The Metal Rabbit

The metal rabbit lived in a room covered in dust. His face had been punched in many years ago by a soldier and it gave him a somewhat depressed and demented look. The room was on the third floor of a large building in an abandoned city. There was one window from which the metal rabbit would peer down onto the street if he so wished, but there there was never anything to see except burnt out buildings as far as the eye could see. He had once watched a building collapse; this was the second most exciting event he had witnessed. The room was empty but for an old piano. Once some plaster had fallen from the ceiling and striking a chord on the piano, the metal rabbit had deeply loved this moment and thought it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard and every day he wished that some plaster might fall and strike the piano just once more, but alas the ceiling stayed intact. On another occasion there had been a strange raucous noise outside, at first the metal rabbit thought it a storm approaching and had stood by the window -for he loved to watch storms approach, but this was no storm: a large flock of crows were circling overhead. They had stayed for a few days and the metal rabbit had watched them with fascination for he could not remember the last time he had seen or even heard an animal. Very long ago the metal rabbit had tried to savour his memories but he soon fund it better to block them out. He had counted every spot of dust in the room and named the stars and mapped the weather patterns. He had invented whole new civilisations, their languages and histories to study. Each night he sung himself to sleep with a new lullaby and sang a new song each morning. His mind was an ever expanding universe. The door to his room was locked and he had been confined there for as many years he knew not, for long ago he had stopped counting.

One Night

One night I ‘woke with a start

In the garden of my heart

To strained voices remorse

Of a past I daren't discourse,

The wanderings I fared therein

My grievous heart dared to sin,

The line ‘twixt bought and sold

To see it not or yet behold,

I feigned hope yet knew it well

The future did not my fire quell,

Sprang from a sea o’ sour regret

A pearl of worth my sorrows beget,

At last I sank to stormy depth

And saw the plight of my steps,

Until this day I thought it rot

I longed to see, yet saw it not

The silver touch ‘pon my mind

My fate ahead, my past behind

I saw the times I tried and failed

In the wake of whence I sailed,

Then on the shore of golden sand

Naught around me did I stand,

Washed away my fear of self,

A book of memories ‘pon the shelf.

Vainglory

Playing God comes at a price, but not without gain.

Perhaps it was innocent, perhaps it was art; most would not have viewed it so. As a large house to wander the halls and corridors, exploring among the multitude of rooms, we all did this; it is our life. So many rooms are unlit; a shadow tickles the fancies of such people. Of cause everyone is curious, and the spirit of adventure is healthy for all, but whereas lighting a way in the darkness provides fulfilment, the pursuit and the creation of shadows leaves a lot to be desired. The myriad of unpaved byroads untrodden by the many are known only by those whom having conquered fear lost their conscience along the way.

Let go and put behind you the rage of wild beasts, of deranged and uncivilised men. Self-control is the first step toward dignity and dignity is closer still to God himself. With these disciplines comes others desired among those who aspire. The first is for one to stand above his fellow men by beating them down and the second is to lift himself up. The first is equated with being somewhat lowly, not only because of it's being brutish in nature but because the subject in question has not really moved himself one way or another. The latter is deemed highly civilised and respected as the height of dignity, to lift oneself up as a bird, neither stepping on his fellow men. But most effective is a combination of both, predominantly the former.

A city of men. These dark, dirty streets are not empty: twisted souls slide through the shadows like serpents, each around their own depraved businesses, each sick with their own disease. But for all the sickness and filth, these streets have their own perverted beauty, a twisted power, an underlying, undying strength. This illegitimate power, this spectral beauty, this poisoner of souls is no respected of persons and therein lies it's greatness. This power is not a weak, frail power, but a mad, unearthly, hideous power. Although some unashamedly revel in this power and let it wholly consume them, for others an infrequent teaspoon of this seraphic power is more than satisfying, yet still in it's grasp it holds them and they it. Mould it and shape it, train it as you would a wild animal lest it turn on you and destroy you.

Where there is no respect all are equal.

Those without the light in their eyes stand apart from their fellow men, they fear them not, for can one fear that which one scorns? Is it wrong for the lion to crush the ants beneath it's heel? or the eagle to do as it will with the mice it catches? The heart of man is dumb and mute without the mind to guide it, as a rock tied to a long cord it swings in the wind. The mind must be the master of all, the king on the throne, not a helper to am obese and dizzy heart. This is the difference, the line that divides between the weak and the strong, the moral man and the amoral man. The common man calls this weakness his conscience, in the uncertainty of a storm of emotions the line drawn between his right and wrong, the moral man feels his conscience is what makes him human and sets him apart from the animal kingdom.
Here stands the man with his heart in one hand and his mind in the other, an importance welling from a deep pit of pride, a poisoned well springing from hades itself. The solemnity, the grandeur, the vanity of vanities. The balance has spilled it weights, it is defunct. Righteousness is but a cloak around the shoulders, justice a scarf over the lips, empathy a badge upon the breast. A nest of serpents in a brightly painted box, a kingdom of kings, a heaven of gods, a hell of devils, a city of men. Vainglory.
.

