Underground

Things that we can't be sure about. There are many, they are everywhere, they are cloaked with the mask of reality or even cloaked with the cloak of reality. Hard to fathom, that's why I offer no new insights because, despite all my travels, exploration and experiences I am always returning back to that same point of not being sure. Recent history and current events show us on a daily basis that people don't learn or develop. The cry for free speech and transparency allows all views to rise and register, we are not all comfortable with what is said and what we hear. Torrents of hate speak, legitimised and resonating at all levels. Everybody wants to undermine the establishment in whatever form it appears to take, even the establishment wants to undermine the establishment because it's always somebody else or some other issue that's getting in the way. So ideas are banded about, solutions are constructed and policies are made, cynically alluding to providing the hope of a way out, a fix to the "problem" upon which a thousand valid points of view might exist. 

So stepping back and looking at the world almost everything seems absurd, pointless and at it's worse hurtful and destructive. Nobody  can tolerate much of anything different for too long. There's a need to settle scores, to win, to gain the upper hand but for what? None of this gets us anywhere, none of it produces worthwhile fruit. We are struggling to have our voices heard because we were told our voices should be heard, we were told to speak up but all we seem to be doing is shouting into a barrel while constantly revolving establishment controllers absorb the sounds and continue to do what they've always done, scheme and meddle with no vision or obvious end game. Everybody tells their own version of the truth but the truth was corrupted a long time ago, now there is just unrest, argument and division. Things we disagree with piled high but no real power with which to knock them down.

So we run exhausted to the glorious false religion of science fiction, to dystopian landscapes, to the edges of fantasy storytelling where star ships and drugs and starting again from some fresh set of seeds looks like the way to go. Beginning again and letting the world burn and burn out, purged by the smoke and flame so that those survivors blessed with the correct set of ideas and learned lessons might kickstart a fairer and freer world. Tragic, comedic and unlikely. 

Other people's views and regimes will prevail, bad things will continue to happen, the mainstream will protect itself and all your energy will be used up in a pointless struggle as perpetual change brings only more of the same. So join us, the few who have travelled far enough to want to travel no more. Join us in the underground.

Poem pics

OK, these are not proper poems, more like idle ramblings typed up onto a picture. A picture (two) that I wanted to use up in some way. All quite spontaneous though and in their own way well intentioned. As if any of that matters.

Wormwood

To my fellow conspirators there's not much to see here

I initiated my device when I thought the coast was in the clear

There's nothing much of anything that they can pin on me

Except my strange compulsion to live in a world that's free

They devil woke me through the night and on my body stood

He squeezed out apple juice and beetroot, Brew Dog and Wormwood

It was my sweet hallucination telling me you're going wrong

So I put the pin back in the grenade and turned it to a song

Now Trump and Farage hang from lampposts in a drunken sailor's dream

The Daily Mail bought up the images and made a fortune on the stream

The people said “We'd already guessed that things were going wrong”

“We only did it anyway just to push this movement on”

Now things have settled down again since we gave up on human rights

We surrendered all our fortitude for some psychedelic lights

They said “you've won the day” but it still was pretty clear

Friendships make you comfortable but they're dangerous round here.

The hills are alive

By the time I'd reached the safety of the road I was in pieces. Soaked with sweat, limbs turning to jelly, my mind racing, thoughts flashing here and everywhere, pulse racing and I was (possibly but I'm not sure) jabbering. There was so much going on inside my head that I was unsure as to what was inside or outside. I threw myself down onto the grass verge, exhausted and buried my head into the cool, wet green as if it was some sweet anaesthetic. Something to douse the fear and the slowly growing pain that was building following my encounter. "Don't you be going up there alone", that was the warning from Bob the old shepherd last night in the pub. Now his words were ringing in my ears. How had he known? What had he seen? How many others? Of course I'd laughed, full of Dutch courage and scepticism and not really caring. At that certain age when you feel invincible and eternal, strong and rational enough to deal with whatever comes your way. Well that was last night, last life even. The watershed had been arrived at. I wasn't laughing now.

I seemed to sleep or drown or fall for the longest time, no sense of day or night, just hugging the ground, curled up in some foetal recovery position, still and silent. Rain was falling, steadily damp, soaking me with an electric warmth and a cloak of sterility. Forcing me to wake and face the truth of my situation. It was then, groggy and still in some pain that I heard the voice...

I looked up, a child stood before me. Looked like a boy of about seven I think, it was hard to tell. The first thing I noticed were the shoes, girls' Mary Jane shoes, one brown, one black and on the wrong feet. The child looked down on me as I struggled to move and to get up onto my knees. Daylight was breaking and the mist was sheathing all around. There was just me and this strange figure in a ghostly wilderness. Neither of is spoke we just stared at one another. I thought I must be in shock and that this was another hallucination, another mask, some kind of trick of the mind. This whole experience was unreal and things had stopped making sense. The child spoke again.

