The dark cloud of vultures, swooping high over my head, biding their time before attacking the carcass below, has grown in volume and impatience. They have combined to become one huge vulture cloud. A storm of flesh eating beasts looming ever larger on the horizon of my existence…It could soon be time to begin The Countdown. activate the Escape Plan. All signs point to that. But part of me, the same part of me that gets sucked into the teachings of Society’s Guide Book, longs to stay put and save the day to continue, indefinitely, embracing this ugly sense of security in a dead realm…Nope. I must leave, with swiftness and Style. As to When, and Where, I will probably end up narrowing down the six most Appealing and Viable options, then roll a dice. Several times until I like what I see.
Despite the threatening nature of the vulture cloud, I remain upbeat. Because I know It is nothing more Heavy than a sign, in a palpable but indescribable plane of existence, that my time as King of Fish must soon come to an End. And from the ashes of the inferno, that will surely rage when I am finally dislodged from my throne, a phoenix will rise far above the charred remains to carry me yonder to more fertile pastures, where I will be replanted in fresh earth and allowed to grow, for a while, into something else entirely…
This town homes many interesting characters with good hearts and good heads. It also, unfortunately, homes far too many cold souls, looking out of cold eyes, wading their way through the shit-swamp of Life with cold hearts bared only to themselves…I like people who speak, and act, from the chest, not from the head. Which is a microcosm of my Main Problem with The System here in the F.U.K….
In a World in which Feelings are Everything, we encourage each other from an early age to hide and mask our feelings. Because showing them, Society preaches and proves, will get you into Trouble. Image has overtaken substance as the most valuable commodity. We barter ourselves, our identities, our desires, for beautiful lies… A sense of security rooted in shit-soil has been driven into the People so fiercely that most lives are spent playing The Game, hiding away from True Desire of The Heart, using our Minds to get Ahead, not our Hearts…It’s bullshit.
I try to share much of my time with creatures who communicate to me from the chest, not just the head. An adequately capable mind with an open heart is a more enjoyable creature, with whom to exchange energy, than a creature with a cold heart and phenomenal mind. In between those two extremes there are creatures who are driven by a warm, good natured heart, but who, through life’s bittersweet lessons and chaotic trauma, have felt driven to close off their hearts to the world…A broken neck can kill a man instantly. A broken mind can render a life ruined. A broken Heart can also kill a man, but not with the guillotine cut quickness of a hammer to the neck, but slowly, profoundly painfully, the disease biting it’s teeth into every feeling of every second of every day and night until the emotional and spiritual horror starts showing itself in the Body and in the Mind. Total Torment…Because Feelings are Everything, that is a harsher way to Leave the Scene.
Most people, as they approach death, get upset because of Feelings, not of Thought. It is also mainly Feelings that are affected in others, when someone close to them dies.
To put all those peas into one pod of Wisdom:
We are all Lonely Souls trying to get Home.
Home is where the Heart is, not the Mind.
Wise men say that Happiness is a state of Mind, but I know, I feel, that Happiness is a state of Heart.
We should be following our hearts, looking for whatever makes our hearts happy. Because a Heart which feels at Home makes the Soul feel less lonely…
Ahhh….That will do for now, Madam Medusa.
As for a snapshot of News in Other Areas-
The Chinese have joined forces with the Venetians and are marching thoughout Asia, cannibalizing anyone they come across who refuses to swear allegiance to The New Order, enslaving the rest, most of whom will be used as fuel for the Venetian SpaceShips, with the remainder reprogrammed in Fascism…I am spotting unsurprisingly high amounts of Sick People. It is Spring but the common cold remains a common problem. Could be the first un-missable signal that Humanity is becoming so artificial, plastic, inorganic, in action, thought and behaviour, that our natural defences to ward off Nature’s basic attacks, are weakening…Whilst walking home from work this evening I almost stood on what I think was a toad, sitting in the shadows. Upon further examination I noted that it was mother toad carrying child toad on her back. Of the gender, or even age, I cannot be sure, but that was how my head made Sense of the Scene…As the little blighters seemed hell-bent on heading into the road, where I doubted their chances of survival would be maximized, I rushed home, grabbed a plastic bag, then returned to the slime merchants, snapped a branch of a nearby tree, then coerced the quarry into the trap…I flew home like an artic wind, picked up a torch from my cave, then crept into the garden, stopping next to the pond. The sound of other toads (or frogs) croaking confirmed that I was doing the Right Thing. Depositing a few lost travelers into the welcome flippers of a safe amphibian environment…I put the bag on a section of the tiles which surround the pond, then took a closer peek at a toad who seemed to be staring at me with a gaze I swear was indignation…’fuck’ I thought…’perhaps this chap is going to muller the new arrivals…he doesn’t look too kindly to Outsiders’….alas The damage was already done. There was nowhere else to take the hostages. They didn’t seem to want to leave the apparent safety of the plastic bag, so I helped them along their way, like pushing a child into a classroom on his first day at playschool, slanting the bag until they slid out into their new home…Before I fled, I had a brief word with the cocky looking toad who had continued to gaze daggers of contempt and baleful fury into my being whilst I worked the bag…I asked him to Play Nice. And I am confident that he understood me…I took a few photographs of the fugitives, for the records, and will perhaps check on them tomorrow night…
Stay Strong, comrade…A bird whispered in my ear that your leash might get extended before the year is out, lengthened enough to allow you to live like a slave in your dear sister’s house. I wish you Irish luck with that venture. There are many far more seriously dangerous to society, lawbreakers, who should be Inside in your place. Of that, I have little doubt…That can be said about most the people I have known, who have spent time in the Tombs…all but one of them, whose crime was sadistic and in some ways, unforgivable.
Send word by rat or flea,
Full of fire,
With nobody to burn but myself.
The New Arrivals
The Sheriff of Toadland
A cantankerous but inqusitive crow I tried to befriend at Devil’s Dyke last Monday afternoon.
The toad killer lies patiently in wait for the Right Time to Attack