The Sugar Pot

"Land of hope and glory, mother of the free, How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?" sang out Vera Lynn's voice from the gramophone in the corner. The cool night air drifted through the open door, playing with bits of loose paper and petals that had fallen from the vase of flowers on the table. On the wall the clock ticked and outside a frog was croaking, he had been getting slower and slower over the last half hour and was sounding very tired indeed. 
"You know" said the Moose leaning back into his armchair. "If you were to ask a large number of people questions such as A: Why are things the way they are? and B: Why do they think this is so? Both answers would be more or less the same, are you with me?" He turned and looked at me with his head on the side. I thought for a moment, "I am" I said nodding "Though to be fair, I don't think there's any other way that people come to conclusions really, they assemble what they know in a way that makes sense to them and form their opinions from this without realising they're forming opinions from their own opinions and so on"
The Moose chuckled and walked over to the window, tapping his pipe on the sill. "I say..." he said after a moment swinging both windows outwards and peering into the dark. I looked up from the old yellow newspaper I was reading "What is it?" "Oh I just thought I saw something..." the Moose shrugged and leant on his elbows and blew rings of smoke out the window. I went back to my newspaper. The song came to an end and all that could be heard was the lazy frog croaking and the Moose noisily puffing his pipe which I found annoying after 24 seconds. "Listen to this" I said standing up holding the newspaper under the light to read "Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth, Duchess of Edinburgh, was safely delivered of a Prince at 9:14 p.m. today. Her Royal Highness and her son are both doing well." The Moose raised an eyebrow, "I suspect that newspaper may be a wee bit old" he said turning around to lean out the window again. I put the newspaper down and walked over to the gramophone, took the record off, put it in its sleeve and searched for another one to play. "You know what?" I said looking through the records "No I do not" said the Moose, "Well, I just feel like listening to Vera Lynn again, don't you?" "Not in the least" "Why not? What's she ever done to make you hate her so?" "Shhhh!" The Moose motioned to be quiet and beckoned me over to the window. I walked over and looked out and then back at the Moose and said "What?" with my nonplussed face. The Moose pointed to a bush half a stones throw away, after a moment I saw it shake and then two eyes caught the light. "Heavens to Murgatroyd!" gasped the Moose. The next few moments were rather long and hard to count as the Moose, the two shining eyes in the bush and I stared at one another. "We can see you, you know" said the Moose and the eyes blinked and then the body they belonged to stood up. It was a man in white overalls and a black bowtie, "What were you doing in that bush?" asked the Moose "Why are you wearing white overalls with that black bowtie?" I asked, the Moose elbowed me. Still the man said nothing, "Maybe he can't talk?" suggested the Moose "Maybe he can't hear us?" I also suggested. The Moose shook his head to that, "No he can hear us, I'll ask him if he wants some sugar cubes. Would you like some sugar cubes?" The man smiled and walked toward the window wiping his hands on the legs of his overalls "Indeed I would, indeed I would" said the man smiling sheepishly, "Get him some sugar cubes my good chum" said the Moose turning to me, I grabbed a screw driver and walked over the the loose board in the floor, levered it up and took out the sugar pot (If you're wondering why we keep a sugar pot in the universally recognised safest of places it's because it's make of gold and inlaid with jewels) and walked over to the window. "Careful he doesn't snatch it from you, run off to sell it on the black market and live off the money for the rest of his life in luxurious comfort" whispered the Moose in my ear, apparently too loudly for the man in overalls (who was a good man but had lost his wife in a shopping mall and finding life very hard had quit his job and taken to searching for bird eggs under bushes which he sold to Lombards and Chinese egg collectors) jumped up and snatched the sugar pot made of gold (and inlaid with jewels) and ran off selling it on the black market whereupon he lived off the money in luxurious comfort for the rest of his life. The Moose tapped his pipe on the window sill and  scratched the top of his head, his eyes slowly getting larger and larger. I fell back into my chair on the newspaper then stood up and put the newspaper on the coffee table and fell back into my chair again. No one said anything. I swallowed loudly and my stomached made strange noises for next fifteen minutes while I tried holding my breath and squeezing my arms against my stomach to make it be quiet. The frog stopped croaking, presumably he'd passed out. I looked at my finger nails; they were all short and neat so I smoothed out a crease on my pants and then tried touching my nose with my tongue wondering if I'd ever tried to do it before and if not why. The Moose took a big breath then let it out for the next forty three seconds which was very annoying and made me want to hit him with bats. I watched a little moth hurling itself at the lightbulb and wondered what on earth it could possibly hope to achieve from doing this strange thing.

Ezekiel Chapter One with Dopplereffekt

Ezekiel Chapter One Verses One to Twenty-Four

1. Now it came to pass in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, in the fifth day of the month, as I was among the captives by the river of Chebar, that the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of God.

² In the fifth day of the month, which was the fifth year of king Jehoiachin's captivity,

³ The word of the Lord came expressly unto Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar; and the hand of the Lord was there upon him.

Dopplereffekt - Myon-Neutrino

⁴ And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire unfolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the fire.

⁵ Also out of the midst thereof came the likeness of four living creatures. And this was their appearance; they had the likeness of a man.

⁶ And every one had four faces, and every one had four wings.

⁷ And their feet were straight feet; and the sole of their feet was like the sole of a calf's foot: and they sparkled like the colour of burnished brass.

⁸ And they had the hands of a man under their wings on their four sides; and they four had their faces and their wings.

⁹ Their wings were joined one to another; they turned not when they went; they went every one straight forward.

¹⁰ As for the likeness of their faces, they four had the face of a man, and the face of a lion, on the right side: and they four had the face of an ox on the left side; they four also had the face of an eagle.

¹¹ Thus were their faces: and their wings were stretched upward; two wings of every one were joined one to another, and two covered their bodies.

¹² And they went every one straight forward: whither the spirit was to go, they went; and they turned not when they went.

¹³ As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like burning coals of fire, and like the appearance of lamps: it went up and down among the living creatures; and the fire was bright, and out of the fire went forth lightning.

¹⁴ And the living creatures ran and returned as the appearance of a flash of lightning.

^15. Now as I beheld the living creatures, behold one wheel upon the earth by the living creatures, with his four faces.

^16. The appearance of the wheels and their work was like unto the colour of a beryl: and they four had one likeness: and their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel.

^17. When they went, they went upon their four sides: and they turned not when they went.

^18. As for their rings, they were so high that they were dreadful; and their rings were full of eyes round about them four.

^19. And when the living creatures went, the wheels went by them: and when the living creatures were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up.

^20. Whithersoever the spirit was to go, they went, thither was their spirit to go; and the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.

^21. When those went, these went; and when those stood, these stood; and when those were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.

^22. And the likeness of the firmament upon the heads of the living creature was as the colour of the terrible crystal, stretched forth over their heads above.

^23. And under the firmament were their wings straight, the one toward the other: every one had two, which covered on this side, and every one had two, which covered on that side, their bodies.

^24. And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host: when they stood, they let down their wings.

