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.

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.

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.

Ramble Jamboree-Week One-Existential rambling leading into ramblings on world thought and the chaos engine of militant religion.

The ramble jamboree has begun.
Write for the sake of writing I always say to myself, and why not.
Ghastly ghoulish ramblings of no particular intent will really get you everywhere and nowhere at the same time. For while you may reach different points where insight can be taken, if you do not start with a clear subject you can easily end with a torrid rant on a wealth of nothing at all.
This is not such a rant though, it is actually a challenge to those who write to actually do so in order to really make people think, to really bend their minds. Why would you not do this? Try to coax readers into breaking through to the mental point of wonder at the existence of the universe and us in it. So bitter we have become, looking backwards for answers to the future, stumbling blindly with our backs turned on what should be our focus, with myriad distractions, obsession with sex, sport, media, and work.
The quest for the real answers has taken a back seat to rampaging materialism and excess that serves little meaningful purpose and serves to inflame old wounds of injustice, just as significant progress is made in the ability to manage the worlds entire population in a more fair and dignified manner.
The world is glued to the distractions, the comforts, in my own life I find myself obsessed on occasion with association football, which is really just a pastime with which to maintain some level of fitness and vitality, but which actually can send one temporarily insane. Utterly meaningless, it is though.
Why is the global consciousness not more productive, proactive and unified?
It still has a lot to do with men who came well before our time and their individual assertions that they were the messengers of god. A disturbingly diabolical amount of it actually, as religious extremists from both camps engage in their perceived 'holy wars' at the expense of the usually sane innocents who become victims.
Proclaiming they know exactly what everything is about because they have a book that was first written thousands of years ago and then rewritten several times in the hundreds of years that followed. "We know!" They exclaim merrily.
"You are blasphemers, god will strike you down, or I will fulfill gods will!"
Its rather difficult to argue with those who act in this manner, and the sane are eventually driven to their own madness elsewhere. Historical religiosity is just an element of the chaos engine.
The chaos engine. I like the sound of that, it was a game i had on one of the pc's we had when I grew up. The universe is the chaos engine I suppose, and religion is one defining aspect of the chaos, however minimal it proves to be is only to be discovered. Don't we always find away to enjoy love and laughter though? In the middle of the uncertainty of the world and its relentless orbit, we can still be free, no matter the shackles modern super fascism puts on us.
We need a proposition of some sort, a definition of objectives and intent, it is a must, some way must be discovered by which we are able to shake off the malaise of history, throw it to the wolf that is senility and fading memory, let it fade. Some strange and wonderfully dynamic proposition.
I propose nothing though, this is a meaningless rant. Really just meant to entertain. It entertained me anyway.

A Rickety Little Jaunt

To be a bird

'Oh to be a bird gliding into a tree,
leaping across the branches,
then flying off so free,
oh to be a bird, I'd fly fast with my friends,
Bellowing a boisterous cry, I'd lurch across the breeze,
As large and more powerful than a cessna,
I'd move at magnificent speed,
From country to country I'd fly about, twittering like a jester,
Terrorising the people below from Auckland to Manchester.'

There is nothing quite like a wee poem to get the heart laughing. I do enjoy writing nonsense on occasion and have another here,

Down to the Brine

'Down to the ocean is where I will go,
with feet and arms and hair in the sun,
I cannot think of anything as fun,
as waltzing down to the waters edge,
and dipping my arm in the salty brine,
the ocean's kiss salty and divine,
the power of the animals of the sea, and me
at one for a time, as in the water deep,
I forget the world and everything in it,
and float in space as it lies before me,
across the sky, anti gravity water baby,
I reason as to why, I am here and then remember,
Floating is more fun if your mind is dismembered,
I take it apart and float in the brine,
its aroma like strange and dangerous wine,
the brine the brine the wonderful brine,
drink it back, I swear you'll feel fine,
for a time at least before madness prevails,
and you find you know not any longer what sanity is,
then the brine will swallow you in, the sweet and salty brine.

I have decided to write a happy blog as I have heard there are to many whingers out there, I have elected to start the change myself, toward more positive and productive energy. For what use is negative energy when positive is so much more fulfilling and love producing? The optimist should always prevail, even if the pessimist ends up doom-fully predicting the negative outcome. With confidence and desire one should look to the future, mind constantly moving, changing and choosing.
In light of the happy development, I should say that anyone who reads this I hope you can always pull yourself together at any time you think you are drifting a part, and remember the amazing and wonderful thing that you are, as an individual, and of the people who love you, for as Jean Claude Van Damme says in the movie Narco-the secret life of Gustav Klopp, or adventures of a narcoleptic artistic frenchman,
'To those who love you, you are a star'
I like the old line that we are all made of stars as well, quite comforting really, knowing that parts of you have always been here.
Good tidings be upon you, for every day is a day of promise, as we wait and prepare for all eventualities with a mind unfettered by insidious worry, free to think and move across the earth as we see fit.

John Key shows again that he is no leader of the nation

Paul Henry has fucked up royally this time, and could, if things pan out right, have done serious damage to John Key's reputation as a leader of the nation. Key has proceeded to make excuses about why he did not say anything while live when it happened and then, when interviewed, deferred any comment on the possible outcomes for Henry.
Beating around the bush like a slack jawed lackey, he has confirmed himself to be the worst type of business school educated political hack. True politics involves strong rhetoric that uses issues like this to make powerful points for yours and your parties agenda. In this Key has failed miserably.

This little episode has produced a moment in New Zealand politics where we have seen John Key look absolutely anaemic on national television.

