Death in the Blue Ocean

(1st draft)

By Caleb Smith

This version is a draft copy for casual reading purposes only. It is not suitable for submission or commercial release and may not be replicated in any way. The sparrow image has not been authorized for use.

All words Caleb Leamon Cameron Smith. 2007

Blame Daniel,

Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow From The Hollow Men, T.S. ELIOT

The girl with black hair He awoke, starting the day in a way that was traditional for those not dead or in a coma. He was, however certain that everyone else did not have recurring dreams about a girl with black hair that on appearance attempted to kill or at least harm him in one way or another. He awoke with this notion and a paralysing fear that the dream wasnt over. He was amazed at her ability to terrorise him, stepping into a dream and distorting it into a panic of dimly lit helplessness, augmented by ear buzz. Creating a terror, an incapable fear in him at the very moment she struck him down, expelling him from his own dreams. From below the safety of his covers, He recalled the first time he had dreamt of her, parts of which had become degraded over time. He could remember a small town. He was walking though it watching slow-motion sequences involving the movements of the towns people, as he walked by the people would freeze for a moment then move onward in time stirring an air of familiarity in he, everything kicking over like clock work or a fun park ride with wax animatronics, everyone ran into their own representation, the sum of their existence in a moment in some over romantic gesture of their daily lives. He walked though the streets gripped by wholeness, an ambiguous connection, the way the light hit the town the sun scorched hills in the distance, the detail. He walked into someones house through a screen door and helped him self to a glass of water from the sink looking though the window he saw the giant cumulus sky and the light there reached down and touched him. He was the sky, filling him up in a brilliant burst of self reverence, which built until he realised what was going on. Everything in the town, the objects, and the people the landmarks were all from paintings he had seen around his parents house. In that moment of realisation the dream swirled and changed course. He was on a mountain with his younger brother and she was there to. She had been in an accident and had a head injury. He and his brother were trying to find a way to get her down off the mountain. They were all stationed on a ledge; He was holding her head, a bloodied bandage protecting it from harm, a mere child holding up her womanly frame. The brother had lost his balance, and He rushed to save him, catching the boy before a rapid decent from the cliff face. This act left the girl to fall against the rock behind her. He turned his head back to look at her as she hit hers against the mountain, dying in a scream of agony. That face. This first time He awoke with waves of saddening guilt, which were quickly swept away the distinct feeling she would appear again, companioned with fear in the sudden dark and silence, suffering further paralysed at the edge of action. A slight whine escaped his lips fearing the terror that would surely come at the

emancipation from fear. He was in a hell of an eternity of the anticipation of hell. Lying as still as possible so that any invisible occupant of the room might neglect his presence, before summoning the courage to reach out for the light switch, this scene had been repeated right though his life. When she left him he would even miss her. She plagued him with the perpetuity of downfalls and tokens of fear, dogs, paintings, playing cards, and old houses built into him by his dreams. He couldnt fall asleep if Andrew Wythes painting Christines world was hanging somewhere in the house. He pondered the cause of these dreams as the light bulb flicked on, he seemed resolved that she was real, because it seemed unreasonable that he had any problems from childhood that manifested themselves metaphorically in his subconscious. It also appeared to him that it was unreasonable to believe her to be real. He was perplexed as to what the problem was, in the right mood he cherished having an easily identifiable weakness but was unable to source it to something he wouldnt dismiss. It was probably some sort of protective urge like every eldest child had or even a minor negative complex against femininity. He wondered if there was a girl with black hair that sometimes had recurring dreams about killing him every now and then. He lay in bed awake, tried to jerk off for a while but gave up. A hint of morning hit the sky, He began to notice it though a crack in the curtains. He decided he should catch up on some sleep; it would be okay if he left the light on. It was late morning by the time he resurfaced pulling the sheets (that he hadnt knocked off the bed) away from him. He wasnt exactly a neat sleeper compared with most, but was quite unaware of the uninteresting difference in behaviour and probably wouldnt have given much thought to the matter. Most people would cite that comparison was the highest form of awareness however He saw it as the highest form of angst. A chill hit his naked skin sending a shiver and making him dash for the shower. The shower was one of Hes favourite habitats. He slid down one of the walls till he sat at the bottom and spent a good half hour there half asleep it was a great way to re-institutionalize your-self with the world. He did most of his best thinking in the shower and could never remember what he thought about afterwards. He dried himself and put some clothes on. In the kitchen he had two slices of toast and some pills. The world seemed a bit dull and hazy still so he walked through to the lounge and put on some music. He decided to call his friend Mendel and invite him over. The record he had on finished, snapping him out of the dream it had put him in. He let out a sigh before raising himself from the couch and closed his eyes for an extended period opening them slowly.