"You look lost...I know how that feels, I think that I may be lost."

Space

Space: Well it is kind of bottomless and may appear empty but frankly I think you'll find that there is quite a lot going on. I do however say that from a rather earth bound perspective but there's a lot of scientific fact and even more speculation you could pick up from we humans. Why there are books, films and fantasies and all sorts of theories. They kind of crash into one another all the time, you may pick sense the jumbled signals. We've only been so far physically, we create space junk in our own back yard easily but we can see and hear beyond the immediate area ... Anyway hope your OK and lookout for that star at the bottom right. That's the one from the Old Grey Whistle Test.

Too good to be true

It was an error of judgement, a big one and I did not foresee the consequences. It's true that we had had our difference, what couple doesn't? We quarrelled and came and went our separate ways but I didn't expect it to end like this. You see she caught me out, clean as a whistle, fare and square. OK, it was all about me, all my fault and money was involved. We had some savings, not a lot but the start of a nest egg towards a decent house. That was the plan and the money was ring fenced, we avoided touching it and simply added to the pot when we could. There were no withdrawals. That was the rule and I broke it, but even today, after all the pain and grief I think I was right, I just failed to explain myself properly. I thought I could use a bit of a short cut to get the money to grow and of course if a thing seems too good to be true it...

So I'm out one afternoon, enjoying a cool beer in one of local bars when this Australian guy comes in. He's a little younger than me, he was a bit of a swagger, a glint in his eyes, he's a traveller and looks streetwise. He does a full 360 around the bar, checks out the doors and exits, checks out the other customers, none of whom, other than me are paying any attention to him. There's sports on the TV, some side bets are going down, there's some animation in the other corner and at the bar two old guys are firmly holding their glasses and talking in low voices. I'm on my own at a table just being, well vacant I guess, like I had a dumb sign on my head that pointed that fact out to everyone entering. Here's the vacant guy spinning out his beer time. 

I realised that the stranger was Australian when opened his mouth to order. He had a loud voice, joshed a little with the barman and pointed to the glass beer fridge and chose a bottle, quickly paid and then turned around again and caught my glance just as I was moving it from the TV screen to the doorway. "Mind if I join you?"

I nodded, didn't respond with the obvious joke and he sat down opposite me and poured his beer carefully into the schooner. No space invasion anyway, I took that as a good sign. He looks me straight in the eye then...

"You look a good 'un, I'm wondering if you'd be interested in what I like to call `safe speculation`. You see safe speculation is all about making a small investment in a project that will very likely result in a small profit for little or no risk. Of course the bigger the investment the greater the final return."

"Are you kidding me? Two minutes in a pub and you're trying to con me with this "speculation" garbage."

"Whoa, no con here, no garbage. This isn't a scam, I'm completely on the level but it so happens that I make my way in the world by using money to make money, that's all."

"Well I'm pleased for you but I'll give you a tip, don't walk into a strange bar and start up some cold conversation about easy money, nobody is going to buy that."

"You know that's what everyone tells me. You see I do this often, every day, maybe twice or three times. But the thing is, my way really does work, that's why I'm here talking to you, this is how I operate and it works...for all parties involved. We all make money, we all win."

I grinned and nodded, he knew I wasn't at all convinced.

"Look I used to work in a store and everyday this guy would come in and but two bottles of Coke and five cigars, cheap ones. He was a bit of a shabby dresser, looked like he'd a low paid job in some office in town.He'd usually be chatty about the news or something, he was pleasant and ordinary and he'd then head off to work or somewhere, I don't know. But one day he didn't come in, and another and of course I wondered what had happened, was he on holiday or sick or even dead? Well I asked around and no one knew a thing...wait WTF!"

Then this girl comes in, she's screaming something, she drags me outside and begins slapping me around with a bunch of flowers. It was clearly a case of either mistaken identity on her part or amnesia on mine.

Plop

Plop! We fell from space, some black hole somewhere. There was a lot of interference on the screen. The crew may have passed out for a few moments as we crossed over. We were treading continents. This you see is our version of space flight, it's not really the way it's portrayed in your films and sci-fi books. They tend to glamourise it with flashing lights, blue stars, great jumps in speed and some shuddering. That's not how it is for us. It's simpler. We didn't really develop the technology, no, we stumbled on it, well our forefathers did and they're long gone. So far gone that we've almost forgotten them and how you actually do things. You see when we want to travel we just get into the vehicle, twiddle a few controls (and there is voice actuation) and we just drop through space and then we land here or someplace like it. It's that simple really, we move ourselves using the device and drop, so we plop and find ourselves elsewhere. Getting home is tougher, we've yet to perfect all that.