Meeting Eccles

I leant back against the wall and looked down the busy street to my left, the cars slowly crawled past bumper to bumper and on the footpath the situation wasn't much better. People bumped past me, all with their heads down, each trying to get in front of the other. Everyone was in a rush to get somewhere, but not me, I stood among them yet so aloof, so disconnected I might have well been far away on top of mount Everest. Suddenly I saw a tall blue hat go past, this struck me as rather odd but it rung a bell somewhere in my mind so I decided to follow them since I had nothing better to do. I kept a few heads behind them and they weren't hard to follow, the hat was a good foot and a half above the heads of the surrounding people. After about a block they turned down into the subway, I followed them down the stairs and onto a platform where they walked over to a bench and seated them self. I could see now the person was a tall woman or perhaps a man, it was hard to tell for they had a long drawn face with a long, sharp nose, thin lips, large dark eyes and long black hair reaching past their shoulders. Their attire was of black and white striped pants, a dull green vest and dark blue shirt dotted with yellow stars, a red tie and of cause the tall, blue top hat. "Ello, what you lookin' at then" they had caught me staring at them, I stuttered "I-I-I was just admiring your lovely hat" I said trying to smile. They squinted at me as if to gauge whether or not I was telling all, "Okay then, have you seen Davonshire about lately?" they said after a moment, I frowned "I'm sorry?" "You heard me" they pulled a long file out of their pocket and started filing their nails, which were painted blue, red and green. I walked over beside them, "Who's Devonshire?" I asked "Davonshire -with an A" they corrected me, "Who's Davonshire?" I asked again. "You'll know 'im when you meet 'im" was the response. "What do they call you?" I asked "Eccles" was the reply. "Do you know why you followed me?" said Eccles, I shrugged "I was bored and saw a blue hat go past so decided to see where it went" "Wrong" said Eccles, "You followed me because I have something for you" "I think you have me confused with someone else" I said confused. Eccles reached into a pocked and brought out a small box wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon "This your name?" they said holding out the name tag, "Yes, yes it is" I said, for my name was indeed neatly written on the tag. Eccles put the box back in its pocket "I'll give it you later" I dearly wanted to know all about this person but thought it rude to ask and didn't know where to start. The train arrived and we both got on and walked to the last car, no one had said anything but we were now friends. We sat in silence till after the next station when Eccles nudged me "You'll be getting off with me then?" I hadn't really thought about what was going to happen, "Where are you going?" "To see Davonshire of cause" said Eccles, "Oh" I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Who's Devonshire again?" I asked, "Davonshire, with an A as in Bat or Dwale" Eccles corrected me, "Who's Davonshire?" I said sounding out the "A" carefully, ""You'll know soon enough" Said Eccles. We were both silent for another while when Eccles pulled out a pack of cards and shuffled them "Pick three cards and don't look at them" I pulled out three cards, Eccles thought for a moment "You have the King of Spades, the Eight of Diamonds and the Two of Clubs" I turned the cards over and to my surprise this was indeed what they were. The train had stopped at a station, "Come now, lets go see Davonshire" said Eccles helping me up and a few minutes later we out in the chilly night air and on our way to meet Davonshire.

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Lobby

What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.

The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.

The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.

All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.

All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us.

There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Lobby


Ecclesiastes 1:3-11

The Lucid Caliginosity

It is early in the morning, sun has not yet risen. A snail crawls up a blackberry, over the thorns leaving a trail of silver behind. Perhaps a wonderful beautiful thing has happened here, perhaps not. Solace. Nobody saw anyway...

Love will always win if you let it. Satire. A snail will also win if you let it. Love doesn't grow unless it's fed, and even then love always dies. Hate will win if you don't control it. Ink. But like all passions, hate will also fade and die...

Catching a glimpse or a feeling of something you not what but you can never let go of it and it plagues you forever until you start to wonder whether dreams really do tell the future, then you remind yourself that they mean nothing, breathe, but convincing oneself is possibly the hardest thing on earth...

Sometimes it's the implications that impact. A realisation that slowly winds it noose around you and then tightens. Like a dirty window suddenly shattering and then you see. Ignorance.  Why the house at the end of the street has always been for sale. Why the neighbours suddenly moved away. List. A dead telephone number. Delve. A note left in an unmarked envelope...

Slamming ones fingers in a door hurts...

I like walking along the the top mountains, jumping from one great peak to another. Over the oceans and over cities, over deserts and forests...

The wall holding back the flood of hatred is indeed leaking. Bleeding cuts, weeping wounds, at any moment threatening to burst forth. Everything could be prevented, but then again nothing bad that has ever happened was prevented. Denial. Hopelessness. Philosophers sit on the bank, while nature takes it's course unabated...

Perhaps can sit on your pile of silver coins and whisper to the cockroaches that gather at your feet for crumbs from those mint flavoured chocolate biscuits you greedily munch on...

Most people try the right way first. Most people try to be happy first. Adolf Hitler wanted to be a painter.

The Hermit

The Hermit lived on an island, on an island lived he,

And a small lonely island it was, in the middle of the sea.

For two thousand five hundred and fifty six days,

The Hermit had knelt in his little stone cottage and prayed.

He ate only bread and fish he caught from the sea,

And a sulky black crow was his only real company.

A fine little sailboat had he, one of finest ever made,

But let fall her sail he would not, until his debt he had paid.

A soul alone on an island, assuredly fighting to be free,

Contending with eyes closed; his enemies he could not see.

The Hermit lived on an island, on an island lived he,

And a small lonely island it was, in the middle of the sea.

Forest of Shadows - Sleeping Death

Bleak silver streams

the light of many a star

born from thrones in dark heaven

and swept in the suns demise

bleak silver streams

the radiance of eternity

paint the meadows in dismal shades

as sleeping death seep though the clouds

I stand motionless

and marvel with empty eyes

like a portrait of bliss forsaken

wearing the colours of loss

I stand motionless

like a grieving graveyard statue

and I drape my face with my bare hands

as sleeping death seep through the clouds

I felt a dying embrace

a soft breeze of weary winds

singing silent lamentations

a prologue to a tragedy untold

clad in the cold breath of October

the stars fall from their thrones

and my last gleam of hope fade away

In this crestfallen orchard where

the final chapter lies written

dressed in a robe of shattered dreams

as the flower withers

in this crestfallen orchard

where fallen leaves lies dying

I kneel down in solitude

as sleeping death seep through the clouds

I stare into the forever night

and I travel beyond the fallen stars

I sink into oblivious twilight dream

where my sleeping beauty

lies sleeping with the dead

Part One: Anguish

The morning was bright and frosty and the grass crackled underfoot. The air was full of the sounds of birds drifting through the trees and from somewhere the soft sound of a flute could be heard. Among the flowers which were opening for the day, bees buzzed about their work. A fox hurried through the undergrowth on some errand followed by a rabbit a few moments later -coincidence surely.