He walked to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water before slapping it down against the bench. He leaned against the bench and read an article from a magazine He had left on the bench the previous night Washing his dishes and putting them in their places, He walked down his hallway turning around to back to the kitchen to pick up the magazine he had forgotten, dumping it in his bedroom. Midway down the hall a black mass rushed his feet and turned sliding before him until its claws planted themselves in the carpet it froze staring at him jaw open it let out a shriek the sped of across into the lounge. He turned and ran back to his room grabbing a hand fashioned stick with string attached to an end that was leaning against the inner ledge of the doorframe. Entering the lounge He spun the stick around so the string was resting against the floor then ran with it dragging against it, whipping it upward whilst doing this his cat appeared from its hiding place giving chase catching the string as it left the ground in a pounce He whipping the string in another direction so it had to change direction in mid air still fooling the string with precision and landing upon it. He pulled it out from under it, quickly snapping at the string in retort and stalking with swinging paws He pulling the string back beyond reach letting it hover there swing it slightly watching the cats reactions its head fixated on the string swaying with its movement mouth ajar in a grimace eyes wide with fury. He dipped the string down a slight the cat responding in a flurry of swipes at it before catching it in its jaw. The cat filled with fight became either indiscriminative or imprecise jumping along the string pawing at it until it reached Hes hand sinking a claw into his flesh, He responding with a manufactured yelp to help the creature realize what it had done. The cat withdrew to underneath the couch in response to the noise and He got up and went to the bath room, wiping the excess blood from the scratch with a piece of toilet paper and tearing a small piece of dislodged skin from it blowing on it to get the blood to dry over it, not seeming bad enough for a plaster. He returned to the lounge and bent down under the couch scooping the cat up from under it and sitting down with it patting it to make sure it didnt become fearful of him, slowly it clamed placated to a purr. There was a knock upon the door, He got up dumping the cat on the couch Unlocking the door to find his friend Mendel standing in front of it grinning stupidly. He made a gesture with his hands ushering him in.

SUBURBIA He and Mendel set of into a measured pace and conversation soon sprung into a steady flow. He glanced at the houses around him and visual habituation soon set in. A gradual unawareness of his travels, easing the burden of the considerable hike to the city from the outer suburbs, He was quite aware of where He was just trying not to think about it. Suburbia wasnt the best habitat for a conversation; it was an aesthetic valium not unlike the pills many of its inhabitants used to further dull life. Neither He nor his companion reacted well to it, it made He desperately lonely and angry and Mendel cynical and bitter, their response was clearly affecting the tone of their conversation. The topic and content wasnt original but the characters involved enjoyed pretence of ownership, as if they were forcing new ground for the human race. The truth was they were just passing the spare time that they occupied. Whats with those teen movies, with their slacker angst, doing nothing, I want to be popular so dont Hang around any more, lets rebel against what I dont know, nerd falls in love with most popular person and the popular one reciprocates Bullshit. The same story line served up every time adjusted to put a swing on it that will have it cater for the generation it applies to. The dialogue is truly lobotomising and no one make huge speeches about a crisis like that mind you sometimes someone Ill write some decent cynicism but it gets dissolved by the stupidity of all the rest and its nothing that hasnt been touched on our conversations like in order to get any thing good they secretly recording us or something said Mendel Im glad you see our conversation as enlightened enough to be bankable but Im steering clear of saying any thing on the subject because I know of no one who can put forward a reasonable argument against teen movies with out sounding like an angsty character themselves, no offence I agree and all but I try not to dwell on depressants, anyways 16 candles, all that guys movies and licence to drive were cool. Man 16 candles was a chick flick. You think, Well the editing was cool in both those movies, created tension, what about Risky Business. OK you got me there; rich kid turns his parents house into a brothel, now thats a stunning idea. It by far Tom cruises best role, except maybe Batman. Tom Cruise wasnt in Batman. Shit Im lousy with actors, but I proved my point teen movies arent all bad, the original concept was solid, and might I add a decent analysis through hyperbole. Thats your problem He you never commit to hating any thing

