism and the European Empires from the 16th century to the time of the cultural revolution and once it threw off the yoke of Yankee greed and decided the future for itself regardless of US or European influence.
These nations set about a transformation: for many years, since the 1990’s, the Eastern powers had absorbed much of Western ideologies and created another culture which was happy to see the underling as a slave to a large, but much reduced, set of hedonistic, hegemonic materialists. The vast majority were seen in that proto-Industrial sense as a means of production and not a set of humanity with the same rights as those at the top. Magna Carte had truly come to be worthless and life expectancy began to shrink back to the frightening days of the Industrialising Northern English towns.
The amounting hedonistic abuses in the world, and the frightening speed with which the planet became tainted, helped to end brutal yet evolutionary laissez-faire Capitalism existing in post-western society. The millions of chocking chimneys that poisoned the world and the refuse that was ejected into the waterways, the disappearance of huge natural resources and the amounts of humanity wasted lingering on the fringes of society in massive slovenly confused rambling ex-suburbia brought a change in the minds of the ones who had inherited this horrible mess.
A renewed belief in the mystery’s of creation, the universe and our place in it, similar to the spread of evangelical Christianity and fundamental Islamic in the late 20th and early 21st century, led by massive leaps in understanding is cosmology, genetics and communications resulted in a feeling of humanities destiny as progeny. However during the 2020’s this feeling was really only current in the small section of the society who could conceive of themselves as the chosen ones.
It was decided that all strata’s of society could help them reach this elegy with creation. But first society had to be righted, repaired in the pyramid structures that are historical legacies of China, India and, indeed, all Western nations: feudalism: servitude and duty-bound fealty.
We must get out of this place.
On the fringes of society, in truly forgotten and wasted frontier type towns where all the washed-up, disturbed, psychotic individuals that, although still useful to the corporate society could no longer be relied on to perform in the strict pyramid of fealty of duties and responsibilities to the Clord’s, were allowed to go to. A small section of society where the rediscovery of truth and oneness was happening at a finite point like minority in the minds influenced by the creants. Those for whom the barbarous nature of the indoctrination and violence inherent couldn’t be forgot or assimilated into the broad serving classes. The first error of the system was to allow possible malcontent’s to remain viable. This was justified as the corporate oligarchs knew that everyone could be part of the system while the faithful Clerics knew that only the cream of society could ascend to heaven and those who couldn’t be used for the comfort of the rulers had no purpose to the universes creation. There should have been no edge to the hive like nation.
Gloria was someone who was possibly less psychotic and more rational, but who through her early life experiences and contact with the creants had kept a core of being that could be very dangerous to those inspired to oneness. Her role as a whore in the harem of the Clord based in what was once Brittany gave her certain ‘seeming’ privileges to make her type feel precious and satisfied in Moulay Ismaïl Ibn Sharif’s polygamous household of the year 2150. Much of her life was filled with amusements, entertainments and respect from the society below her. Her age, 19, was quite mature by the standard of harems and it was likely, since she had already proved fecund in providing many offspring, she would soon find herself marginalised and less romanticised by the Clord and would allow her to tune into the vast corporate reality that existed: tune in, step out and shop in. This is when her history reasserted itself: her consciousness was reignited by creant empathy and she began to see her current life as a violent juxtaposition or contradiction to the way of life led on the one of the final collectively managed micro-fungal farms anywhere in France. Like awaking from a varied, sometimes exciting, but mostly frightening dream she saw herself robbed of her rights and freedom and placed in a web of rules and control to be picked at until no longer of any value to the omnipotent ones. In the ancestral home of the Brythonics, in the same region of Brittany that her parents had met their end in the liquidation of the collectives, Gloria could become to come to terms with her own reality and being: something innate touched her mind and she no longer felt she could deal rationally in the system and had to find others for whom the pyramid of control and serfdom held zero.