The trees were discussing something among themselves -you could tell it was just a casual conversation by the way they dreamily whispered. The sky was looking very beautiful dressed in a rich, deep blue and scattered scantily with small, white, puffy clouds. Some distance away from the group of trees -you couldn't really call them a forest for there weren't enough of them -the fields were also a buzzing with bees (I have no idea why for I couldn't see any flowers) and the wind caused ripples to run across grass, much like water. And down in the valley was a small river -or creek rather, a few ducks swimming around in circles and ducking their heads under the water (I do wonder if that’s how they get the name) and some geese stood on the bank honking at them like New York taxi's.

Suddenly a small bird flew into a tree and fell backwards onto the ground, it flew up and off then circle around and flew at the tree again falling back then hurling itself at the tree again then again, and again viciously throwing itself into the trunk. Each time a small flurry of blue and white feathers fell to the ground, again the small bird its feathers spotted with blood, hurled itself at the tree and this time it fell to the ground and flapped around on its back; it had broken its wing.

I had been holding my breath for the last few moments. I approached the bird which was still writhing around on its back, my heart was pounding and I had no idea what to do. It was after all, a small bird and couldn't hurt me so I knelt down and leant over it, I noticed that all sounds had ceased, even the tree's had become still. The bird was lying still now apart from occasionally twitching its wing, I cautiously reach out to touch the bird, it took no notice of me. I wiped the blood off my hand onto the grass and I felt in my pockets and looked around for something to pick it up in when I heard a strange sound. The bird seemed to have moaned, I knelt closer to it and it did it again; A strange high pitched moan unlike anything I had ever heard from a bird before; it was almost human like. This time the bird cried, a spine chilling wail. I jumped up away from it and my blood run cold as the bird started to to scream. A horrible, hideous cry that echoed through the forest. And then the bird became silent and the forest returned to normal.

Scenes From An Old House Facing West

In the corner a grand old fireplace sits, and on top talking to it’s old friend
gurgles a burnt black kettle full of dents and a broken handle.

A large pot of hydrangeas on the table stands, and a trail of ants lead to and from a forgotten plate of toast and jam.

A grey and white tabby lays motionless on the couch, and down by the skirting board a mouse is on the lookout for bits of food laying about.

On the wall is a painting of a trees in a field by John Constable, and on the coffee table lays an old leather bound King James Bible.

The old house faces west for reasons unknown. It catches not much sun at all, but tis warm inside which makes it a home.

Up on the ceiling a spiders cobweb catches a ladybird for dinner, and down by a grand four poster bed kneels a tearful sinner.

Behind the door a coat rack stands, full of fur coats, scarves and a selection of hats.

In the roof and in the walls the copper piping taps and rattles, and in the kitchen a jar of tomato sauce falls off the shelf and splatters on the floor.

A love letter lies unfinished on the desk, and down on the carpet the pen bleeds ink in a dark, unsightly mess.

At the kitchen door beneath the stack of firewood a snake awakes and tastes the air, and in the garden a group of hens search for worms and bugs.

Ivy creeps up the west wall near the sun room, and overhead a flock of ducks fly past in an unsteady “V”

On the table “An Essay on Criticism” sits open at page fifty-two, and the key to the back door hides patiently under the mat.

The Wise Man

This is Mr Browne. He's tubby and moustached and smokes a pipe -well I say smoke but he forgets his matches so it mostly hangs in the corner of his mouth unlit. Mr Browne thinks cats are the most amusing creatures in Gods creation. He once had to be rushed to hospital after nearly suffocating from laughing at a cat playing with string. But I'm taking you down the garden path, let me return to what I was saying. Mr Browne is a simple, honest and thoughtful man, I often go to him for advice and for his opinion on this and that. "Tell me Mr Browne" I often say "What do you think of steam engines?" He looks upwards to the side and takes a deep breath "Ah well, they're magnificent." We both nod for a while "Magnificent" he'll repeat after a few moments and we'll nod some more.
Mr Brown works with a shovel, if you have a job for a shovel then he's your man, yes sir. He works around the city and in the parks. "The problem with the country" he tells me "is the animal farms, and what do animal farms have?" I shrug "Mud?" He shakes his head "Poop, lots and lots of poop, mountains of it. I don't think so many animals should be locked up such small areas." I think he has an opinion for everything, I think I'll ask Maggie about that, she has a newspaper and flower stand in the plaza. Mr Brown and Maggie are good friends, I think they fancy each other but are too shy to show it. "I say Maggie, do you think Mr Browne has an opinion for everything?" She pursed her lips and frowned (she does that when she thinks, I find it quite amusing) "I dare say so," she says "I dare say so..." She blushes and brushes her hair behind her ear "Sorry what?" She says, "I didn't say anything" I reply.
One drizzly Autumn afternoon I was wandering down by the river, the ground was thick with fallen leaves and sure enough I found Mr Browne shovelling them away. I walked up to him "Afternoon" I said, "Good afternoon mate" he stood up and stretched his back. I nod toward the river "Looks like the river's nearly full?" Mr Browne pointed to the bridge "see the black marks around the pillars?" I shook my head "Can't say I do" Mr Browne bent over and started shovelling "That's 'cos they be under the water, all this here rain has swelled the river." "Will it flood?" I asked, "Nay, she'll be back to normal by next week." Mr Browne took the pipe from his mouth and tapped it on the shovel handle. "Do you believe these stories in the newspaper?" I asked, Mr Browne hung the pipe on the corner of his mouth "I take everything with a pinch of salt..." I nod "A pinch of salt." Mr Browne repeats. As I walk away I glance over my shoulder and smile. Yes sir, Mr Browne is a wise man, a wise man indeed.