Sure I do I hate stuff all the time, Ive done some quality hating in my time. But youre always far too good humoured about it, like it was intended as a joke. Hey I cant help that. Its sick man how can you live without having something to set hate on for every dissatisfaction in your life; you need to make a decent nemesis for yourself. Hey Ill vent all that in gripe sessions I just wont rip into people in front of people Because I dont want to get any of that hate back on me directly, well without my controlling it. Pussy. Wait a sec, have you seen my art buddy. He liked to drop the fact that he was an artist into his conversations. I dont think your head and your hands quite meet up. I cant believe in what I do, you know, then, otherwise, I couldnt do what I do. Im pissed off with the way some people made the world but it doesnt make me upset, I find it too funny. I think. Youre probably right I probably life in a world of my own oblivious to who I really am, but lets not get into all that Psychology crap, we already use far to much diagnosis already Yeah, were far too aware for are own good. Nah were just full of shit, and we read too many magazine pop pieces The two turned into the service station for a slushy they steeped over the threshold into the place. Yeah my balls theyre all swollen and the hairs all gone He said Shit man Yeah I cant help thinking about them you know just sitting there in my pants rubbing against my inner thigh The service station shops Florissant shimmer and background jingle made it the perfect shopping environment it was just a few units shy of a full blown supermarket experience. He and Mendel operated the slushy machine silently then walked over to the counter. The woman serving them gave them a discriminating look whilst the younger guy slightly behind her to one side was badly attempting to mask a giggle resulting in a horrible snorting sound. He and Mendel stepped out of the shop and after a few short steps away Mendel spoke What the hell was that about Just always wanted to walk into a gas station and very audibly talk about my balls and to show you what I meant before... Well explain I obviously didnt get it Responding to something you dislike with humour bluntens its effect I could have gone in and complained about the environment in the place to the worker and stated exactly how shit their job must be but that would have just made both

parties depressed but I when in and gave them something to laugh at and there going to be talking about it all day Next time just dont get me involved with your balls They both passed down the alley way into the park crossing a bridge over a stream. The park was a large council funded landscaping project designed to beautify the city and there was a number of these in various sizes sprawled around the city. It was all enchantingly scenic but quite ordered and calculated at the same time but neither minded at all. This particular park was the largest it ran down to the sea and upward to the foothills had three roads running through it. The park littered with recreational centres Gardens rock formations sculptures rotundas and paths leading the patron though it all. Mendel and He walked down a stone path crossing another bridge and following the stream now to the right of them. They passed rose gardens, Shady groves, and a large glasshouse. He liked his surroundings but didnt really spare any thought to taking them in. Hows Jim He said after giving thought to the subject Oh He's gotten over the virus he had but the other week He got drunk whilst still on antibiotics and spent the night screaming about ants crawling over his skin Jesus if I ever had hallucinations I hope it wouldnt be such a clich. Do you think we have had an effect on his character since meeting him and now control his will? I know we think we do, I mean of course Ive been friends with him since I was a kid some of me has got to have rubbed off onto him and probably the same could be said about me now, were just doing it consciously now, before we didnt try now we do, that golem, remember he has his nature that is hard to break and were doing it because of our own nature. You want power to abuse resulting from chronic boredom, I want to find the quality of everything so I can create my reality the way I want it. I think we are defiantly wrong. I feel that way even if we are just deluding ourselves, its wrong to turn a person into a project even if it is for the better, well for us. Even if we are that cool, to make slaves of everyone, hopefully itll come back and get us, because thats negative experience part of me wants to encounter. Geeze what were you saying earlier about laying off the psycho-analysis. Ah you got me damn its tough not to speak in syndromes these days. Okay you want to hear some childhood friends, one guy I knew hit his teenage years and got so sarcastic he didnt know where the sarcasm started and ended and you know how there was always the guy who could get you bootlegs of unreleased tracks of any one when you were young well this guys Dad ran a dodgy Hotel chain and this guy could get video footage of almost any famous person masturbating or fucking apparently hotels are all in on it and trade tapes regularly. Im afraid now when I went around the world and I went to the desert countries they had signs in every room pointing to Mecca because Muslim tradition says you have to pray towards it if you belong to the religion so I went around

