Straight reckoning it, true thinking, rue thinking, you thinking? I am, not. Arrange your prejudices in a line, before they consume you with guilt, let them lead you to a new thought, if you can bend your mind in such a manner. Or perhaps align your knowledge in order to make a new bridge to an old reason.
I like to think I think things that are new, though I am sure every thought I have has been through another mind on some occasion. Whether it be the lowliest slave in the court of some debauched historical king, to the very mind of the greatest being to ever grace the universe, whatever that mind could be. Let me babble, because I will.
Do you ever think you could be something else? Something special? Or do you condemn such a thought as vanity? Self indulgent ego stroking? It is, it is. Mind you, the ego must be stroked, as it is ego which keeps us going, humility is a beautiful thing, though it is horribly overrated.
I believe I am something quite magical, and I hope you who read this do to, because this universe, and its beautiful mystery is something that is unexplained, and there is a magic in that, and we are very much a part of that magic.
Energy courses through the universe, unexplained energy, masses of it, causation, deprivation, voids, supernovae, black holes.
Never forget the amazing magic of the thing that gives us life, the very god, the very reason for our creation, beyond religion, beyond humankind. Always remember love, that thing which accumulates and spills through us, to people who sometimes feel they are beyond it, love saves them.
I remember many years ago, running through Wellington, bombed out of my gourd on all manner of drugs, feeling the weight of technology on my soul, the torturous pressure of modernity, and then seeing a person who smiled at me, and relief running through my veins, feeling it, coursing through my body. Beautiful moments. So many of them.
Some kid asked me for two bucks today, 'For a feed' he said. I was glad to give it, even if he was just accumulating for a hit. Just so he knew that people have not given up on him, and because I had enough, and I could spare it.
I spent an evening hanging out with friends, from the rafters, like bats, though there are no rafters in this house. We actually just sat around and had a few drinks and a barbeque. It was nice, and easy, the conversation was good, and the time was well spent.
I thought I would write something for the mere sake of hitting the keys, and I think though I have said precisely nothing in the course of this missive, I feel better for saying nothing. The universe is my god, and I believe in love.
I also believe in hatred and evil, things that I have felt, violence that has gripped my being on occasion. Why should they be viewed as bad things though? If we are merely animals? Predatory prehistoric traits handed on by a genetic code. There can be no guilt or misery if evil and hatred are merely the imbedded genetic code that we carry on from our ancestors. Therefore we can kill with impunity and feel no empathy for those who suffer. We can laugh at those who suffer, make jokes about their pain, for we are innocent of their pain, and there is no transgression in their suffering on our part.
So switch the channel to sport, pop the popcorn in the microwave, crack open a beer and sink into the couch, in debauched comfort. We have risen to where we are through sheer evolutionary prowess. Survival of the fittest, laugh at the weak, for they are weak. Lurch on into the new year, with new understanding of your own evolutionary greatness. Ride on into the sunset, mind clear of emotion.
I think I prefer to care. Just because I can. Love can save us.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Break your mental chains
What is it that I think I know that no one else does? I am not sure. Billions of people on what is termed a planet, a planet in a solar system in a galaxy in a universe that apparently is stretching, growing or something along those lines. The possibilities seem infinite at this stage.
Alas, due to some reason we have reduced ourselves to finite possibility. We most of the time are told to ‘live in the real world’, which is of course the world of finite possibility. The world where you attend school for a time get a job, accumulate possessions friends and family before dying, hopefully comfortably and with a nice funeral.
In a universe where the possibilities seem infinite, I believe many of us have chosen to believe that which is told to us, that is, many of us have chosen to think of things in quantifiable finites, rather than in the realm of possibility. A rather excellent cliché is ‘The possibilities are endless’, and it is inarguable most of the time. Even within the realm of quantifiable finites.
It seems that if you were to become too concerned with quantifiable finites, you would begin to consider your fellow humans to be quantifiably finite as well. This is a rather disturbing development. Because of course now you can think of people as similar to possessions or quantifiable goods. It is a small leap sideways in the mind, consider the ease with which you are able to do it, thanks to years of indoctrination.
You would, caught up in quantifiable finites, then begin to care less for others and in fact be apathetic in the face of their distress or misfortune. That thing which apparently represents our opinions, the media, of course backs this up. Its programming consisting apparently of what is ‘hip’ or ‘current’, when in fact it is the regurgitation of a governmental control system that has been in place for thousands of years. This much is while not obvious, easily discernable to the eye that wishes to see.
The sideshows of humanity, sport, movies, war.
The things that consume us; all of them representations of superiority and frequently repeatedly glorifying violence and death, the food of the media, that which makes it tick.
In the age of enlightenment, many billions still suffer, without that which would make them able to turn their mind toward the collective human effort to understand the reality of our existence. Many and most are as equal a being as anyone else on the planet is, but this is conveniently forgotten by many now, why should I feel guilt for the plight of those who do not help themselves.
Humanity survives on humanity, without others, you would be nothing, and as nothing, you would disappear. Finite possibility, finite possibility is too be dispensed with at all costs. It is necessary for the good of humanity and the future of it that infinite possibility is returned to its place as one of humanity’s formative notions. Limiting and trying to quantify is unhealthy and unwise and leads inevitably to hardship and death for someone somewhere, however indirect it could be, it still happens because you buy a particular product that someone somewhere goes without and quite possibly suffers, these are the possibilities of quantifiable finite notion.
With a notion that embraces the unlimited possibility of the universe, you could therefore never arrive on a quantifiable finite as a future, other than a guess at when your mortality would cause you to succumb to time and its soft whisper. On the other hand, perhaps fate would have other plans for you, a skiing accident or kicked to death begging in an alley. Either way, you would be unwise to have ceased believing in the possibilities of the future of humankind. The unfathomable possibilities that an ever-expanding universe actually represents to humankind, that which should make us superhuman, though in actuality we have become distracted from it by vanity and self loathing, a wicked combination of the two that makes us ultra competitive, paranoid and destructive, to self and others.