1101000100010111110100101101010110101000111101101

Regaining consciousness is like waking suddenly from an intense dream -but the other way round. I gasp and gulp down the cold, musty air. The skin in my head feels like it's gone tight. It's completely dark. I can feel my body now, I'm sitting on a chair I think. My arms and legs are tied. I can feel a blindfold against my eyes. My body is wet, I try and think. My mind races and I have no idea why I'm here or what's happening. I strain at the ties on my arms. I hear a door open and clunk shut. Footsteps come toward me. "Sir" My mouth is dry "Sir where am I?" My voice seems unnaturally loud. I failed again. A stifled scream escapes my starched throat as I'm flung backwards and plunged into cold water. The shock is unbelievable. My heart races and my mind feels shattered. The air escapes from my lungs and panic grabs me like a huge spider, wrapping it's legs around me. I need air, I need to breathe. My mouth  involuntarily opens to gulp in whatever it find to fill my lungs, I try fighting it but my natural responses overpower me and I choke down water. This causes another panic attack and my mind spins like a jet engine. The feeling of breathing for air and choking on water must be the most hopeless feeling in the world. My mind can't handle this confusion and I feel my body go cold as I start to pass out. Blackness races in and smothers me.

Strange Day...

Drinking coffee, I hate coffee. This slice of cake was $12. It doesn't rain, it pours. Nobody is smiling, I like that. I've not made eye contact for 72 hours. It's Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring all mixed into one. Listening to David Lynch on my mp3 player. Browsing shoes, I ended up buying a silver bracelet. I also have a bright red umbrella, I feel awkward holding it. I have a shoulder bag with Audrey Hepburns face on the side. With my special edition Alice in Wonderland book inside. I broke my fingernail. This day seems to be everlasting. I can't remember waking. I'm going to spend the rest of the day photographing graffiti throughout the city...

Paradigm Shift

I used to love the door because it was a symbol. Now I hate the door. It confuses me. I thought it used to protect me, but now I don't know any more. It hasn't changed, so maybe I have? I think not. Perhaps the world changed around us. Answers have become questions. The door hasn't changed but it has caused me to see everything else differently. I sit silently trying to think back to when the change happened but I cannot. There was then and now there is this. One simple thought. Which is the right side of the door?

Labyrinth of Dreams...

Once

You were king.

You were naive.

You were foolish. 

You lost. 

You had nothing. 

You were depressed. 

You were desperate. 

You believed in hope. 

You were let down.

You were deceived. 

You acted in anger. 

You were exiled. 

You were alone. 

You dreamt. 

You built a city. 

Then.

You were king again.

Jill Tracy - The Fine Art of Poisoning

Fear and Denial

My  footsteps were silent in the plush red carpet. The gas lamps that lit the hall cast strange shadows against the dark, exquisite wooden walls reaching up to the enormously high ceiling. Apart from a moth hurling itself against a lamp, there was not a sound to be heard. I looked back down the hall, it was very long and almost disappeared into the dark before it turned a corner. I heard a creak, it's strange how old buildings do that for no apparent reason.

A thought started to form in my mind, or rather perhaps, a creeping fear. But before the fear materialised, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Peace my friend." came the rich and comforting voice of Julian. I turned and smiled with relief. Julian put his finger on his lips, "Change is good, but only when one is ready. Otherwise it will result in chaos." I nodded and Julian motioned with his hand, "What see you?" I peered down the hall and squinted "There must be a thousand lamps. I see red carpet and a hallway that disappears into the dark" Julian adjusted the black leather glove on his hand "It is well perceived, you note the light before the darkness. But there is more then meets the eye, my friend." The moth stopped flying at the lamp and fell to the ground motionless. I looked at Julian, "Will I become as such? I'm losing hope and I wear fear as a coat."  Julian's eyes twinkled, "Things will get better. Every ten minutes you'll come to a door. This probably doesn't make sense to you. Probably you'll go through life feeling like it's the inside of a huge concrete dome. But it's not. As I said there are doors everywhere. You can't understand until you can see, but if you can't see then you'll never understand. A paradox? I can't give you the answer because there is none. Everyone must make up their own mind about this."

I was alone in the grand hallway. The gas lamps shone against the beautiful deep red wood walls. I gazed at the designs and ornate cornices. The ceiling was almost hidden in in shadow, but I could see it was full of designs and symbology. I turned around and around, the red walls and red carpet glowed. The antique musk of the ancient building made my head spin, I saw faces laughing and screaming at me through the corners of my eyes. Then I saw it; a door. Only the slightest chink of light could be seen coming though the jamb. Suddenly I knew all along that there were doors. The memories came flooding back all at once, worlds within worlds, dreams within dreams. It left me feeling bewildered and my cheeks were hot. I felt out of breath and paused with my hand upon the doorknob, to let my heart slow, before turning it.

Forgetting Confusion

In the darkness and the cold, 

A voice like the wind bitter and old.

Cried out rebuke and brought to tears,

A naive young child of so few years.

"You lost the piece of the mirror you stupid boy." It all began to come back, the voices, the accusations and fighting. The child did that double sniff that happens when you're almost crying. Then I felt bad that he was crying. He had nothing in the world and now he'd lost the piece of the mirror... So anyway move along. Move along?

Uh, that's a little inappropriate don't you think?

Who are you? "Rose. I'm called Rose." said the girl. She had short, curly blond hair. The Moose took the pipe out of his mouth and snorted. "Rose" he said dryly "We're not in the fifties. Get a haircut..." A few bystanders nodded in agreement. Rose put her hands on her hips. "Which hair should I cut mister?" Everyone laughed and cheered and said things like "Good one." and "Women's rights." and "Why is she talking in red?" The Moose who was a musty old gentleman, tapped his pipe and said. "Now then young woman, shouldn't you be in the kitchen." "I hope someday you'll join us. And the world will live as one" A Rastafarian said whilst walking past. This proved to be too much for the Moose, "First there's women taking over the world, then these -hippies, I can't keep up."

"Chaos..." On the mountain far away a boy tumbles a stone of a cliff. Destruction follows. He is now a man.