changing the signs to random directions so they might have footage of me and want to kill me. Have you ever noticed when youre travelling through a rural country and when you travel through a small town during the day that everyone freezes and looks up and its like a snapshot of their life like some sort of universal provincionalist painting up and down the town and the lighting and perspective are perfect for that second and you know their life story for that one second, do you think every second is like that in a small town or do you think its some in joke the locals play like everyone sets up before the train comes along and then assumes a pose based on the instructions of the towns conceptual artist. Could you not do that spook out thing, you know about my dreams. He and Mendel walked on into the city.

The city He tilted his head upward reaching the maximum angle his neck would allow He lifted his eyes to the top of his sockets in order to follow the lines of the buildings upward to their tops and look at the blue above them. He had nothing against the city it usually nursed him back to feeling well after getting to the suburbs had made him sick. He thought it was the sheer wave of stimulus that flooded his mind that allowed him to forget about any anxious urge he was feeling it was almost as if an environment he responded to positively made him feel well and a negative one made him physically nauseous. Besides there was something to be said about the spirit of man stated by tall buildings and there being a lot of them. It puzzled He as to what it was about the two environments that produced the responses He had to them. There was something about the city that He struggled to put into words it stimulated an emotional response. The city held a strange continual motion He felt as if He was swallowed up by something bigger than him just like he did in suburbia but it had a positive effect on him in the city. He put it down to the energy the city seemed to disperse, a hive continuum. He felt that the city was just as pointless a creation as suburbia but the city commanded admiration from the enormity of its futility, it was futility played to scale. It was humorous that such massive clusters of colossal structures had been constructions built to serve a biological need. Knowing that the hands that built and will rebuild this city have spent their lives constructing something like this it was like art to He because it had no real purpose or function to him nothing in this world had any function or purpose unless someone was their to give it meaning and meaning was so interpretive that it didn't really exist beyond initial conception. There were millions of cities out today in the minds of its patrons and dwellers and at the epicentre of their opinions and world views was the reaction to the thing they called a city and abstract feeling they had. He looked at most things with wonder as if it were a piece of art he was experiencing a negative experience was bad art that did not go out of his way to see. The way that game was played these days everything was sitting around waiting to be framed. He and Mendel stopped at a fast food joint with a novelty theme He was hungry and Mendel wanted to complain some more. The place was a little run down the chain was going out of business, it smelt of grease and looked stained with it and the air conditioner wasn't working. There were pictures of beatnik paraphernalia loosely arranged on the walls, the space was cramped and the light was dim, it wasn't the best of family eating environments because the business was going under. The chain had been set up at the start of the previous decade set up to play on the awareness of the cultural phenomenon brought forward by the explosion of normally underground music into mainstream culture as people became interested in emulating the bohemian