It is not of course all doom and gloom of course, there is certainly much fun and hilarity to be had playing the games of a warped mind, and to be quite truthful they still pique my interest on occasion, which is a good thing. For it is often in these induced states that we discover more about ourselves than we ever do trapped in the mentality of the physical indoctrinated world.
Beyond the realm of finite possibility, when the suffocating gauze of the physical world is rendered less overwhelming and the world sometimes referred to as the ‘spiritual world’ is revealed to us. The world that is ulterior to that which is termed ‘physical’, the world where the mind has its edges dulled and sharpened at strange points, points where possibilities can become endless, and where the future of humanity is often forged.
For where would we be without the dreamers, those who truly believe in endless possibility? In some sort of watered down stoic fascist existence believing the tripe spouted to you by the media and the notions of the ruling elite. Sounds familiar, though of course, we are not that far gone yet, while we still believe in love and the essential good of humanity, we are not lost. While we still harbor ideas of exploring the universe further, we are not lost. While we still feel any moment of sadness for the plight of another, we are not lost. While we still believe in the realm of endless possibility, we could never be lost. The possibility of you is endless, it is we who set quantifiable finites in place for what we can achieve, and it is our duty to the future of humanity to no longer do so.
Alas, due to some reason we have reduced ourselves to finite possibility. We most of the time are told to ‘live in the real world’, which is of course the world of finite possibility. The world where you attend school for a time get a job, accumulate possessions friends and family before dying, hopefully comfortably and with a nice funeral.
In a universe where the possibilities seem infinite, I believe many of us have chosen to believe that which is told to us, that is, many of us have chosen to think of things in quantifiable finites, rather than in the realm of possibility. A rather excellent cliché is ‘The possibilities are endless’, and it is inarguable most of the time. Even within the realm of quantifiable finites.
It seems that if you were to become too concerned with quantifiable finites, you would begin to consider your fellow humans to be quantifiably finite as well. This is a rather disturbing development. Because of course now you can think of people as similar to possessions or quantifiable goods. It is a small leap sideways in the mind, consider the ease with which you are able to do it, thanks to years of indoctrination.
You would, caught up in quantifiable finites, then begin to care less for others and in fact be apathetic in the face of their distress or misfortune. That thing which apparently represents our opinions, the media, of course backs this up. Its programming consisting apparently of what is ‘hip’ or ‘current’, when in fact it is the regurgitation of a governmental control system that has been in place for thousands of years. This much is while not obvious, easily discernable to the eye that wishes to see.
The sideshows of humanity, sport, movies, war.
The things that consume us; all of them representations of superiority and frequently repeatedly glorifying violence and death, the food of the media, that which makes it tick.
In the age of enlightenment, many billions still suffer, without that which would make them able to turn their mind toward the collective human effort to understand the reality of our existence. Many and most are as equal a being as anyone else on the planet is, but this is conveniently forgotten by many now, why should I feel guilt for the plight of those who do not help themselves.
Humanity survives on humanity, without others, you would be nothing, and as nothing, you would disappear. Finite possibility, finite possibility is too be dispensed with at all costs. It is necessary for the good of humanity and the future of it that infinite possibility is returned to its place as one of humanity’s formative notions. Limiting and trying to quantify is unhealthy and unwise and leads inevitably to hardship and death for someone somewhere, however indirect it could be, it still happens because you buy a particular product that someone somewhere goes without and quite possibly suffers, these are the possibilities of quantifiable finite notion.
With a notion that embraces the unlimited possibility of the universe, you could therefore never arrive on a quantifiable finite as a future, other than a guess at when your mortality would cause you to succumb to time and its soft whisper. On the other hand, perhaps fate would have other plans for you, a skiing accident or kicked to death begging in an alley. Either way, you would be unwise to have ceased believing in the possibilities of the future of humankind. The unfathomable possibilities that an ever-expanding universe actually represents to humankind, that which should make us superhuman, though in actuality we have become distracted from it by vanity and self loathing, a wicked combination of the two that makes us ultra competitive, paranoid and destructive, to self and others.
It is not of course all doom and gloom of course, there is certainly much fun and hilarity to be had playing the games of a warped mind, and to be quite truthful they still pique my interest on occasion, which is a good thing. For it is often in these induced states that we discover more about ourselves than we ever do trapped in the mentality of the physical indoctrinated world.
Beyond the realm of finite possibility, when the suffocating gauze of the physical world is rendered less overwhelming and the world sometimes referred to as the ‘spiritual world’ is revealed to us. The world that is ulterior to that which is termed ‘physical’, the world where the mind has its edges dulled and sharpened at strange points, points where possibilities can become endless, and where the future of humanity is often forged.
For where would we be without the dreamers, those who truly believe in endless possibility? In some sort of watered down stoic fascist existence believing the tripe spouted to you by the media and the notions of the ruling elite. Sounds familiar, though of course, we are not that far gone yet, while we still believe in love and the essential good of humanity, we are not lost. While we still harbor ideas of exploring the universe further, we are not lost. While we still feel any moment of sadness for the plight of another, we are not lost. While we still believe in the realm of endless possibility, we could never be lost. The possibility of you is endless, it is we who set quantifiable finites in place for what we can achieve, and it is our duty to the future of humanity to no longer do so.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Love flows, through us, away from us, toward us, and always it is with us
Flow over the keys toward yourself, if you can, you should be able to, if you are able to tap keys to make a sentence, then you can write, anyone can write, we all should, we should all, write, and bring others into the light of your mind in a particular moment, it is a duty that we have.
Do you not question yourself? Do you not ask yourself what it is you love? Do you not inquire of yourself at certain times, certain moments of quiet in which you are able to glance into the interior, those sweet moments, those peaceful moments, what is it exactly that I love?
What is it?
What is this life? What is this miracle of movement that reveals itself to me in every waking moment I behold?
