Pretty Useful Message

Read these words very carefully. Pay attention to their meaning. I am going to tell you something that you’re going to find pretty useful. Also – you will transcend.

I was never meant for this world. There is another place. But I kinda took a wrong turn – accidents happen, right? I was going to deliver a message there but hey, here I am – so I’ll tell you instead, okay?

Listen up.

Okay, hold on. We need to get you in the proper frame of mind, so here’s a bunch of stuff for you to do first:

  • Place your right palm flat on the skin of your chest – above your heart. Yes, push your clothing aside if you have to. All of it. The skin-to-skin contact is important. Closing your eyes now would be ideal but clearly not possible, so keep them open.
  • Tap all your fingers, one by one, against your chest. Feel them drumming against your skin in a staccato rhythm. Now forget about your fingers.
  • Press your palm against your skin. Feel your hand and chest grow warm and focus on that heat for a moment. Now forget about your hand.
  • Take a deep breath. Feel your rib-cage rise as the air fills your lungs. Hold the pose. Then exhale. Now forget about your breath.
  • Feel for your heart. Feel it beating against your palm. If you can’t feel it, try taking five or six really deep breaths. Feeling it? Now forget about your heart.
  • Search for the afterglow of your fingers, hand, breath and heart inside your mind. Chase it down. Focus on it. Feel it. Now forget about your mind.

Alrighty – here’s the message:

You are …

Actually, forget it. Just been flicking this thing you have called The Internet and found that a buddy of mine – you prolly know him as Buddha, came and dropped the message already. As you were, peeps.


Random Story

We were dancing in the café by the beach – like boy soldiers creeping through the drains, when the police arrived. We knew it was illegal, but we figured that we were safe with the blinds down. We weren’t.

Then, when I stroked your arm on the way to the police car; just to tell you that it was gonna be okay, that nice police officer shoulder-charged me into the wall, sucker-punched me to the ground and began to break in his boots on my body.

Someone told me later about PDAs; Public Displays of Affection and about how they’d just gotten illegal. My bruises, the colour of ripe banana, wished that someone had told me earlier.

That morning had started like any other in that desert wasteland – with a sunrise. The dust in the air muted it down to the colour of shaved cats and cut the heat in half, but still – we had to have the A/C in the van on. The A/C was always on, along with the water filter, the sun-filters (yeah, I know that they call ’em sunglasses) and the mind-filters.

You can’t drink what comes out of the pipes, no matter how much they try to tell you it’s clean. Not really because you can’t, but because you just don’t want to. I mean, all the shit’s been taken out, and it doesn’t smell at all like piss, but, well – you know.

And you can’t take the sun without some kind of protection. I mean, clothes – obviously, but then there’s stuff to cool you down too – like, who wants to fry like an egg? No-one, right? So there’s A/C and a big, fat, hairy wrap-around vehicle. A car, or a van, or one of those mother-in-law-massive four-by-fours – just in case you get stuck in the sand. And yeah – that can happen.

But minds? Who would have thought that your own private thoughts would need protecting! But that must have been how the police tracked us down so quick – my tinfoil hat had gotten torn on the way to the beach.

It was one of those mindless, random accidents – something that you just couldn’t have imagined if it hadn’t happened to you. All the trees are gone – obviously. But there are plenty of mobile-phone masts about – the ones they made to look like trees, thinking that they would blend in with the landscape. Ha – that’s a laugh!

I grew up in a time when you could walk under a tree and all that would happen is that spiders would get into your hair and lay eggs under your skin so that, when you scratched at the itchy red bumps, all the little spider children would come running out and set up a colony in your ears, and then you would go deaf apart from hearing their little spidery footfalls inside your head.

At least that’s what I imagined when I was a kid.

So I tended to duck when I saw a tree branch. But if I didn’t I knew that I could just bat my hands frantically against my head to get rid of all the spiders before they had a chance to settle.

But I got distracted by your candy-floss smile on the short walk from the van to the beach that evening. Your sweet face made me think of the swoosh of surf, the sea like a sauna, nice’n’spicy food, walking lazily under the stars; and that’s when the low-hanging fruit of the mast tagged me. Ripped a hole straight through the tinfoil. My thoughts and dreams fell out and swayed through the sky – like the northern lights used to do. Before … you know.

Must have lit up on the police equipment like a frickin’ neon arrow in the sky – with me at the sharp end. But I thought that it was okay if I just pushed the edges of the foil together – idiot that I was.

You’d think they’d have better things to do than sling people in the pokey for dancing, right? But since England came under Sharia law, things have gotten a bit twisted. Like the whole country turned into a pot of spaghetti. Barbed-wire spaghetti.