image because it was the in thing, a lot of musicians had name dropped Kerouac and suddenly he was cool again. However, the trend faded away into something new and for most the place became an ugly fad reminder I hope this stuff comes back in so we can say we got here first. "Geeze seriousness is your problem today......... you ought to lighten up" Why dont they ever have a 1980s themed restaurant? "It would be great if they did have one because the manager could just get in some coke addicts to make things authentic and pay them in cocaine" "Yeah and theyd suck your dick for a shot at employee of the month" "Uhh meat always seems to put you in a sick mood" "Meat intake is directly prepositional to libido the beats left a pretty terrible legacy didn't they" "What do you mean"? "Well it was just a bunch of guys that liked to experimenting with drugs and sex partaking in wild low budget adventures because they couldn't afford to live like Hemmingway, just trying to find meaning in their life I mean sure they made some great writing and used some great techniques to do so but they also left behind an army of wanky pernicious poseurs running around in bohemian clichs" "Yeah but you've just got to bury it in order to realize what it was. Henry Miller was way better than those hacks anyways" Really, in what way? He was tougher. Tougher than Burroughs? Burroughs was tougher but didnt write as well, and Miller told it like it was, not like the cartoon hell Burroughs would paint. Miller was fluid and could change form and Burroughs was like reading straight sharp punches, mechanical and cold. Whatever that means. They finished up and walked out down the street passing fashion stores and beauty shops into another area of the city. This place was inhabited by the trendy hipster types that drank lattes and listened to electronic music of bands that hadnt already gone mainstream and sold out they worshipped anything that seemed sub-culture. It was all about how many people there were that knew about the stuff they were into unknown was the quality they attached to something they deemed good, value wasnt even ascetic it was exclusivity. It was to walk amidst a shambolic mass of competing self images. He thought they were as bad as the suits just with different prejudges and less order. He and Mendel pulled into a small record store and began to look around. The owner emerged from out back and walked over to He. "Hows it going" john said "Hey ya man its going ok, hows business" "Still running" "You going up to the flat tonight?" "Yeah thats why Im here" He picks up a CD.

"You know this is the only place I can find stuff I want anymore the other places dont have it anymore" "Thank who ever applied niches to record stores" "Hey Ive got a lecture to go to, see you tonight" Mendel said "Ok" He said "Hey Ive got a break do you want to catch some coffee down the road" "Yeah sure" He left the store with John following him; down to the corner were the coffee shop lay. They ordered and sat at a table, a couple of people recognized He. They immediately fell into their favourite coffee shop game talking loudly. You know I think all that talk about discarding morality and creating a super race is right, but I think they should have done it with DJs.John said and people who like that music oh I hate those arrogant wankers, with their rock star attitudes and underground boasts. He said Yeah if theyre so underground then how come its so fashionable to be one right now? and they dont do any thing but pretend to turn knobs The surrounding tables were filled with the type of person that based their lives around that music and its lifestyle. In one corner a skinny pale white kid in designer clothes got up and left. An oily looking couple in neon-hippie getup shot distaste from their eyes. He had achieved his goal; He had everyones negative attention and began to sing loudly distorting as many words in mispronunciation as possible. It was a pop song He knew all the other patrons would hate get up and leave to. It was good to prey on peoples pretensions, they all thought you could catch uncool if you got to close to it like a plague and thats how middle aged people were made. He wondered who it was that liked what it was He did for a living. Who was his consumer, all He saw was hate and pay checks. It was tough but He had an image to maintain, it was hard when you had to be the permanent asshole. He parted company with John and walked up the street a little. Blocks passed, and tall buildings gave way to garages and machine parts stores. The scenery was swept into old red brick buildings and fenced store yards. It all seemed unoccupied, and amazing that the things that made modern society work were destined for lonely and were even considered an ugly eye sore to be hidden. He looked back down the street at the city gray and turquoise copper, with glass and greenery. He decided to walk down to the waterfront. It was littered with low brow sports bars, ice-cream parlours and fish markets. There wasnt much for He