Although not every moment is beautiful, there are those moments that make others more beautiful. Without these moments, we would be lost, for the times in which we are at a low are brought to bear by highs which are often indescribable. Delights and ecstasies that are able to be remembered and described to a point which conveys something of that which was experienced, but never quite gives the definition of the feeling.
We are alive. We live. We breathe, move, speak, and dance. We must flow in the manner that our atoms enable us to. For it is atomic, we are atomic, our god is an atomic god, whatever that god may be to you. There is no disputing that something is responsible for our response.
That much seems obvious.
Let me speak to you; let me say this, let me be the one to say that I love you. I believe in your innate beauty. I said to a friend when we were teens that I thought every woman on earth had an inherent beauty within her, he looked at me as though I was batty, and perhaps I am, but I believe it still. I believe every person on the planet has an innate beauty, from the most murderous fiendishly despicable to the holiest of holy.
It is the nature that prompts thought, the nurture that propels it, the propagation of genetic heritage and familial traits that underlines the current which it flows along.
Love flows, through us, away from us, toward us, and always it is with us. It is the enduring peace and truth of humanity. The thing that enables us to be at peace with ourselves, in the fleeting peace that we are able to experience in this modern age of mechanics..
It is an amazing life that we have been lucky enough to experience together, as you read this you experience the life that passes in every one of us. We must be more appreciative of the beauty and wonder of it, the marvelous magical nature of it. The splendid isolation, the enchanting company, the magnificent solitude, and the ecstatic gathering. Let us remember each other as we have been at our best and at our worst, and why it is that the worst will never supplant the best, why it is, why is it?
Magic. It is a kind of magic, wise words from a magical man that went before us.
Let it be as it was, let us try to rediscover that magic that we yearn for in that past that seems so unfathomable, that past that we feel we will never see again. It is folly to dispense with the things that make us human, and yet we do so at every turn. The dirt embracing greed that clouds our minds, the fiendish grasp for the ‘things’ we ‘need’, the things we need….
What are they really? Yes, they are those ‘hippy’ things, love, peace, and happiness. In the end, nothing else will suffice. We must give the peace we are able to find at times to every living thing, in a universal moment of understanding, if you can have one, one moment, then that could be enough, in that moment.
We are alone, we are ourselves, therefore, in that solitude, we must find solace. There can be no peace if you are not at peace with yourself, by yourself. It is the purest folly to think anything else.
Do you not question yourself? Do you not ask yourself what it is you love? Do you not inquire of yourself at certain times, certain moments of quiet in which you are able to glance into the interior, those sweet moments, those peaceful moments, what is it exactly that I love?
What is it?
What is this life? What is this miracle of movement that reveals itself to me in every waking moment I behold?
Although not every moment is beautiful, there are those moments that make others more beautiful. Without these moments, we would be lost, for the times in which we are at a low are brought to bear by highs which are often indescribable. Delights and ecstasies that are able to be remembered and described to a point which conveys something of that which was experienced, but never quite gives the definition of the feeling.
We are alive. We live. We breathe, move, speak, and dance. We must flow in the manner that our atoms enable us to. For it is atomic, we are atomic, our god is an atomic god, whatever that god may be to you. There is no disputing that something is responsible for our response.
That much seems obvious.
Let me speak to you; let me say this, let me be the one to say that I love you. I believe in your innate beauty. I said to a friend when we were teens that I thought every woman on earth had an inherent beauty within her, he looked at me as though I was batty, and perhaps I am, but I believe it still. I believe every person on the planet has an innate beauty, from the most murderous fiendishly despicable to the holiest of holy.
It is the nature that prompts thought, the nurture that propels it, the propagation of genetic heritage and familial traits that underlines the current which it flows along.
Love flows, through us, away from us, toward us, and always it is with us. It is the enduring peace and truth of humanity. The thing that enables us to be at peace with ourselves, in the fleeting peace that we are able to experience in this modern age of mechanics..
It is an amazing life that we have been lucky enough to experience together, as you read this you experience the life that passes in every one of us. We must be more appreciative of the beauty and wonder of it, the marvelous magical nature of it. The splendid isolation, the enchanting company, the magnificent solitude, and the ecstatic gathering. Let us remember each other as we have been at our best and at our worst, and why it is that the worst will never supplant the best, why it is, why is it?
Magic. It is a kind of magic, wise words from a magical man that went before us.
Let it be as it was, let us try to rediscover that magic that we yearn for in that past that seems so unfathomable, that past that we feel we will never see again. It is folly to dispense with the things that make us human, and yet we do so at every turn. The dirt embracing greed that clouds our minds, the fiendish grasp for the ‘things’ we ‘need’, the things we need….
What are they really? Yes, they are those ‘hippy’ things, love, peace, and happiness. In the end, nothing else will suffice. We must give the peace we are able to find at times to every living thing, in a universal moment of understanding, if you can have one, one moment, then that could be enough, in that moment.
We are alone, we are ourselves, therefore, in that solitude, we must find solace. There can be no peace if you are not at peace with yourself, by yourself. It is the purest folly to think anything else.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
A little something I wrote for something recently.
Music and movement, and the human physicality that engages such things, is it mere genetic coincidence? A convergence of something, something unreal, something surreal, a sweet sound, a tantalizing wisp of tune, far off in the cacophony of the Wellington evening, is that a Nudge? A little tap on the shoulder from something special, it is something to wonder about, a small coincidence, like a bird that dives across the sun shading your eyes for a moment so you see the darting flash of a fish in the water before you. Like something that pops into your minds eye out of the billowing breeze. Perhaps sound, an image, or a spiritual energy.
There is no common occurrence, we are all quite disturbingly different, difference being what generates interest, and of course as a flow on, vitality. The similarities between people are quite striking, and then the difference arises. Beautiful difference, that boon of uniqueness, that windfall of wonderful inspiration, that deviation from type that makes you think twice, and act thrice.