Within what had been France, like England, and probably in all territories throughout in the world(but I don’t know having only Gloria’s history and my own direct experience of Leeds to go on) there was a place, a refuge for the corporations melancholy worshippers: Naoned. Once know as Nantes in France this city was an industrial and innovative Hub city: the Venice of the East and heart of the Duchy of Brittany, this city had declined until by the late 21st century it was a no go zone for the reforming of the Clerics and Clords of the east. Like a city state it sat alone in all of the Frankish hinterland facing the sea and staring at it’s own doom. Drawn like a moth Gloria came here in 2153.
Difficult though her flight was in this society it would always be assisted by the guileless corporation in its struggle to maintain all consumers. This flight happened over a number of years when her relations with her Clord had all but vanished and once she had no obligations. She happened to be out on a day of pleasure. When her Clord and his brethren took to a period of days of sexual athleticism, hedonistic drug taking and hunter-hunted pursuit in the remaining forests of southern Brittany. Quite a usual pursuit of the rich and idle, but for the locale that was chosen: Ar Forest, the very area she was captured from that decade prior. She knew what had happened to her parents, and it was common knowledge in the society that all distinct and individual societies were not part of the mega-structure and therefore could not be tolerated any more: the end was justified. Education and indoctrination would work on the young, but all adults had no place in the society and threatened the fabric. But the years of contact between the creants and herself, her place in-between worlds in the harem and this social scene led her directly to some parts of Brittany her memory awakened and she could see herself anew and helpless.
Born to a prosperous frontier business family, dealers in a multitude of entertainments only to be found in the cities, Jack had the best of both worlds into which his class dominated the borders of the Clords omnipotence and their own semi-potence. The middle class in the far future when all sensuality had vanished and money was the route of all: a family tree of entrepreneurship’s. The web of the family spread through much of Western Europe, Southern Europe and Russia so it is hard to say exactly where he got his upbringing most, but by his 30s he was an imposing oligarch in Naoned, Loire-Inférieure,
Jumpin’ Jack Flash.
In the beginning Jack was an American. When I say in the beginning I mean his ancestors. Once quite powerful, but now displaced as so many of his countrymen to the fringes of society through the generations and there created a lasting capitalist/corporate attachment.
Many of the declined cities were ‘run’ by those who could manage a subsistence as corporate agents; they after all were psychologically aligned to material greed and sociological one-upmanship. Like the Mafia bosses running the black market and extorting throughout history the modern 22nd century American was a link between the vicissitude of the pariah cities and the post-industrial feudal system. But getting to this state of being, closer to the truth than anyone in the system, was a struggle.
During the latter years of Obama’s second term of presidency, prior to his assassination, the American dream had begun to collapse. As China demanded a faster repayment of loans and the USA’s debt mounted, in the balance of trade, until the dollar had very little power as a currency of investment, exchange and brokerage and America couldn’t afford to stimulate growth or develop alternative systems of politics that could replace the bipartisan bickering that took place in the house of congress and the house of representatives. Or make the mega rich industrialists, bankers, media moguls, etc. see that this nation needed to find a new social conscience and a welfare programme for the inclusion of the massive underbelly of corporate tyranny, but also a blindness to the reality that the American dream and Americanism was retrograde and was full of ideological aesthetes; an egocentric self perpetuating arrogance making them aloof from and to what the majority saw as the collapse of the old world and a justification of the flag waving, jingoistic patriotism engendered by a US consumer led dead-end as the banks failed, retail failed, industries collapsed, building projects vanished, vast sections of the populace had no skills with which to find a way out of poverty, neglect and segregation.
Eventually America, rotten at its core, with politics, mainstream culture, religion failing to move with the times found most of its enterprise run by Chinese and Indian companies, it’s mines owned by the Chinese and Indians, its primary industries owned the same and even it’s huge aeronautic and military infrastructure part of mammoth Chinese and Indian conglomerates. Without money to pay its huge balance of trade deficit the Oriental and Subcontinent took possession, via administration of the collapsed economy, all that once seen as American as apple pie on Sunday and Thanks-giving became engulfed by the mighty inheritors of the 21st century.