here, but that was why he was drawn to it. He looked down at the sand sprayed concrete, then out to sea at the ships. The bay the city was in was a beach, but there was a great raised causeway that led out a colossal floating harbour, with docks and cranes. It looked like some sort of giant unfinished bridge. It held an awesomeness that He couldnt figure upon. He lent on a rail on chipped paint and exposed metal. First making sure there wasnt any birdshit on it. In front of him was the beach and beyond it the sea. He could smell the sea spray carried from the ocean from the wind. There was something calming about the situation, but again He was lost for the explanation behind it. The fact that He didnt know what was causing the situation became additional to its nature placing an accumulative effect on it. Disappointment was horrible especially when you didnt even deserve it. Yet He was feeling it at the moment. He guessed he was pretty lucky having spent most of the year without unhappiness and was fully aware of its usefulness in measuring happiness. Unfortunately angst was completely useless in his line of work, then again so was happiness, both made you look naive. It was funny that when creating something some emotions werent validated. It was like people didnt want to see certain parts of human nature ingrained in culture. The thought sounded quite political. Maybe it was that it was because those emotions were too easy to come across, but why did art have to be something that was hard to do, such a contrived band of suffering. He realized he had been riding on success and was now looking for something more than that. He swallowed trying to signify acceptance with a gesture. Thing in his life werent in his control He knew he had to try in order to get but He was considered himself to be fundamentally lazy. Having been a child once didnt help. It was always better when someone else could absolve him of all his problems. The other thing was the thought that every thing in life had boundaries. Even if He was in complete control of his material, he wouldnt be able to control it because of the boundaries of human cognition and perception. A new state of existence was beyond he but He wanted to be someone else in order to come up with something new. So was He trapped only creating within current existence? This was why He limited negative experience to a minimum so he wouldnt be affected by it. At best what He created was as only as good as He was. Now that he was known it was even harder to change, everybody else wanted him to be He now too. He felt stuck within his own composition. At the crux of human nature was a need to justify its own existence so he attached significance to what he made. He didnt think he was going to have offspring because he hadnt opened up to love after the messy endings of teenage relationships. After high school hadnt been able to hold down a normal conversation because he kept thinking of unseen hierarchies, which he were never part of, and after university had trouble with a normal conversation. The

worst thing was He feared getting close to anyone just in case the girl with black hair killed them. That moment he said I love you would be inevitably captioned by the removal of a wig. He had enough of the mood he was in, so he decided to move on, there was something solemn about the sea. Taking a breath, He decided he should seek out Frank Ponty, a friend of his. He had gathered some questions in his head and wanted franks perspective placed on them.

Frank Ponty Frank Ponty was a hermit that lived in the old bus depot, which had been built without foresight and moved to a more central location. The new location however had caused further difficulty when people found the centrality of the bus port to be so central that they found every thing within walking distance. People in the central city generally found that they could save money by walking and the toil was small enough to attract even the lazy, no one really liked getting onto a bus filled with odour, filthy remnants of people, and people. This placed critical strain on the running of the bus service and instead of scraping the obsolete system to elevate the financial burden on the city budget the council decided to bankroll the losses the bus company was facing. They tried to pitch it as an environmental stunt rather than drop the buses and look a little inflexible in providing variable forms of transport to the public. They decided on a tax increase to fund the venture, which proved unpopular with the populous, who didnt want to pay for a service they werent using. The tax increases angered the public bringing in a new mayor in the next election, who when faced with the same problem decided he could fix it by inciting permanent Construction on constant rotation around the streets surrounding the city. Now no one could figure out how to get in and out of the city except the council run bus company which recorded the highest usage since the masses could not afford to spend their mornings navigating the various detour signs because they had to maintain the appearance of punctuality for their employers. This move by the mayor also had the added bonus of demonstrating who could get away with showing up late to work reasserting the lines of status within companys hierarchy. Leaving the mayors road renovations favoured amongst all the people that counted in this world at the same time lowering the taxes so that the masses were happy. One would think that the construction cost money, but construction facades were remarkably cheap to run, aside from labour. Frank relished the abandoned nature of the result of these actions most derelicts plagued functioning terminals only so they could beg for money to sponsor their glue habits and according to frank to satisfy their sick subconscious exhibitionist tendencies because they supposedly got their kicks from the disgusted looks they got from the functioning members of society. Frank disassociated himself from the other derelicts. Frank had the un-presentable nature of a drunk and many who saw him mistook him for one but frank was no ordinary street derelict He considered him witty when most saw him as completely insane hes sense of humour had always been slightly off key He had a special place in his heart for those who had opted out of the whole society thing especially when it wasnt for some ideological protest fiscal failure or drug related reason, but when it was a carefully planned uninterventional urge for irresponsibility Frank although aware of the irresponsible