The very album you hold in your hand in fact, is something different, and perhaps something that could whirl your consciousness for a moment, perplex the pitter-patter of your palpitating heart, as time flies past you, rushing about your ears. The Nudge is music that is easily difficult to fathom, and frequently impossible to describe, but if you wish you might just move to the beat, and let your soul control your feet.
The respective members of The Nudge have decided their volition is music, and it is obvious when you see them, music rolls off their being, inspirational and beguiling they seem to be.
Music has been magical throughout the ages. The magic exists within music and in people, a snatch of a song, the breath of a lyric, that can disturb, terrify or enrich, such are the beautiful myriad happenings that occur in the throes of a musical moment.
Let us listen to the shaman, and see what they have to play us, what words do they sing, what notes do the play, what sweet sentiment could be voiced on the air today?
Is it beautiful? Adversely, is it disturbed? In aplenty, is it visually quite absurd? Your idea is your own, the beauty of humanity is individuality, that golden happening, the moment that it is plain how different you are to your best friend, a universal human moment. Let us tune ourselves to the magical arrangements offered up on this album, and appreciate them for the sheer impossibility, that these fellows should end up making music together, because they so easily could have been everywhere else, though now, luckily for you, you hold in your hand a passage to a place not seen often.
So tread carefully with this music in your hand, for it is a precious and beautiful thing and a ticket to somewhere you may not be all the time. It is a different part of your being, your brain in particular. According to science, we use less than half of our brain actively, and how can this be?
Why have we not learned how to solve this problem logically and industriously? The simple answer is that the rest of the brain is something quite magical, and science may get a handle on it as a concept eventually, but in the meantime, the magical and the unexplained is of course, scientifically unaccountable.
Move, dance, sing, career, spin, jig, jump, hop, cartwheel, we must move and dance, we must listen to music, it is a key concept in human life, through the ages, the shaman have fronted their notion, and the people listen. It is something beyond life and death, when you hear music that moves you, stuff that makes your soul shake in your spirit. We are merely flying through space on a giant lump of rock, as minute beings according to the scale of the objects that surround us. We should appreciate the coincidence of our existence more, think on such things, as you lay this album down to play, let your mind loose, let it stray, and your mind could drift away.
There is no common occurrence, we are all quite disturbingly different, difference being what generates interest, and of course as a flow on, vitality. The similarities between people are quite striking, and then the difference arises. Beautiful difference, that boon of uniqueness, that windfall of wonderful inspiration, that deviation from type that makes you think twice, and act thrice.
The very album you hold in your hand in fact, is something different, and perhaps something that could whirl your consciousness for a moment, perplex the pitter-patter of your palpitating heart, as time flies past you, rushing about your ears. The Nudge is music that is easily difficult to fathom, and frequently impossible to describe, but if you wish you might just move to the beat, and let your soul control your feet.
The respective members of The Nudge have decided their volition is music, and it is obvious when you see them, music rolls off their being, inspirational and beguiling they seem to be.
Music has been magical throughout the ages. The magic exists within music and in people, a snatch of a song, the breath of a lyric, that can disturb, terrify or enrich, such are the beautiful myriad happenings that occur in the throes of a musical moment.
Let us listen to the shaman, and see what they have to play us, what words do they sing, what notes do the play, what sweet sentiment could be voiced on the air today?
Is it beautiful? Adversely, is it disturbed? In aplenty, is it visually quite absurd? Your idea is your own, the beauty of humanity is individuality, that golden happening, the moment that it is plain how different you are to your best friend, a universal human moment. Let us tune ourselves to the magical arrangements offered up on this album, and appreciate them for the sheer impossibility, that these fellows should end up making music together, because they so easily could have been everywhere else, though now, luckily for you, you hold in your hand a passage to a place not seen often.
So tread carefully with this music in your hand, for it is a precious and beautiful thing and a ticket to somewhere you may not be all the time. It is a different part of your being, your brain in particular. According to science, we use less than half of our brain actively, and how can this be?
Why have we not learned how to solve this problem logically and industriously? The simple answer is that the rest of the brain is something quite magical, and science may get a handle on it as a concept eventually, but in the meantime, the magical and the unexplained is of course, scientifically unaccountable.
Move, dance, sing, career, spin, jig, jump, hop, cartwheel, we must move and dance, we must listen to music, it is a key concept in human life, through the ages, the shaman have fronted their notion, and the people listen. It is something beyond life and death, when you hear music that moves you, stuff that makes your soul shake in your spirit. We are merely flying through space on a giant lump of rock, as minute beings according to the scale of the objects that surround us. We should appreciate the coincidence of our existence more, think on such things, as you lay this album down to play, let your mind loose, let it stray, and your mind could drift away.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
In the crazy eye
I saw the world for awhile yesterday in a crazy eye, though it was not for long enough, and I found as I medicated myself further, I began to lose touch with myself and my surroundings. Ranting raving and lurching about like a grossly offensive caricature of myself.
Seeing many people who I hold in high regard was excellent and certainly increased the level of enjoyment I experienced, though for certain strange times, I was all alone in a room full of people. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, just something that happens. We are where we are at times, and then as well we are not.
Who was I? Is something I think later, in the aftermath, when the brain has cleared, and the images have been downloaded to the storage area in the marvelous organ that we live by, as it dangles upwards off our torso, at times balanced and poised, at times lolling and twisting with respective possessive moments of madness and enlightenment.
Why do certain people look as if they are worried or hold you in some place of pity in their mind? It is entirely odd, I always see it in such a manner anyway. How can anyone else ever decide that they know better than the individual? The individual is right unto themselves and in some instances owes the world of humanity nothing.
Earth however is a different story.
We owe earth our all, and one day the planet will again take us into itself as we become the future on our demise. We are rewoven by the machine that is the universe, into it. The threads of our being again part of the millennial mosaic.