Now we come to the scene with Jacqueline, she has red hair and she's rather mean.
"Take your umbrella, then you can use it as a shield against the thorns when we go black-berry picking." Of cause it didn't work. Brooke is such a master of bad ideas. The thorns just tore through the umbrellas. She should go jump in a brook. Haha good one.

Okay, whoa, stop. I thought that was Jacquelines idea. So why did Brooke get the blame? "Because she's weak." Said Jacqueline. Brooke started crying but no one noticed her tears becuase she had just jumped in a nearby brook. Life's not fair and that's all there is about it. Just like the boy who lost the mirror, he's forgotten and alone and nobody cares about him. You can only go so far, some things can't be forgiven.

The tunnels were laid by another generation thousands of years ago. No one knows why or for what purpose. The mirrors on the walls are always a puzzle because glass wasn't even invented when these tunnels were dug. Life had become like a black and white film. We ate porridge out of handmade clay bowls. We forgot the blue sky, yellow sun and green grass. Once something is forgotten it ceases to exist.

 The tunnels went on and on forever. We tried often to remember something we once knew and loved
    but it was gone from us. Had not our emotions gone, we would have panicked or become scared.
        Time became irrelevant. We only talked when we needed to. Sometimes we would stop and
               try to think, as though it was important but the moment escaped and left our minds dry.
                       One day the Moose came into the tunnel where we were resting. Every day we 
                              followed the tunnels until we forgot why we should do so. Our faces we 
                                    blank always for we forgot how to smile and frown. One day the
                                         Moose turned to us, he was smiling. "I remember" He said
                                               and pointed to a door in the wall, a root had slipped 
                                                    beneath it. "What is behind the door?" we just
                                                         had no interest or curiosity and had never
                                                               opened any door we came across.
                                                                    The Moose opened the door
                                                                        and we were back in the
                                                                            Library. It was over 
                                                                               and we forgot it.
                                                                                   Like a dream
                                                                                        it faded
                                                                                          away.
                                                                  

"Pass the tea please." Said Rose. I picked up the teapot and poured her a cup. "I had this strange dream about a tunnel" I said. "Sounds boring" said Jacqueline. The Moose looked over his newspaper at me with an odd expression. The Moth sat down and wiped some sweat from his brow with a shower of sparkles. "Oh my word" said Sally looking at the mirror above the fireplace. "It's as though I were trying to remember that I was trying to remember something but I can't." Jacqueline put down her book and stood up and put down her book and said "Poor child. Something odd just happened, but I can't put my finger on it." The Moose sniffed the air. "I can't smell anything, apart from tea and no biscuits." Jacqueline put down her book and stood up.

"What is my purpose in life?" queried Sally. Silence... "We're out of biscuits, I'll get some" She left the room. "Found it" Mumbled the Moose.

Smoke rises from the valley as the sun sets. The boy walks down the mountain with mixed feelings. More unsure of himself than before. Even the daisies don't cheer him up.

Split fingernail. Peaceful Silence

A horse is standing in the rain.   A dark grey shire horse standing in a field with it's head hanging down.   On one side of the field stands the horse.   On the other side is a hawk.   A hawk sitting on a post.   A brown hawk sitting on a post in the rain.   The horse is on one side and the hawk is on the other side.   They're at opposite sides of the field.   The hawk has a broken wing.   The bones in the wing are broken.   On the other side of the field stands the horse.   The horse is blind.   It's eyes are blinded and don't work.   On one side the hawk with a broken wing and on the other side the blind horse.   There's no sign of life.   Just the cold wet horse with it's head hanging down and it's blinded eyes.   And on the other side of the field is the hawk, sitting on a post with a broken wing.   It continues to rain down.   The grey sky is like a dirty, broken fingernail.   That is all.

Books, Toffee and Coloured paper.

When I was a child I was never allowed to go outside, so I stayed in my room all of the time. To pass the time I made origami. No one taught me, so I figured it out myself. I lived in a house in a big garden. There was a gardener and nurse. She looked after me. Three days after my twelfth birthday I heard a beautiful sound. It was like birds song but I could understand the words. 

"The rose puts on her red;
The leaves on the trembling trees
Grow forth with eagerness.
The moon sends forth her brightness;
The lily is lovely to see,
The fennel and chervil..."

I cautiously opened the window and upon looking out into the garden (which was covered in a blanket of spring snow) I saw a person. They were picking flowers and singing in the sweetest voice I had ever heard. I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to make sure it wasn't a dream. The person was carrying a basket which was full of flowers, they were wearing a blue coat and had long golden hair. I was never allowed to be outside and the cold air was making me shiver -and then I sneezed. I squeezed my eyes shut hoping the person wouldn't vanish or worse yet that nurse would come in and shut the window. I was biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. Then suddenly I heard a voice, but it wasn't nurses. "Hey, hello up there." I opened my eyes and looked out into the garden, the person had gone. My heart sunk. "Down here silly." I looked down, the person was standing below my window waving a mittened hand and smiling. I waved back "Hello, who are you?' I asked in a shaky voice. "I'm Susan, my dad is the mail man." came the reply, the person pointed back over their shoulder. "What's your name?" I wiped my nose "Why do you want to know my name?" I asked. They shrugged "Your lip is bleeding did you know?" I nodded and licked my lip. Once nurse had talked to me about something which made no sense to me at the time, but now I remembered the conversation. "Are you a girl?" I said nervously. The person put their head on the side and made a face "What? Yes." And then they (or she as I now knew) made the strangest sound I had ever heard. I had sometimes heard birds make sounds a bit like it, a sort of warbling sound. It also sounded a bit like my wind up monkey -although so much nicer. I bet if magic had a sound it would sound like this. "What did you do?" I asked. "What do you mean, what did I do?" "That sound you made." I tried to -but unsuccessfully- imitated it. This caused another outburst from the girl. "It's called laughing you silly." Then the worse thing in my whole life happened. The gardener came around the corner "Hey you!" He shouted at Susan, she picked up her basket, "I'll come back to see you, bye." then she was gone like a hare. After that nurse made me take a hot bath all afternoon and then go to bed early. I couldn't stop thinking about Susan, she was even in my dreams. Every day I sat by the window making origami waiting for her. Twelve years went by but she never returned. 