ramifications of his actions as a dysfunctional slip in the system however no mater how hard he tried to conceal his inability to accept the way the world was. Despite this minor flaw He held him up as a sage or oracle, even though He held what he considered a healthy paranoia toward the majority of street people or people in general. Frank was a rarity in He's life being one of the few individuals who He thought of as superior. Everyone else fell under the status of equal or more regularly amongst the non-friend or enemy majority of people. Frank was however today despondent and disenchanted with the queries He was posing Frank do you think when washing is hung out to dry weather it maters whether you hang same coloured material together or far away because the same coloured garments could steal and weaken the light they received. You know colour is just the only part of the full UV spectrum a pigmented item will keep the rest is all reflected so would having say, lots of blue together weaken the amount of blue light going to the various objects making them dry slower or is it the light that gets reflected that dries the clothing would the light staved possibly be enough to mater. Would distributing light and dark colours distribute heat because dark colours draw in heat more than the lighter ones or is it the wind that dries clothing.... Frank was uninterested even perturbed by the by the notions He was presenting before him Frank hated science especially useless science to the point where as a boy he vowed to destroy it and bring back an age of magic. Fuck it doesnt matter the washing is eventually get dry isnt it. Frank said Frank jumped to his feet and shot of into the distance leaving He bemused and a little entertained. Frank was so upset with He that he could not stay and listen for fear that He may retort by mentioning efficiency and the possible capital gain. Science didnt make people happy, few humans could deal with the fact that they were eventually going to end and that their existence would stop. Or that they would no longer be aware of anything, to them the prospect of nothingness was so disturbing they occupied their worthless lives to mind numbing tasks and\or substances, living in deficit against the fact instead of just living. They were going to die and it was avoided like an obsession. The other option was to believe in what ever was most attractive; if it sounds like ice cream then it must be real. As the curtain was being pulled and we know more and more about ourselves, people have begun to latch on to any spiritual remnant and it usually took some pretty whacked out forms to cushion out the cold hard facts. It wasnt enough to appreciate reality and its details, wonder had to have fluffy edges.

Science was one reason that frank had gotten sick of society What if our senses really are exhibiting perceptually filtered illusions when we see reality as we do, thats the line I have for science. Frank thought to him self A scientist would probably just say, It doesnt really matter we can only go with what we have, sure we could just reject what we see as an illusion but would it get us anywhere, no because we dont have any other measuring stick except for random fantasies to follow, so what we can do we must do with what we have If were wrong it doesnt matter we wont know any better. But what if it did matter? Then theyd say, Then it would, but to go against the evidence with an untested theory, I mean I guess if you tried to prove science was wrong and it mattered that we were wrong, but what system are you going to use to disprove it without science. Franks head was a mess. Frank and He were just playthings to each other their relationship was something of a passing interest they had no real sincere emotional attachment toward each other beyond a kind fondness nothing which couldnt be dissolved when all elements of innovation became pass or someones ego mortally wounded they would quite possibly become enemies for a short period but for the both reputation was an evil in most things and once the sum of interaction had been exhausted they would move on and nether of them were particularly motivated to inflict any real harm on one another.

THE PARTY He was in a good mood as He made his way around the corner, turning to the direction of the flat. In front was a button to press to get him up there, up winding his way around the monotonous corridors that dressed them selves in a dulling white and overbearing light, all too much for tired eyes up a fight of stairs and along more corridors and into the flat House music began to sound in the air muffled between two sets of walls it had all started when people turned old enough to get into clubs and it all seemed so adult to them buying overpriced drinks dancing to bad music. Hitting on but not quite scoring the opposite sex, talking about sports, talking about how their banks accounts are set up, most people were stupid enough to fall for the exclusivity sticker that some things in life carried. The qualities of music had changed over the years and it was now all about the unimaginative rhythms and loops of electronic samples and tones of factory presets, he stood himself aside shuddering at the concept that sound was preordained something that had been captured tamed destroyed and mimicked. Something played out and repeated in its last death throws. No one realised no one cared. Like the rest of adult life people were acting more like symbols of themselves the more adult they tried to become every thing was becoming less complicated more automated, infidelity, mild substance abuse and automatic bank payments replacing circadian rhythm. It was all in gesture but they had begun to look down on He's and his closest friends actions. People betrayed themselves in a show of forced adulthood twisted by a quality they aspired to but did not understand. They made it up as they went along, without any sense of responsibility and with tantrums if they did not have things handed to them. They were wrapt up tight by the trinkets and gizmos that made up their dull lives. Reflected in their music, they were a pre-packaged ensemble no thought, inspiration, or care went into their own shaping. They sounded the same as every other song, debasing themselves for a week in the charts. The flat was a chrysalis transforming everyone into assholes. He used to love parties but things had changed and the flat always had an air of wanting, an undefined hunger was laid down in the flat. It filled everyone as people sat waiting for something to happen. He's old childhood restlessness had even began to reappear and He was beginning to fantasize about being able to crush the whole universe with cosmic hands or make things explode with his mind. He had spent so long getting rid of these fantasies that provided a need for a purpose a destiny which attracted his contentment. Now to worsen things people talked of their salaries and the pressures of middle management, or how much money they made for their company. He didnt do or want to know about any of this.