So it was odd and entertaining to stride about in heroic fashion, bawling obscenity, offending some and amusing others. A specific incident I could relate from memory was a strange silly man yelling obscene language at me for merely talking to his acquaintance, who was an old acquaintance of mine. I of course totally overreacted in excellently garrulous fashion. I declared that I would get a stool and place it through him, which was absolutely preposterous bollocks, though he of course did not know that I was talking merry malarkey . His face fell visibly and he retreated slightly, his roaring and obscene shouts ceased, he was like seagull, screeching wildly but fearful when faced with a little conviction.
I thought about it today and realized I was extremely lucky, though it was highly amusing, and gave me an excellent laugh. Still I do regret it in one way, because I was being completely over the top and should have walked away once he bawled obscenity at me. It is not wise to regret though, because it has passed and your soul can become trapped on a memory if you let it, and it drags you back sometimes to a place you need not go.
It was an hilarious evening, though probably would have been far better if a murder of gigantic crows had been harassing us as we walked from bar to bar. Hopefully it happens in the near future. I cross my fingers in hope every time my head touches the pillow. Regards and best wishes.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Strange Tidings from the Kapiti Coast-part two
I spoke to her because I was next of kin, and those in charge of the investigation though it was appropriate I heard testimony from an eyewitness.
She seemed a nice lady, harmless really, but strong like a beautiful tree, and you knew deep down that her branches could snap back at you if they were bent too far.
She told me she had been enjoying an evening wine on the deck of her house, she pointed outside in the direction of where it would have been had we not been at the table of a cafe at Coastlands.
She then recounted how she had noticed a man running along the path across the valley, in a disheveled state, obviously running from some thing, she made clear, he continually looked behind him as he hurriedly picked his way along the narrow path.
Her voice slowed and quietened as she told me what she had seen behind him. A huge dog, she said, with eyes like an angry man, but with beastly inhuman gait like an animal enraged, she had seen it look at her, but she told me that she had not felt anything as it caught her eyes, the look the beast gave her was one of casual indifference as though it cared not for what she thought or anything about her.
She said the speed and the ferocity of the attack were too mind-twistingly disturbing for her to recount, it was terrifying to think that beings capable of such devastating and deranged efficiency walked among us, she whispered, fear in her eyes for a moment. She told me she would need a drink before she could help with any other questions, so I thanked her for her help and we parted company.
I knew I must try to find the man but also that I must proceed with haste to Erasmus's farm, so that I could try to find out why he had left his sanctuary and just where in the blasted infernal dawn he had thought he was going. 'What madness had gripped him', I wondered aloud, detachedly staring at the fence posts as they flew by. I drove the old mill road up the valley to the gate, all was familiar, and the millions of rain drops, like miniature fairies floating on the breeze, gave the valley a lovely watery tinge, over the yellow of the parched grass of summer.
The house was lit up as I drove up to the gate, it was almost dusk and some light had gone, the cloud cover exacerbating its absence.
Ulysses the cat was there, an old friend at last I thought triumphantly, I had found the wee rascal in the paddock four years ago, obviously left on the roadside by some one who could not kill a cat, but could leave it to die.
He ran toward me, and waited for me to pat him, as a cat does, I chuckled, their haughty natures had always amused me.
The door was open and the kitchen seemed undisturbed for a moment, as if Erasmus had left and no-one had been through the door since. There was however, a strange feel to the air, a vague shift in the familiarity of it, something wicked had been through this house, it was easy in the end to feel it.
I got to the door before the stairs that led to the subterranean chambers and felt for my key, on the chain around my neck. Ulysses purred rubbing against my leg, he knew there was food for him down below. Unlocking the door, I was surprised by a gust of cold air, it was open somewhere down there, this was going to be interesting. I started down the stairs, reaching back to close the door, Ulysses just stood gazing down the stairs, with reproachful eyes, I knew he wasn't coming so I closed the door and continued my descent.
I worked out quite quickly what door it was and strode through the mess that the visitor had left to close it. Something scuttled off from the door, probably a possum I thought as I closed it, shutting out the light breeze and the fairy droplets that danced in on it.
The lab was a debacle, a scene of haste and anger, machines and documents littered the floor, it reminded me of the earthquake Erasmus and I had cleaned up after, though there was a more knowing destructive taint to this. Remarkably the forcefield generator seemed to have survived intact, something that caused me great relief, as I knew that whatever foul soul had killed Erasmus would no doubt come back once it knew that someone was in his old house.
It was only then that I remembered the capsule Erasmus had told me about, and only because I had seen the painting that he had asked me to do on the wall over it, I had created an old farm scene and disguised the capsules presence by painting a rickety old barn with a gaping black hole of a door, like a mouth of horror in a quiet looking country scene.
I struggled to remember the combination, Erasmus had made it the date at which he had taken over as my custodian, and I had to think for a moment as it was now so long ago. Inside was a laptop, typical Erasmus, never afraid to embrace new technology, he had left old mediums behind, as soon as he was able to, his fascination with gadgets had always driven him onward in the pursuit of his quest for enlightenment.
I fired it up and the only thing on the desktop was a video addressed to me. I clicked play.
Ten minutes later I was appalled, I had never seen him like that, he had relaxed more as the clip progressed, even managing a few jokes near the end, but his countenance had been decidedly different delineating his horrid unease.
He had spoken of his old adversary, who I knew to be his former best friend, but nothing else. Erasmus had said in the video that he had to get to him before the shape-shifters did, they planned to wipe out any who had knowledge of their existence in the country so that they could begin to wage war on a society they thought had gone to far in its subjugation of the flora and fauna of the world.
Admirable stuff really I thought for a moment, but the murder of humanity was never going to be the answer, it just seemed too filled with self loathing and therefore egotistical, after all the actions of the many do not always represent the beliefs of the all. He had finally told me where to find his friend who he said was well equipped to protect himself from the shape-shifters for a time, but would tire substantially after dealing with the devilish beasts for too long.