He has come out in the press afterward condmning Henry for what he has said, but his weak and dribbling references to the 'broadcasting standards authority', have underlined that he is not really a leader after all. He never really seemed to have the right manner to lead this country and though he may manage it in an efficient manner, he is no leader.

A real political animal, with a bit of fire in his belly would have sensed the opportunity to put Henry in his place live on air, instead of sitting idly by and cracking a lame joke. If somehow such a figure did not manage this they certainly would not have engaged in the politically correct vomit that churned from his mouth in the interviews following this incident.
The problem with Key is, he's got no balls, Helen Clark had balls, she was someone whp generally took people to task for saying such ridiculous things. Imagine Muldoon seeing this weak willed cream puff in office? He would have chewed Key up and spat him out on parliament steps before the morning break.

Key has finally been shown up to be the epitome of the 'business management' degree holders, good with numbers and business, but useless in the speaking halls and too slow of wit to work without his speech makers.
It was actually identifiable all along and in effect is a tribute to the National party machine in that they took such a candidate and sat him in the prime ministerial seat.
Key may recover from this slightly, but it seems to be a bit of a warning that further spineless blathering could be on the cards for this so called 'leader of the nation'.

The medicated generations

I am pretty sure I am one of the medicated generations, for there have been a few. Medicated throughout life, from birth to death, with all manner of tonics, medicines and pills.
Thats right, to get through life now, the people in the world who have everything, take lots of pills to deal with having everything, mainly for the guilt of having everything and watching children dying on tv. Hahaha, well, perhaps not always for that, there are myriad reasons of course, you name one.
I must take these pills, because I cannot cope anymore.

It seems a modern phenomenon, and to a certain extent and looked at in a certain way, it is. However, if you look at it as just a progression, there have been 'priests', 'wizards, witches, 'shaman' etc. taking medicines and administering them to others for thousands of years.
The modern world though, is quite full of the notion that we need to take pills because our brains cannot handle the pressure. If this is indeed the case, then why are we not addressing the reasons that everyone goes crazy?
The beast that is society is driving us all crazy. The ravenous animal that is destroying earth and its inhabitants for the sake of securing more 'resources'.

Let us pray to this beast to save us. The beast has proven there are no gods. Then who can we turn to for comfort? Take these pills. Who made them? Doctors and scientists and laboratory technicians. Oh good, down the hatch.
Medicate or face the true peril of the earth. If you choose not to you may just choose self medicate with drugs of your choice, which is a big no-no. The state controls your drug intake, or else. Free will is a dangerous thing as well.
So the state gets you when you pop out of the womb, you get hit with something, and from then on it is the thing that is turned to on any occasion of distress or injury. The comforting caress of medication and all its safety. Honestly, how many harmful medicines do you think have been made available over the years. The perfect example being doctors who prescribed smoking as a good way to deal with anxiety. Perhaps a little extreme, but then extreme in these circumstances is something that goes to gigantic proportions, so really its not an extreme example at all, unless you want it to be.
The state controls your meds, you're schooling and then you are out into the workforce, an element of the larger state, a participant in its systems and a consumer of its information and sustenance. This is not a bad place to be a lot of the time and many roll along in the sheer nothingness of it, as they 'work sweat and slave, saving for a shallow grave' or words to that effect were said by Jim Morrison, the crazy and gifted singing deranged poet who had some interesting insights.
Rolling along in the nothingness of it until something unfortunate happens. Not an accident but a blemish of the soul, an emotional pothole. Where to turn? Well, I know someone who started taking these, they gave them to me, try one if you want. Okay.

Why are we not looking at the root causes of this dependence on meds and fixing it where it is coming from. Children are administered psychiatric medicine at some ridiculous ages now, and for them, it is just the beginning of a life in the grip of chemicals, and the whim of their psychiatrist.
Does this not strike you as odd?
The scientists are just the alchemists evolved so it should be expected that they should create chemicals that contribute to the alchemy of the state system that creates gold from the hopes and dreams of billions, for the greed of a greedy few.

Of course this is forgetting all the 'crusading' (unfortunate reference to a rather depraved military conflict) scientists who are out to save the world. They are of course to be admired for their tenacious will to succeed and excellent and innovative skill ratio. As I do.
It is the state that controls us now though, the great automatic robot of the state that has now been programmed a certain way and we can never go back state. Yes, that state.
I walked outside the other night and paused with wonder beneath a gum tree at the back of the house, moving in the wind it shook, as the gusts twisted its branches. Off to the east were clouds on the hills and to the west clouds as well, rolling through the skies above me, I was amazed at the sheer beautiful power of it, the astonishing force that propels it, that which is by all accounts still far beyond man. In the force of its creativity anyway. Or even perhaps the force of its ability to unleash power while only causing superficial damage. Man have not really sorted this one properly yet. Just big bombs that come close to the force of nature but never truly will, because they have no replenishing factor.
Truly I am one of the medicated generations, as anyone reading this is. Just what the fuck are they prescribing people these days anyway, if you check it out properly it is some interesting study.
Back to the gum tree though, it frequently has a few Tui up there squawking singing and jumping about. They are a boisterous bunch, very comfortable in what they do. It is a splendid thing to see them behave in a manner we can automatically relate to characters we know. They leap from branch to branch speaking in loud voices, before one has enough and flys off and then is actually being chased off as another tries to attack it, in the air, a great show it is, diving and weaving like I imagine fighter planes would have in the days before jets. The slow metal dance of doom in the skies. Air combat. What a concept. The birds showed us how to do it I suppose, or we watched them and did as we saw, they actually did it without a care.
Something that is now beyond humanity. It is a rare person indeed, you find that is fully carefree.
They exist though, I have been one for a time, though in and out of this persona I have lived my life. From no cares to many and then whatever comes next.
Good evening.