Life as a rat

As far as I was aware I'd never signed up for any experiment. I'd never crossed ant grammatical lines, never spoken up or back, hadn't missed any punctuation. Now here I was in some sound lab, headphones on and pad of paper and a pen in front of me. A voice in the phones cut into the BGM and said; "You were never meant to be here, your attendance is a chance occurrence, a random event. It may, in the great scheme count for very little or indeed it may be of some significance. So please consider yourselves to be no better than white mice or lab rats. You are the subjects of a great and long running experiment, one that we did not begin and that we shall not conclude. Only God or the Great Corporation can call a halt to the research and so it is that you must play your part, honestly, humbly and obediently. Understand?"

There was no opportunity to respond. Responding was not any part of the arrangement. We were in a controlled situation that we did not control. We were the experiment. I looked down the line of drawn, white faces. Each one consumed by some kind of new personal drive and horror. Victims and spokespersons for the masses, the chattering careless masses. We'd left them behind in our gloomy departure, we'd asked for no support or counsel as we were shipped like packets of meat in the centre for...experimentation and testing. I presumed this. There was noting else.

Then a buzzer sounded and the countdown began, there was little warning and now we were in the game. The questions came like silver bullets, repeated twice for effect and clarity (they said). I wrote down my answers as if my life depended upon them. It did. This was my moment. My time to fry my brain and make the grade. To be the best example, lab rat or whatever they called us. I was on fire, but not noticeably. I just had to maintain a workmanlike demeanour as the questions hit me like punches and I rolled with them or reeled with their impact. There was not dodging of issues or safe haven. The rats were being put through their paces and pummelled.  I lost track of time, it was shocking but expected. Then in a hour or maybe less it was over. White faces were red, bloated and sweating, papers were scattered. There was muttering, whispering and swearing but no one wanted to give too much away. not yet. Not until we were on the other side of the wire and the steel doors, till there was sunshine and water and the chance of seeing friends.

As I made my way out I cursed under my breath, I mouthed untidy, unclean words. All the rest of my civilised vocabulary had been squeezed out and stretched to breaking point by the time and the test and the heat. I was dried up inside, all that remained was the obscene husk, the bad language and the bitter tongues. That was what they had done to us, to me. As for my result, I never knew it, my transportation across the water was either my reward or my punishment. All part of the plan, keep it as unclear, opaque and difficult as possible and avoid the truth at all costs.

I looked up, now I was free from the test. The sky was blue, there was board and lodgings and, for the time being a place to be. If only I could be clear as to what any of this really meant.

Misplaced lyrics

I thought that I had an idea. It was taking shape nicely. Then I forgot about it. My brain moved onto something else, I failed to capture the idea and now it's gone. Lost and irretrievable it seems. Like a cat in a coal mine. The trouble is that I keep going over the lost idea, trying to somehow think it back up into existence. Of course it may not be worth it anyway, how good an idea was it in the first place? If it had been any good I would've surely remembered it. I just need to use a note book.

Then I had an idea for a (fairly simple) song:

E
We got married in Egypt, my shoes full of sand (?)
C#m                                          B7
When I saw you in that dress, I'd found my promised land.

A
Yeah, married in Egypt, diggin' the Koran
C#m                                        B7
Everybody's into everything, they think they have a plan.

E
Once we got out of Egypt, divorced in Japan
C#m                                                      B7
She got the money, she got the stuff, she got another man.

A         Yeah, married in Egypt, divorced in Japan
C#m                                                                    B7
Travelling to get nowhere, stuck in some promised land.

A                                                          C#m
When you get married it must be for love
A                                             B7
Cos' if it's not it's gonna be tough.

Of course this blog isn't really a place to share or store hastily written song lyrics, it's for other things. I therefore don't quite know why this is appearing here. It's misplaced, it's a misplaced piece of lyric set out here because I forgot the other probably better idea. I still can't remember it.

Strange how it's no longer there.

Today brings us, courtesy of the great corporations, a Pseudo Science Fiction Morning complete with a light breeze and some dense hoovering. I've discovered the added joy of connecting lots of different wires and leads together, all towards the great goal of eliminating that buzz, that crackle, that dull hum, that noise that defies and confounds the silence, where ever it may hide. This of course is the faint hum of the universe, a great machine that runs without stopping, as far our feeble time lines are concerned anyway. We run in the hum, slightly oblivious and determined to remain uneducated and cheap. "That is why I have created and captured these recordings" said the Professor.