In came the hordes of Mongol owners from the west coast to the east while marginalising the bible-belters and ‘In God we trust’ bunkum. The average American was becoming a slave to the Yen as all primary industry was pumped across the various oceans to support the grow internal markets in the East. All oil, coal and gas. All grain, soy and corn. All Warhol, Pollack and Koons boxed and placed in homes of the mega-rich industrialist as they came to replicate the American dream from Beijing, Shanghai, Mumbai and New Delhi.
True Americans became conservative, chastised and xenophobic and retreated into a creationists homily where an anger was engaged that would eventually lead to the systematic annihilation of all white Anglo-Saxon and all of the simultaneously American evangelical gospel worshippers who couldn’t differentiate the love of humanity from the selfish love of clan, creed or superstition. Maybe somewhere in the wilds of the North American continent there remains some witless, blinkered philistine cults who, while having the backs to the wall, still feel they are righteous and the ‘one’ that ‘god’ has entrusted a benign truth but I don’t know that for sure.
Once China and the other players in the far east held so much control in the US any overt international Americanised sentiment drifted into a fearful, but engaged, patronising of all things Cantonese: the righteous worry hidden in an ancient prophecy (as written in a prophecy by Michel de Nostredame through covert cohesion in bodiless suggestion and spiritual engagement from the creants) ‘beware the yellow peril’ was to present the hind quarters of all ruling elites ready for cowardly simpering condescension and to maintain a ratio of worth amongst their electorate; even if everyone of Western culture’s had fought through generations to free people and give human rights a chance.
The truth of Jack’s insane instability was the lingering sense of arrogance against his own troubled place in the 22nd Century, a slave like dependence to the materialism and those markets created by the Eastern Clords to sedate and make elitist fortune from the fringe cities. Against this American ideology of already loaded, quick to act, shoot first and ask questions later philosophy, originating in the right to bare arms, is a man struggling to deal with a feeling something wrong, tainted, bad, but accepted has happened to society. A man for whom winning held no pleasure but couldn’t deal humanely with the concept of losing either. A hedonist concluding winning offers no pleasures as it individualises and separates two classes of the same species: heads and tails, good and bad, man and woman, cleaving the destitute from the filthy rich. It makes us enemies of the humanity to which we belong, but losing is our enemy as it makes us appear weak, feeble, pointless and lost.
Until Gloria came into Jack’s life most of these issues were deeply concealed as he maintained his godfather persona to the various clients running the odious games, pastimes and sports and creating a vast wealth for himself, his following and the Clords.
The House of the Setting Sun
The most famous haunt in Naoned was one owned by Jack’s family and it was also the largest most pretigious, kitch, gaudy, vainglorious, barbaric trumph of the ansestors of Circus Circus Enterprises. In all outward appearances Naoned was the most successful multi-francised feedback of the Casino cities America so prospered by during the 20th century, and the Hippo campus was the pinnacle: anything, anybody, any time was their motto.
Jack lived the high-so-high life to the extent that as psychotics go Jack was reaching the peak and like all fully fledged oligarchs nothing was very nearly possible. The vestiges of luxury in this Clord sub-domain could quite often lead to mindless death of these hyper-mad individuals for whom reality was, at most, closer to a dream-state. At 30 Jack’s life would or could or might be measured in a handful of incandescent but vivid years when Gloria rocked-up to this glittering dream palace, Hippo campus, and a series of revelations and revolutions would work their way into the mind of Jack in the next 2 years.
Women would freely give themselves to Jack and he would take, in vast numbers, all the pussy that was always offered him; part of a social contract to sire numerous family offspring who would re-enforce the structures in the fringe cities of the miscreants. However, because of her Clordian background, Gloria was a completely foreign and, indeed, impossibility in the cities. Like a princess, on a heavily oared galley, come below to the chained slave deck to row the distance into the future. No experience of metaphysical life could prepare Jack for what was to come prior to my meeting with these 2 tangents of nature in 2155.
End of Part the Third.
Part the Fourth
consider a gracile australopiths
What manner of man am I who can withstand the lightning bright flash and the massive imploding force of atomic bombardment? What transition has my body and mind taken to repel such infinite seeming? I have pondered this realisation since my absconding to the Thth dimension and my appearance in the arena.