He had instructed me to take the force field generator and the old Audi from the barn and waste no time in getting to his friends house. He said I would be welcomed simply because I drove the car, apparently Erasmus had purchased it from his friends father.
I gathered up the contraption and raced up the stairs, within minutes I was in the car and driving, and Ulysses in the passenger seat having a wee kip.
It was dark now, but I swore I saw a form speedily shadowing the car in the fields next to the road, though the trees soon made it too dark for me to see anymore.
I drove with careful speed, knowing that time was against me and that the forces of a malignant evil were working to stop me on my journey, I gunned the engine and sped onto the motorway to Paekakariki.
Tune in next week for the next thrilling chapter.
She seemed a nice lady, harmless really, but strong like a beautiful tree, and you knew deep down that her branches could snap back at you if they were bent too far.
She told me she had been enjoying an evening wine on the deck of her house, she pointed outside in the direction of where it would have been had we not been at the table of a cafe at Coastlands.
She then recounted how she had noticed a man running along the path across the valley, in a disheveled state, obviously running from some thing, she made clear, he continually looked behind him as he hurriedly picked his way along the narrow path.
Her voice slowed and quietened as she told me what she had seen behind him. A huge dog, she said, with eyes like an angry man, but with beastly inhuman gait like an animal enraged, she had seen it look at her, but she told me that she had not felt anything as it caught her eyes, the look the beast gave her was one of casual indifference as though it cared not for what she thought or anything about her.
She said the speed and the ferocity of the attack were too mind-twistingly disturbing for her to recount, it was terrifying to think that beings capable of such devastating and deranged efficiency walked among us, she whispered, fear in her eyes for a moment. She told me she would need a drink before she could help with any other questions, so I thanked her for her help and we parted company.
I knew I must try to find the man but also that I must proceed with haste to Erasmus's farm, so that I could try to find out why he had left his sanctuary and just where in the blasted infernal dawn he had thought he was going. 'What madness had gripped him', I wondered aloud, detachedly staring at the fence posts as they flew by. I drove the old mill road up the valley to the gate, all was familiar, and the millions of rain drops, like miniature fairies floating on the breeze, gave the valley a lovely watery tinge, over the yellow of the parched grass of summer.
The house was lit up as I drove up to the gate, it was almost dusk and some light had gone, the cloud cover exacerbating its absence.
Ulysses the cat was there, an old friend at last I thought triumphantly, I had found the wee rascal in the paddock four years ago, obviously left on the roadside by some one who could not kill a cat, but could leave it to die.
He ran toward me, and waited for me to pat him, as a cat does, I chuckled, their haughty natures had always amused me.
The door was open and the kitchen seemed undisturbed for a moment, as if Erasmus had left and no-one had been through the door since. There was however, a strange feel to the air, a vague shift in the familiarity of it, something wicked had been through this house, it was easy in the end to feel it.
I got to the door before the stairs that led to the subterranean chambers and felt for my key, on the chain around my neck. Ulysses purred rubbing against my leg, he knew there was food for him down below. Unlocking the door, I was surprised by a gust of cold air, it was open somewhere down there, this was going to be interesting. I started down the stairs, reaching back to close the door, Ulysses just stood gazing down the stairs, with reproachful eyes, I knew he wasn't coming so I closed the door and continued my descent.
I worked out quite quickly what door it was and strode through the mess that the visitor had left to close it. Something scuttled off from the door, probably a possum I thought as I closed it, shutting out the light breeze and the fairy droplets that danced in on it.
The lab was a debacle, a scene of haste and anger, machines and documents littered the floor, it reminded me of the earthquake Erasmus and I had cleaned up after, though there was a more knowing destructive taint to this. Remarkably the forcefield generator seemed to have survived intact, something that caused me great relief, as I knew that whatever foul soul had killed Erasmus would no doubt come back once it knew that someone was in his old house.
It was only then that I remembered the capsule Erasmus had told me about, and only because I had seen the painting that he had asked me to do on the wall over it, I had created an old farm scene and disguised the capsules presence by painting a rickety old barn with a gaping black hole of a door, like a mouth of horror in a quiet looking country scene.
I struggled to remember the combination, Erasmus had made it the date at which he had taken over as my custodian, and I had to think for a moment as it was now so long ago. Inside was a laptop, typical Erasmus, never afraid to embrace new technology, he had left old mediums behind, as soon as he was able to, his fascination with gadgets had always driven him onward in the pursuit of his quest for enlightenment.
I fired it up and the only thing on the desktop was a video addressed to me. I clicked play.
Ten minutes later I was appalled, I had never seen him like that, he had relaxed more as the clip progressed, even managing a few jokes near the end, but his countenance had been decidedly different delineating his horrid unease.
He had spoken of his old adversary, who I knew to be his former best friend, but nothing else. Erasmus had said in the video that he had to get to him before the shape-shifters did, they planned to wipe out any who had knowledge of their existence in the country so that they could begin to wage war on a society they thought had gone to far in its subjugation of the flora and fauna of the world.
Admirable stuff really I thought for a moment, but the murder of humanity was never going to be the answer, it just seemed too filled with self loathing and therefore egotistical, after all the actions of the many do not always represent the beliefs of the all. He had finally told me where to find his friend who he said was well equipped to protect himself from the shape-shifters for a time, but would tire substantially after dealing with the devilish beasts for too long.
He had instructed me to take the force field generator and the old Audi from the barn and waste no time in getting to his friends house. He said I would be welcomed simply because I drove the car, apparently Erasmus had purchased it from his friends father.
I gathered up the contraption and raced up the stairs, within minutes I was in the car and driving, and Ulysses in the passenger seat having a wee kip.
It was dark now, but I swore I saw a form speedily shadowing the car in the fields next to the road, though the trees soon made it too dark for me to see anymore.
I drove with careful speed, knowing that time was against me and that the forces of a malignant evil were working to stop me on my journey, I gunned the engine and sped onto the motorway to Paekakariki.