* * *

One day nurse came into my room with a man who I hadn't seen before. I didn't really understand what they were saying but nurse explained later that we had to go to another place. The next week we moved to another house in the city. It was very small and but I had never been so excited in my life. I sat by the window watching the the people and cars and trucks go by. There was so much noise I couldn't sleep for a whole fortnight. Now we were in the city nurse bought me things. I loved toffee and books. I still kept doing origami. Nurse was also able to get me different coloured papers. I had kept every single one I had folded. Even when I had thrown tantrums I had never destroyed a single piece of origami. One day a man came to see nurse. He had become very interested in the various origami's that were on the shelves and hanging from he ceiling. Nurse called me down because the man had wanted to see me. He was very friendly and seemed to be very interested in my origami. After a long talk or which I had no idea. Nurse explained that he was a rich doctor and also an art collector who owned a gallery in the city. He thought my origami was the most beautiful creations he had ever seen and wanted to put my collection on display. Three years later nurse died and the doctor took me to live with him and his wife. They had no children and treated me as their own. I couldn't answer their questions about my own family for I can't remember having a mother or father. The only people I had known were the gardener and nurse. The doctor had never thought to ask nurse these questions so it remained a mystery to them. I continued to do origami with much encouragement from the doctor and his wife. The doctor told me that my origami was making lots of money, I told him I didn't know what money was. He said it was very important because you can buy things with it, so I said he could have it if he bought me books, toffee and coloured paper. One day the doctor asked me to come to one of the galleries for the opening night of my origami exhibition, I never liked to go out in public but he said it was important and so at last I agreed to come when the doctors wife said she would hold my hand. There were hundreds of people there and the doctor said they were asking me to say something to them. He took me to stand in front of a stand that made my voice very loud. "Say something about yourself and about your origami." said the doctor. I stood for a few moments, I sensed this was a serious occasion and I was meant to say something important. My mind flooded with images from my past. I thought of the most important things that had happened in my life. Then I took a breath and began "Hello." I said, "I lived in a big house and then a small one. I miss the garden." at this point I thought of Susan and thought perhaps someone might know where she was, the doctor nudged me to keep talking. "Susan was my friend, she taught me how to laugh. Does anyone know where she is?" The crowd remained quiet and I took that as a no. "She said she would come back but she didn't. I sat on the window making origami waiting for her, but she didn't come back." The doctors wife squeezed my hand and I continued "Nurse said we had to move, so we did. She bought me toffee and books and coloured paper." I pointed to one of my origami pieces. "That was the first I made with coloured paper. Then nurse died so I live with my friend the doctor who is very kind -and his wife." I smiled at them and they smiled back. "I would like to go now to my room and make more origami." The the doctor clapped and then everyone else did. I waved to them and then the doctor took me home. Then I went up to my room, put a toffee in my mouth, grabbed Treasure Island and some sheets of coloured paper and sat by the window to wait for Susan.

Julian's Knife

The angry roar of a bustling city vibrates the thick, heavy air, laden with the pungent smell of chemical fumes, death and smoke. Dirty skyscrapers and factory chimneys disappear into the murky clouds trudging across overhead. An enraged, sick and fire-breathing beast with skin of concrete and brick and bones of iron and steel. Each factory a functioning organ, digesting the raw material it consumed and excreting filth that poisoned the land it had trampled barren and desolate. The ground shook with the continual rumble of trucks and trains and the sky was full of the deafening roar of planes and jets. The streets were worn from traffic and even the footpaths had ruts worn from the continual march of zombified workers. They once had souls but now even their life had been removed. An army of the undead, an undying and unstoppable workforce in chains. Prisoner of filthy chains unclean. Despair and anger had driven them while alive and now as dead it was the black blood that lay stagnant in their veins. The unseen rulers of the city had wings and deathly white faces. Their eyes are dead and cold and their tall, cadaverous bodies graceful and elegant. So full of hatred, anger and despair that that the only release was tormenting other life with their ailment that constantly overflowed. Constantly they wailed; mortified, horrified silent screams. Their blood was dry inside them, like black, broken glass which burnt like fire. The chains and coils of steel cable and... and-
"Hail my friend!" I turned and beside me stood Julian. "Calm your storm! Hold your horses! Be still." He put his hand on my shoulder and we looked up in awe at the city. The blur of moving machinery around us became dizzying after a while. "Do you not just adore the silence? tis like an empty canvas, a single note, a tone of beauty pure." I shook my head, "All see I this city stretching, into the dark and bowels of hell. For me dear and honest friend, I see no convalescing." Julian raised an eyebrow knowingly, "For you I have something, my friend." Julian was wise and always said the right thing in the right place at the right time. He was here, now and so I waited to see what he would say. He held up a black briefcase and opened it, inside was a large knife with a perfect blade that shimmered in the dull light. "Take it." he said, "why?" I asked. I held the handle and lifted it above my head and swung it around. It was so sharp it cut a hole in the smoggy air. Julian closed the case and motioned with his hand "Now strip down this city. Strip it back. Tear back the curtains. Find the essence my friend." I nodded. "And what shall I then do when I find the essence?" Julian shut his eyes "Cut it away also. And now I must leave you." He bowed and walked away. "But then I shall be left with nothing." I cried. "You will never be left with nothing -no matter how much you strip away..." His voice faded and he was gone. I swung the knife and a lamppost fell. I walked toward a building and hacked at it. Soon it was gone, then another and another. Factories, trains and bridges all fell before me. The city had been stripped back and was gone. The smoke had been cut from the sky, the streets from the earth and the sounds were stripped from the air. I stood in the desolate valley for what seemed like an age and then something happened. The wind swirled the sand and the desert sang to me. But it had always been singing.