I was able to describe in actions an innate feeling I had had for many years. I felt that if I was being threatened with a vibrant and violent trauma then nothing would stop me from finding something hidden in me to unleash on the threatening forms, forces and feints. I thought this was simply a feeling of my own super-humanity and a pure conceit, but perhaps latently I had this potential to turn a will into a real iconoclastic moment?
My mind could focus some sub-molecular interaction, colliding a variety of particles in such a pattern to resist the strong and weak nuclear forces and not destroy my own frame of reference outside from this ‘other’ quantum reality. A unity or a unifying of my molecular and particle existence through the chemical properties of the human brain. The very forces which create reason, imagination, thought, etc. are the links between our fragile, corporal shells and our sense of self awareness. However to respond and reform the macro reality in to such a safe environment on board the vehicle, while in the 2155 now, must be the result of an instant mutation in my sub-atomic matrix: the spring forward to the next stage in our evolutionary path. I am reaching out of the water and hurling myself desperately to catch the fly, the leaf, the branch, the trunk, the roots, the rootlets and to the symbiotic spores of the fungal fundamentals.
I think that the journey I am taking on my own road, in the last few years, has departed so far from the happy numb and conditioned highway on I had in 2001, but why me and why now?
You could read a thousand pages and not understand the meaning behind the story so often, but occasionally something short, minute and seemingly simple is clear and perfect.
10 years has changed me vastly from the previous 30: all the input from all the preceding years has made very little rational impact on my tender and soft cranium: some say we only record minute amounts in our long term memory and most is instantly forgotten. I walked out of a long tunnel, with a point like brightness so bright I was forced to shield my vision from this glaring truth. I was as blind, arrogant and selfish: a nematode of humanity in those early years; just one amongst millions of peers. I crawled on my slippery body and grew appendages to support my drive for being. Being 1. Being all. In touch with vectors, stripes and patches like buttons and strikes, hatches and rose petals, felt and calico, all ribboned, crossing, loops and static. A crescendo of different separate locales swirling in a degree which connects all for absolute preservation.
Guy perhaps knew more of my nature in his unconcerned, trouble free drive into the desolation we encountered once we’d set of from the future Leeds: because he was from the eti-centre in the distant future and a knowledge of history told him the truth that he was safe at this dangerous point. This event had to occur for full mutation to occur within my quantum and molecular structure.
On route I feel my optimistic travelling forwards in time, when all at the eti-centre would firmly stay focused at the past, proved a catalyst for these divisions of our ego and substructure to take man to a new existence.
I regard it as fate. I was always an utterly fatalistic person prior to my life inside the eti-centre. I saw so much coincidences and déjà vu happened everyday. Take for instance I worked in a prison briefly, back in 2001, and someone, for the first time, broke out on my last day there. I stress a need for truth, being and freedom now, but even then to work in an oppressive place like a jail was an anathema to me. The oppressed make up 99% of the prison populace. 1% are indeed psychopathic individuals for whom societies in the 19th and 20th centuries were an in congruent place where often groundless faith, material asperity, sexual imperatives, serial violence, mass media and demographic loneliness enveloped their miscreant being: but being so confused by the society they were in had nowhere to turn but their incomplete minds. It was absolutely inevitable that something utterly profound would happen to me: a psychopath of the mind. Our 20th century western society has created vast numbers if miscreants.
Between western and eastern Europe, during those post world war 2 and post cold war years after the fall of Soviet Russia and the Berlin Wall, millions of truths were dissolved as former enemies became allies. But the result of this end to one set of indoctrinated principles was the inevitable collapse of all these oppressive untruths. All we had to fear was fear itself: nothing real. Then suddenly with the birth of the web from the early 1990’s, cable TV, viral media, a million new eyes, ears and mouths, we could openly and without fear question oppression. By 2008 humanity was ready for another truth.
While ever media, marketing, advertising, retail, conditioning, suggestion could manage to persuade the masses to be controlled and to be happy in their obliviousness then nothing could ever change. The post-post world of August 1989 ended this route and set man on a new inertia and by December 1989 I was firmly in that camp, never to return to the oppressed again.
She came in colours.