Tune in next week for the next thrilling chapter.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Strange Tidings from the Kapiti coast- A serial comedic supernatural thriller
It was yesterday it happened. I received strange tidings from the Kapiti coast. A man had been killed and someone had taken a dog into custody for the murder. A woman who lived across the valley from the path the slaying occurred on, had said she had seen the dog stalking the man for about two kilometers, before it sprinted savagely toward him, she said she could hear the hellish barking far off as an echo, and then the malicious and ferocious rage of the attack, she said she had looked away.
That man was my mentor, Erasmus.
I remember opening the email, it said simply, "bad news", in the subject area. That electronic communication, was probably the most saddening document I had ever opened via the mobile web. I was heartbroken for a time and in deep shock, but he had always said to me that he would die, and to prepare for it as an inevitability, that if you fear it, it controls you. So after a good cup of tea and a cry I was back to reality.
There was something odd about this reality relayed by others though, and I had a strange feeling about this, after all, there were strange goings on on the Kapiti Coast. I had lived there, and Erasmus was an alchemist as well, this fact threw some people off, which I always thought rather strange, after all, it is an old and revered profession, engaged in by some of the greatest minds that grace our collective histories.
Erasmus was an alchemist in the sense that he was on a scientific journey to find the ultimate, the source of all life, and definitely not in it for the monetary gain.
The thing was, I had learned in the five years I lived there that he had had certain incidents occur in and around his vicinity, that were apparently, according to Erasmus, put straight into the police special-branch folder.
Strange animals appearing, giant vicious sounding beasts, marauding wildly through the night.
I asked him, 'What are those wonderous creatures?', he told me they were his former friends, as he had been a shape-changer also.
Of course this came as a shock and I had to sit down.
I recall seeing several of them and they were certainly supernaturally proportioned beings.
There was one that looked very similar to a giant husky, walking around on its hind legs, smashing corrugated iron fences aside. All this chaos as it tried to break through the bulb of magic Erasmus generated around us, thanks to a portable psychically driven machine, that was placed on the head and then caused the wearer to have the ability to throw out a ball of energy that could not be penetrated.
Erasmus had said at the time he used it, that he was not satisfied with the reliability of it, as it was as unpredictable as a temperamental laptop and drained power directly from the wearer, the wearer needing to drink a liter of water and eat two sandwiches for each hour it was worn.
My best and most clear memory of an attack was certainly the one when I saw the giant husky close up. We had heard its preternatural growls before we saw it, as we were in the glass dome that Erasmus kept on the top of his subterranean house.
It was seven feet tall, and resembled the stature of a silver-back gorilla, all rippling muscle and cautiously intelligent menace when it loped into view, the moment it spied Erasmus it transformed. Rage streaked forth from its eyes as it came bounding over the hills to the west of Erasmus's farmhouse, suddenly it was smashing aside the corrugated iron fence that surrounded the chicken coop, and my, the poor chickens, devoured in seconds, they stood no chance.
The ball of energy had been malfunctioning slightly if I remember rightly, because before the giant dog had reduced the chicken coop to ruins, the chickens had been quite safe, and quiet actually, which I admired them for, they had known that clucking was not something they wanted to do with that gigantic terror roaring toward the farm. After 2 liters of water and four sandwiches, the beast tired substantially, and after it had eaten the remains of the chickens and part of the door frame, it took off across the hill in a blur of speed that chilled me for a few seconds, such was the insane velocity of it. We were saved, there were numerous high fives and whoops as we rejoiced wholeheartedly that we had fought the damned creature off. Afterward Erasmus did say that perhaps he was the thing malfunctioning and not the machine, as he did not actually like peanut butter, cheese, marmite and lettuce sandwiches. We both laughed at that, he had an inspiring sense of humor and was ferociously quick witted, the true model of a man. He was a fitting mentor for me after the mysterious disappearance of my parents, as he was much like my mother, they vanished in a yachting incident when I was fifteen years old.
After living and learning many new and wonderful things in the laboratory and library of Erasmus for five years I decided to venture out into the world.
I moved to the city to exhibit my paintings, mainly landscapes from around the lower north island coasts. They were very good though, and I had gotten several promising reviews and had sold enough work to work for the next year, on next years work. Erasmus had financed me during the early part of my sojourn south, and I had repaid him in a giant piece depicting the coast from Mana island, Kapiti Island standing like a sentinel on verge of the briny deep. We had stayed in touch, of course, he was my parent now and of course my uncle, on my mothers side. He always insisted I call him Erasmus, as he said he preferred his name without trappings.
I had been having a splendid year, meeting new friends, listening to new bands, and experiencing other cultures. I had just returned from a gallery opening of some of my newer work, involving supernatural themes, when I received the "bad news".
I had not been ready for the shock I experienced when I saw what had happened. Perhaps I glossed over the situation when I relayed earlier that I had merely had a cup of tea and a good cry. In fact I had had several cups of tea and sat in stunned silence staring at the piece I had withdrawn from the gallery opening.
The shadows on the trees, the wind rippling through the valley, the vantage point of the painting, resembled what the lady who had witnessed it had described to me over the phone, I was to meet with her in a couple of days.
The man trudging along vaguely aware of a malevolent presence at his back, but despite a furtive glance captured in the painting forever, he cannot see the terrible predator crouched low in the shadows behind him, seeming to glisten with an ethereal glow, the coming death.
I had painted Erasmus's demise, a specific incident that he had said might occur, that I might have some sort of premonition of his death, as there was a certain relationship with divinity in our collective history, and that his father had told him that I had the clairvoyant gift.
The painting sat before me, quietly relaying in the scene.
I must have stared at it for days.
The next strange tidings from the Kapiti Coast jolted me out of my meandering and self pitying malaise.
The dog disappeared from the pen in was kept in, pending a thorough investigation and a man that appeared in the pen had said he had stumbled through the quarantine gate as an employee exited and found his way to a comfortable straw lined pen that he had accidentally locked when he fell over. He was questioned and released.