Peter and Steffen Discuss the Elderberry

~ "Wondering is a reason." ~

Rain droplets dribbled down the dirty window and in the garden the mist was so thick one could only see a stones throw. I stirred the milk through my cup of tea and flicked a crumb off the table. There was the bank again, I'm sure I missed it before? Well perhaps not. I better go soon, the sun is setting. Sally dropped out of  a hole in the ceiling and whispered in my ear. I've told you not to play with numbers, they are evil. You can irretrievably disturb or confuse a persons mind by meddling with certain number patterns. You could almost call it a mathematical curse, although it has nothing to do with maths or curses. Steffen has drawn a circle of pure genius, look! he's passed out. What a wonderful, beautiful boy, and by boy I mean mind. A thousand years represents a long time, it also is a long time. I went for a walk past a white picket fence and dragged a stick along it and the sound brought a smile to my face. Peter is wrong (why oh why is he always wrong?). It was drizzling rain, but it wasn't cold. It's still raining gently. It's like a hug. From a cloud. Which isn't a hug. I'm feeling pregnant said George. Oh deary me can someone try and find out what's gone wrong? Alright then. Bye.

I once never said to not shorten words, which I didn't because that's a lie and now I have no idea whether I did or didn't because now I'm lying again. I could sit down and work it out or just guess to save face, it's probably really easy but I've moved on from that place in my life and I don't want any painful reminders. I often wonder which of these three things are more important: Worrying about who you are now, or worrying about who you want to be? Yes there were three things I just mentioned, but most people think there can only ever truly be two options when faced with two choices. They're so fabulously wrong!

Who's a pregnant goldfish now?

Peter found a piece of broken chalk on the pavement. He went protesting and brought down the government. He had so many followers who loved his ideas about life, love and bringing down governments. He had a pet chook -"Hey so did I, what a coincidence!"
"Well silly, Peter isn't really real.
"Oh."
"Yes, he's not."
"Okay then, whatever."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, but make it snappy."
"What did Sally whisper in your ear before?"
"Oh that? Such nonsense: "it's bored not pregnant you duffer." I think, why did you ask?"
"No reason, just wondered."

"Space as we know it is like the space behind the toilet, not often explored, it's dark, no one lives there and it's not useful for much."
"Sir, I'd like to complain about that last sentence; I live in space and I often explore it."
"Dear Sirs, I want to complain about Peter: He's not a really real person."
"To Whom it may concern, I don't like all the negativity about Peter. He's a space-chook."
"Sir I'd like to complain: I live in space and I often explore it and I've never met a space-chook called Peter."
"Dear Sir, I'd like to complain. I live in an undeveloped part of the world. My toilet is a tree and the part behind it is a forest. I explore it, it's not dark, my brother lives there and we farm corn there. I think this is all tremendously rediculous and I order you to stop immediately."

Without a moment to lose Sally grabbed the shovel out of the picnic basket and proceeded to dig a narrow pit in the ground. The soft earth flew out and into a pile and soon it was as deep as her head. Sally dived into the hole head first, followed by her picnic basket. As Sally fell down the hole she sang:

 "Diddley pickle pumpkin pie. Pickledy dippledy do.

 I'm falling down a hole in the earth,

 and I don't know what to do!" 

'Is that true Mike?' 

'Yes and no.'

'Mike says yes and no.'

'what's that mean then?'

'yes she's falling down a hole in the earth and no because she actually does know what to do.'

'What is it then?' asked Sally.

'I don't know, stop falling perhaps?' Sally stopped falling tumbled down into a green grassy hillside full of mushrooms and little bushes covered in red berries. 'Sing Elderberry, sing!' sang Sally, but the Elderberry didn't sing because there's no such thing. 

Hello, look through the window and sitting on the table is a glass bowl with a goldfish slowly swimming around. 'I'm so very pregnant.' She bubbled in a dull bubbly voice. Around and around and around and around...

Pearl

The only possible society is oneself. -Oscar Wilde

I have a cut down the side of my finger. It's slowly disappearing as pieces of the scab fall off and the skin is stitched together underneath. But it wont vanish completely; I scar. My hands are covered in scars, some dating back further then I can remember. Most are the result of building tree houses and whatnot.
I have a scar down my side from a Christmas day many years ago. I was riding my new bike with my friend when I came off, he didn't see me or hear me. I was lying on the road bleeding and the image of watching him ride off and out of sight has never left me.
Being left alone is one of the most awful things for a child or adult or anyone to be honest. But being alone is completely different. Spending of my childhood playing alone didn't change me, but it makes me different. For the most part my friends were adults but I soon discovered imaginary people are much different to real life adults. Real life people can be perfectly dreadful. Sometimes they're wonderful, but I've not met many wonderful people and when I do they disappear after awhile, much like imaginary people except they leave a hole.
I love to look up into the sky and see the stars twinkle when I pray. The full moon is lovely to watch, a big glowing face looking down from the sky, but I think God is further away then the moon, besides I'd feel like I'm praying to the moon.
I love the stars. I wish that maybe one day I'll see a blue police box and it will take me away off into some galaxy where I can see a supernova. Maybe I could jump though space and fall into it -that would be an wonderful way to die.
My garden is full of silver birch trees that I planted. I think they are the most beautiful tree ever. Come autumn, and the leaves turn yellow and begin to fall. I feel upset because I can't capture that beauty. I can't film it, or photograph it, or paint it, or tell people to come watch with me or stay and watch all month. I just have to accept that it happened, that's the best way to capture the beauty.
There is so much darkness and ugliness in the world, I'm full of darkness and ugliness. I wish I could create something beautiful, I wish I could capture something beautiful.
I think God must have felt so wonderful when he created the stars, and when he captures a heart that is full of beauty.
Often one meets a a fellow disillusioned person who is searching, they say they're searching for truth hoping to find themselves -but they're not. They're trying escape by losing themselves. When life is too painful and confusing, losing oneself is the only way out from under the mountain. So climb the mountain of confusion and search for truth.
I wish I knew what I was saying, perhaps everything I say is nonsense. Maybe I should just sit and not think or talk and watch the silver birch for a full month.

He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. -Jesus of Nazareth

Hear these words

my soft voice speaks only truth.

I will reveal myself to you

I'll see you through.

You are beautiful

my love,

walk with me.

All you'll ever need

I am

So come stay with me

my dear,

Dwell in grace.

All that I am I will complete

in you.

I'll never leave you,

my hand lies upon your head.

Extol -Pearl