Like a ribbon of incandescent light spread into all hues. A beam of the rainbow standing tall, but lithe like a drift of multifaceted smokes Alanna lives a life quite unlike the hundreds of millions of Russian brown and bland and brutal: but there she was. Born in 1982 to a Teutonic mother and a ‘playboy’ Russian boho who she never knew in all her years.
From the heart of Russia she helped me emerge from my darkness in 2011.
With a mixture of bright blond hair and sultry darks merging and striking green to hazel eyes, a pert yet warm smile, a soul of wit, something like knowledge of all, yet a willingness to ever increase her experiences and be bold to grasp alternates, to the disapproval of the Russian way. Her trust of the foreign, her embrace of western European arts, literatures and cultures and her usual, but inspired, dress sense had her stuck out like a sore thumb in the Siberian metropolis of Novosibirsk.
The way we came to understand each other at that time on those beaches in Valencia, Spain/Lagoinha do Leste, Brazil and the unity of being that we achieved meant more to me then than any single moment in all my past embraces: sweaty late night sexual encounter, sordid late nights dragging drunken sodden bodies from Bodega to Bodega and thrashing wildly on the man-made beaches and secretly amongst a variety of human bodies and physical representations to remind us where we were.
The walls and Quart gate, the mystery of a chalice and the wonders of the bath house, Iglesia Mayor and Baños del Almirant, and the joy our of body percussion on El Pinedo was a wonderful and charmed part of the whole exposition and adventure.
From dawn to sunset, and my return to the eti-central for the final conference with the Bodiless One, we used each other tenderly and lovingly, intensely and prolonged. We came to understand our place in the current world better and it felt satisfying to have two such similar silhouettes against each body. To discover a spontaneous change had occurred in two minds that touched the quantum we have all got hidden within our cores. We collided in spirit and deed, but also in our temporal selves. Where two dual DNA’s, quantum vibes, body serums mixed to form, with the select surrounding at our disposal, a golden copulation. It was sex and it was life and it was unrestrained and it was everything.
As I lay there in the haze of the passing moments I saw for the first time another person who stood at this thresh-hold betwixt the fine neither creant nor miscreant and I was fully resolved that the present wasn’t enough for 1’s such as we: I hoped to find other’s and hopefully find a solution to my parasitic invasion with the future’s knowledge.
Alanna knew I was here but a day, and she had no need of me either beyond that day, and perhaps she also knew that the present wasn’t the place for us to find the ultimate truth, but I still couldn’t leave the eti-sents without meeting the One to receive the wisdom of ages and to take that with me to the future.
First amongst equals
In the monolithic structure beyond the ranks of attendants, caretakers and workers sits, stands or lingers the last of the first creants – a man whom fed truths and suggestions from the origins of myth and mystery in such ancient times. As man moved through his world thousands of years prior to the written word and during the oral tradition, so too did the bold Bodiless One. Like a demi-god from the point of view of the eti-sents this man reflected so many single universal truths when man lived with his environment and had no fixed roots.
The origins of the last of the first, and his longevity throughout the thousands of years of history are a mystery. He, like the queen ant, is surrounded by fast paced fast living finite workers. In our hive at the eti-centre he is the central omnipresent/omnipotent in the search for historical truth who has guided all the others who have or will have worked with him over all time.
From the earliest memories of mankind to the first exchange, market and trade frontiers. During man’s long walk from his diluted survival on the edges of the wilderness to the settled and domesticated lifestyle of the early farmers and herders and extended families: the Bodiless One, joined by others, was there to guide man in his comprehending understanding of the environment he was suddenly becoming conscious of.
The sticks and stones of development to the perception of himself below the skies and in the seasons and the role Mother Earth: Gaia, played in his survival. Amongst the glories that mankind discovered: the pure metals, ores, metal alloys; bone, flint or metal tools; communication through language, art, and dress; textiles, pottery, metal working, construction; the creation of time, numbers, calculations and calculators: as was once said in the 20th century we are ‘standing on the shoulders of giants’. Supporting these essential developments of humanity from animal to consciousness through the shamanistic, ritual and religious ideological beliefs in mythologising came the lending hand of the Bodiless One and our kin.