I had to find that man.
Tune in next week for the second installment in this four part adventure series.
Next week
I spoke to her because I was next of kin, and those in charge of the investigation though it was appropriate I heard testimony from an eyewitness.
That man was my mentor, Erasmus.
I remember opening the email, it said simply, "bad news", in the subject area. That electronic communication, was probably the most saddening document I had ever opened via the mobile web. I was heartbroken for a time and in deep shock, but he had always said to me that he would die, and to prepare for it as an inevitability, that if you fear it, it controls you. So after a good cup of tea and a cry I was back to reality.
There was something odd about this reality relayed by others though, and I had a strange feeling about this, after all, there were strange goings on on the Kapiti Coast. I had lived there, and Erasmus was an alchemist as well, this fact threw some people off, which I always thought rather strange, after all, it is an old and revered profession, engaged in by some of the greatest minds that grace our collective histories.
Erasmus was an alchemist in the sense that he was on a scientific journey to find the ultimate, the source of all life, and definitely not in it for the monetary gain.
The thing was, I had learned in the five years I lived there that he had had certain incidents occur in and around his vicinity, that were apparently, according to Erasmus, put straight into the police special-branch folder.
Strange animals appearing, giant vicious sounding beasts, marauding wildly through the night.
I asked him, 'What are those wonderous creatures?', he told me they were his former friends, as he had been a shape-changer also.
Of course this came as a shock and I had to sit down.
I recall seeing several of them and they were certainly supernaturally proportioned beings.
There was one that looked very similar to a giant husky, walking around on its hind legs, smashing corrugated iron fences aside. All this chaos as it tried to break through the bulb of magic Erasmus generated around us, thanks to a portable psychically driven machine, that was placed on the head and then caused the wearer to have the ability to throw out a ball of energy that could not be penetrated.
Erasmus had said at the time he used it, that he was not satisfied with the reliability of it, as it was as unpredictable as a temperamental laptop and drained power directly from the wearer, the wearer needing to drink a liter of water and eat two sandwiches for each hour it was worn.
My best and most clear memory of an attack was certainly the one when I saw the giant husky close up. We had heard its preternatural growls before we saw it, as we were in the glass dome that Erasmus kept on the top of his subterranean house.
It was seven feet tall, and resembled the stature of a silver-back gorilla, all rippling muscle and cautiously intelligent menace when it loped into view, the moment it spied Erasmus it transformed. Rage streaked forth from its eyes as it came bounding over the hills to the west of Erasmus's farmhouse, suddenly it was smashing aside the corrugated iron fence that surrounded the chicken coop, and my, the poor chickens, devoured in seconds, they stood no chance.
The ball of energy had been malfunctioning slightly if I remember rightly, because before the giant dog had reduced the chicken coop to ruins, the chickens had been quite safe, and quiet actually, which I admired them for, they had known that clucking was not something they wanted to do with that gigantic terror roaring toward the farm. After 2 liters of water and four sandwiches, the beast tired substantially, and after it had eaten the remains of the chickens and part of the door frame, it took off across the hill in a blur of speed that chilled me for a few seconds, such was the insane velocity of it. We were saved, there were numerous high fives and whoops as we rejoiced wholeheartedly that we had fought the damned creature off. Afterward Erasmus did say that perhaps he was the thing malfunctioning and not the machine, as he did not actually like peanut butter, cheese, marmite and lettuce sandwiches. We both laughed at that, he had an inspiring sense of humor and was ferociously quick witted, the true model of a man. He was a fitting mentor for me after the mysterious disappearance of my parents, as he was much like my mother, they vanished in a yachting incident when I was fifteen years old.
After living and learning many new and wonderful things in the laboratory and library of Erasmus for five years I decided to venture out into the world.
I moved to the city to exhibit my paintings, mainly landscapes from around the lower north island coasts. They were very good though, and I had gotten several promising reviews and had sold enough work to work for the next year, on next years work. Erasmus had financed me during the early part of my sojourn south, and I had repaid him in a giant piece depicting the coast from Mana island, Kapiti Island standing like a sentinel on verge of the briny deep. We had stayed in touch, of course, he was my parent now and of course my uncle, on my mothers side. He always insisted I call him Erasmus, as he said he preferred his name without trappings.
I had been having a splendid year, meeting new friends, listening to new bands, and experiencing other cultures. I had just returned from a gallery opening of some of my newer work, involving supernatural themes, when I received the "bad news".
I had not been ready for the shock I experienced when I saw what had happened. Perhaps I glossed over the situation when I relayed earlier that I had merely had a cup of tea and a good cry. In fact I had had several cups of tea and sat in stunned silence staring at the piece I had withdrawn from the gallery opening.
The shadows on the trees, the wind rippling through the valley, the vantage point of the painting, resembled what the lady who had witnessed it had described to me over the phone, I was to meet with her in a couple of days.
The man trudging along vaguely aware of a malevolent presence at his back, but despite a furtive glance captured in the painting forever, he cannot see the terrible predator crouched low in the shadows behind him, seeming to glisten with an ethereal glow, the coming death.
I had painted Erasmus's demise, a specific incident that he had said might occur, that I might have some sort of premonition of his death, as there was a certain relationship with divinity in our collective history, and that his father had told him that I had the clairvoyant gift.
The painting sat before me, quietly relaying in the scene.
I must have stared at it for days.
The next strange tidings from the Kapiti Coast jolted me out of my meandering and self pitying malaise.
The dog disappeared from the pen in was kept in, pending a thorough investigation and a man that appeared in the pen had said he had stumbled through the quarantine gate as an employee exited and found his way to a comfortable straw lined pen that he had accidentally locked when he fell over. He was questioned and released.
I had to find that man.
Tune in next week for the second installment in this four part adventure series.
Next week
I spoke to her because I was next of kin, and those in charge of the investigation though it was appropriate I heard testimony from an eyewitness.
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