If”n I ever get out of Scarborough prison, I’m going to Scotland – if I can find a way to get over the fence. It’ll be worth it. At least you can still dance there!

Overheard Conversations #08

“I’m fed up of waiting for you! I’m not going to wait anymore. I’m just going to wait here by the back door until you come.”

Who said that? Unfortunately, it was me. And guess what! Yeah, I’m still waiting by the back door. Sigh.

Remote Presence

Thought I’d invented something new the other day. I was trying to imagine the next, great leap-forward for telecoms and the words remote presence popped into my head. I imagined this to be the next bandwidth-suck for telecom firms to pit their resources against: the ability to have the experience of being elsewhere whilst remaining in one’s own living-room.

Well, actually – that wasn’t first thing I thought of. My initial idea involved chickens and full body-suits. But let’s not go there.

So, excited by the possibility of being on the bleeding-edge of technology, I googled the phrase and found, to my surprise, that it had already been coined!

Disappointed and excited in equal measure (disappointed that I couldn’t patent the idea and excited that I live in these times), I read on.

I discovered out that we are already living extensions (suits, if you like) of life-form that decided to develop a bio-mechanical means of moving around on a planet (this one) denied to them by an extreme form of space-phobia. They (the life-form) live on a planet far, far away called kskreelsh (hope I got the spelling right – but I guess it doesn’t really matter because they don’t really have an alphabet).

Spores were sent, long, long ago, to Earth with an embedded programming designed to develop those basic unicellular forms (the spores), over time, using a process they call eproklushen. The result came to be called, after a few billion years, remote presence.

The kskreelshians are controlling us, by means of powerfully projecting their minds into our brains and thereby experiencing everything we do. Or, to be more exact, we kskreelshians are experiencing remote presence from the safety of our own planet, kskreelsh. And, boy are we having fun!

So, now that we know the truth – how about we try chickens next!

Not Much on TV Tonight

Sitting in the waiting room at Peterborough railway station enjoying a bit of nosh and a read of my book when I look up to see the other two people in the room staring, rapt, at the monitor showing the train times.

Am just contemplating saying to them not much on TV tonight is there, when one of them looks away from the screen and catches me staring at him with a big grin on my face.

I rather judge the moment to have passed and so look down, rather shamefacedly, at my book. Ho hum.

We Sleep with Sheep

We were sleeping well. The noises in the corner were no louder than those in our head so we ignored them. The sheep were typically silent.

When the brick came through the window, we were dreaming about Donny Osmond and about how he used to live on our street and that we knew his dirty little secret. His carnival float was no place for breaking glass and so vanished as our eyes shot open.

We must have yelled out at that point. Otherwise, how else did they know to come? Drawn by our scream, surely. 

The sound of someone knocking the rest of the glass from the frame of the window. The shadowy form – silhouetted by the street light. Our hand, groping under the bed for the cricket bat Dad got for our birthday. Big hopes.

As we swung at the shape climbing through the window – giving it all we had – striking for the boundary and beyond, we heard the door open behind us. As the bat hit home, the light-bulb blazed into life. As the glass in the window frame smashed out under the force of the blow, a voice behind us, infinitely weary: ‘oh, Gordon, this has to stop, dear.’

Late Night Entertainment

We arrived at York Railway Station as the Saturday night crowd were in full flow – rowdying it up on the platform. And when I say on the platform I mean literally. Women, in states of advanced intoxication, were lying on the smooth floor just doing what came naturally.

I watched two young ladies sit down to take their heels off and, this accomplished, sprawl out on their backs on the cool, polished surface. Another of the women in the group, on seeing this, immediately rushed over and sat astride the younger of the prone women – face to face, and … well, not to put too fine a point on it – she rubbed herself up against her. This complete to her satisfaction, she sat up again, casually grabbed hold of the breasts of the lower woman and gave them a good squeezing.

I could almost see the thoughts going through the mind of the woman on the floor. At first, on having her breasts released, she covered them up protectively, as if thinking I’m not going to let that happen again! She then suddenly seemed to relent by flinging her arms out to the side, perhaps thinking actually, that felt quite nice. The topmost woman then got up, her attention drawn elsewhere, and the woman on the floor, presumably missing the attention to her boobs, grabbed them in her own hands and gave them a good, reassuring squeeze.

I would have watched this fascinating human drama further, but it became time for us to move on to catch the bus home. I tell you, I don’t regret giving up the television one little bit – not with quality entertainment like this on offer!