Perhaps it is sensible to say that at all times there has existed a symbiotic humanity? Ever since the dawn of whence objects become tools, weapons, symbols man had an ever-present spirit accompanying him/her on their journey from the coast of Africa and beyond, but the problem with the sheer scale of the two populations over time has led to the forever shrinking host of the creants when less truths were to be created beyond the dawn of materialism. As many a small stream will run to the sea then so too will the Amazon, Nile, Yangtze, Volga: while one has less chance to be contaminated along its miniature course the latter and greater current is filled with death, disease and detritus which it too pours in the sea.
Goodbye my only friend.
I left my body in the future, but was uncertain I would ever return there as there probably would be nothing I could help achieve. One of the disappointing truths I learnt was that of the millions of incorrect decisions humanity had made, very little notice was taken of the finite handful of tendrils that were pulling man out of his own demise. Perhaps we’d gone too far as a species in a social Darwinism that now there was little left room left to stop and start again: we were in a cul-de-sac. Other than by the extinction of homo sapiens: and this couldn’t be easily created. Miscreants have become decadent slobs lost in mansions of unself-regulating entertainments and mazes of ego centric mainlining.
The evolution of a more cosmic existential man what I and my fellows, in that timeless none place, was where humanity was leading to: away from the dying homo sapiens. The truth we knew in our minor numbers and our understanding of the symmetry of being: the careful tugging of absolute importance against wave upon wave thorough out history; from those early social gatherings on the shores of ancient seas and by the banks of massive rivers. From rivulets of streams to languid rivers and eventually to the grandest meanders of colossal the homo sapiens had become enamoured, like a magpie, by glitter, possession, barter, trade, want, desire, greed, anger and war. Throughout this period man began to lose his being until by the 21st century oneness existed for a handful of undaunted individuals. If it weren’t for the creants, and their gentle suggestive guidances, then all mankind would’ve spiralled out of control.
What has happened to the inspired original individual man? By the time I’d left the early 21st century every single mechanism was geared towards hegemony, sedation and class control. Every week a new fad or a new idol; a new icon to be praised or a new style to be bought. Expunge your money : work every moment of your life and spend every penny on keeping you controlled. Don’t fight for humanism or humanity: eat cake and drink coffee, send rules, militia, guns and bombs to destroy anyone whoever stands apart. Come along and whip the dollar; come along and bring your yellow soap, your yellow nylon, your yellow mantel of greed. The sulfur furnace of your breath and sweat and albumen of your eyes. Make your teeth shine white, polish the yellow and disguise the enamelled truth.
With the dawn of the unremitting ‘self’ in every village, town, city and metropolis forgot its community in freshly roast coffee, whole bean coffee, instant vended coffee, French roast, Italiano arabica, espresso, cappuccino and latte gossip laden tragedy.
My fight with 12th century being and unity was essentially flawed. We of the eti-sents thought we could preserve our humanity by glimpsing these blinking small sanctuaries of selflessness, but in reality this was a focus for the mutation of the homo. Although some beings, like Gloria and Jack, had potential to mutate again 140 years from my origins. None of my kind existed in the future: we were a barren few created in the late 20th century by it’s un-sanity and the end of reason. Our logic would not allow us to function amongst 99.99% of the omnipresent material society for who nothing could be tangible.
Jack killed me in the future. He couldn’t fathom my being and acted as his kind could only. While I was bodily in the cellar 2155, my subatomic existence in the path less parallel realities beyond the 3 dimensions. Simultaneously all over the miscreant planet the death of a multitude occurred. An unknown genocide. All our race were wiped out in our brief appearances in the future. The catalyst for the 3rd mutation had occurred on that afternoon. In a brutal physical blow we few assented to the spirit world of inter dimensional reality: we were freed from our corporal bodies and allowed to become the next reality of eti-sensual beings.
Guy and Kevin were not the same eti-sents I’d originally conceived but were my direct ancestors still trying to work out the future of mankind.
I had become another bodiless one.
End of Part the Fourth.