"Well that would be the scientific view, eventually you'll understand everything, it's just a matter of time. So what about luck or patience or industry? I'm just one the drones here as far as I can see. I make up the numbers and then those same numbers, beyond binary values and beyond my comprehension come straight back and rule me via the corporations. I don't even understand how that came to be. There were tales but they've all been told now. We were exhausted by the efforts of the media. Dumb and relentless. That was how it was. So I took it upon myself to travel, anywhere but mostly inside. No matter what I did though I could never beat the corporations. They were in the milk, the music and the tapestry. They held a stranglehold despite my repeated use of large and unfashionable fonts. I couldn't contact them."

"I used to sleep on most of my daily journeys. It was a way of catching up, buying back time at a discount. So fractured but that was the way of reality. Something that you think is sitting in the correct place then you look around and find that everything has moved. On a roundabout. A man with less experience could become paranoid but I'd done a little homework. I also knew that there never would be a revolution, that the workers would never rise up. The mental strength wasn't there, the purpose was missing. We voted every period in what seemed like a free system but we still voted in oppressors again and gain. I think it was the buzzing and humming that got to them, made them mad. Made them like the rest and we just got on with our work. Heads down."

"The good thing is that I don't really feel the despair of it all anymore. There's none of that, just a light elation, as if I'd just inhaled a cigarette or sipped strong coffee. That 's how it is in the drone community, one little buzz after another to keep your pecker up. Anyway I'd become bored with just looking around and out of the window so the sleep was like a warm refuge. It gave me something to look forward to at the beginning and the end of the working day. It was something that the corporations couldn't steal. Not at the moment anyway."

"When the transport stopped we all stood, lined up and headed out into the building. I blinked and took in the greater space. It was clean, artificial and grey. It was the same as it was everyday and had been for thousands of years. They had told me that during the induction model. You had to remember a lot of things that were described as being facts. There were numbers and values added in also and lists of dos and don'ts. I passed the test but I still knew nothing of time before the corporations. That's somebody else's business. A pale light was playing on all the surfaces, moving gently, like some kinetic artwork. I was distracted for a few seconds. I wanted it to hypnotise me, carry me away. But I was only passing through a place and the hum was getting louder with every step. Nobody spoke. There was nothing to say."

Ten Minutes

OK, I've only got ten minutes or so and this Internet connection is flaky, really poor (as we've come to expect). They want to shut us down you know. We are living in the final days etc. etc. My message is a simple one and I need to pass it on. You see your leaders, all of them, are lying to you. They're lying about everything, all the messages, all the spin, all the news stories they put out there are false, really untrue and made up. That's it, it's all propaganda and alien messages, totally distorted and weird, all lizard speak and Illuminati bollocks. They are the people that your parents didn't quite warn you about, they may have hinted, perhaps you read some of the signs but you need to know that now it's almost too late, time is running out. The only answer is to go down to the sea shore and take lots of gin, tonic, lemon and ice with you. Also take a nice glass, no need to compromise on your standards, oh and a decent cigar. So pour yourself a long one, look out to sea, watch how the light glints and plays on the water, feel the sun on your face and just tell yourself, " I really don't give a fuck anymore". Repeat this as often as necessary, take a long drink and punctuate the sunny conversation with as much gin as you are comfortable with. Then just let everything go. Trust me on this.

Leverage

Of course I have made a number of pacts with the Devil over the years, most of them quite successful. Well, successful by my own, current terms anyway. Who really knows quite how their mortal soul will fare anyway? Success is also very much in and of the moment. Tomorrow I may view my life quite differently from how I see it today, here in the sunshine, showered and fresh, enjoying a cup of early morning coffee and pondering without pressure how to fill the empty day before me.

A fat cat purrs next to me, ignorant of the fact that I'm trying to type, birds whistle their made up tunes and the leaves rustle in the garden moved along by a faint breeze. A haze of soothing bluebells covers the green slopes over in the woods. My life has spoiled me, I am carefree and pleasantly shambolic. That I hope is my eternal fate, my defining attributes, my reason for being...not very much of anything but enough. It's not of course that I don't care about the world, of course I care. I watch, catch news, grimace  at the headlines and unlearning stupidity.  But there are only so many chances we'll have as humans, the doors are closing upon us, slowly, steadily. 

Our actions have consequences and he knows that. So there will be that (much too much fantasised about) day of reckoning.  I'll have a role then, small but hopefully meaningful, I'd like to make a difference. You see that was also part of the deal. I got myself just a little bit of extra leverage but of course I had to take a few poor innocents down with me. Looking back it was risky, painful, dangerous even but in the end I considered it to be worthwhile. The thing is that memory does fade and you'd be surprised at what you can live with, there in the back of your mind. Anyway if you're interested in "leverage" at all just look me up.