He felt quite nauseous with the anxiety that He was about to encounter a negative environment often feeling He was the sum of his surroundings though the door lay people He didnt and couldnt really know shouting drunkenly. The situation had worsened after He had stumbled into fame, parties He went to were often invaded by parasites and sycophants who either watched He from a distance intently to better understand and be like him or bugged him with life stories or business ventures. The equation would play out with He striking out and tearing someone down, it was fated some poor smug just had to accidentally go and hit the equals button. He would then be further reduced to the narrow confines of his reputation. Hed been to society parties hung out with other famous people but, having been brought into such functions as a cheap party trick clown for later anecdote, He naturally did the opposite to buffoon. A quiet well mannered intellectual (at least more well read than an entertainer), so as is the nature of fame, He was judged and his actions read in every manner construed, some took him as a hype job faker whose quiet manner derailed the messages of his art, others saw him as a tortured genius that could not express himself, a bore, a non de plume and even a long drawn out game whose punch line could end their fame for having been in the same room as him. He only attended such celebrity events rarely now and would only stay briefly, adding to the image. He didnt fit in with all the pampered social elite; they made him uncomfortable, like he shouldnt be talking with such brilliantly shallow beauty. At the same time sickened for admiring something so material in spite himself. Such people treated his quirks like currency to be quickly exchanged when the joke was over. If fame was like a music video, He was still at home on the couch watching. It was a nightmare, conversations with girls he couldnt make eye contact with, sweated and sutured for. He couldnt out anecdote, couldnt self promote, couldnt get a word in or over and couldnt be their father figure or fit into what ever complex mirror world they lived in. It was all too much effort; He had enough trouble maintaining friendships with his real friends. The worst was the continual edge into a circle of conversation, forever blocked by shoulders, having to fake a laugh from the outside. He choked in a drowning desperation scanning the room until He glanced to the kitchen and vision of his friends raised his sprits they sat clustered at the kitchen table talking and had registered his presence as He walked over. What's with all this disorganised stupidity theres one thing I cant stand, stupidity is a wonder for us to cherish these assholes soiling every thing I stand for the bastards Mendel screamed John jumping into action Shut up man someone Ill hear you He weve got to stay quiet they hear us all those drunken bastards in there they could turn on us oh God were screwed its turning into a dance party, how the hell are we supposed to sit around and maintain our cool with this shit to contend with.

Domino turning to John and feeding his fears jokingly acquiring a nasal mobster accent Ahh well youve got to watch out for these trendy electronic music types see turn your back and theyll sodomise your arse, see. MMM amyl nitrate John in hysterics lets out a high-pitched squeal. John has his game face on chemicals shone in his eyes he was unburdened against his enemies. In this state no one could tell where his truth lay everything was an in-joke to sucker you in for internalised mocking. For him it was the bewitching hour. He deciding to get into the action John what about the time when... He had programmed in a fear for incomplete sentences John stoned couldnt handle everyone messing with him, deciding to leave his present company, by stumbling over his own chair as an exit move. John returned later heavily placated asking Whats with all these writers feeling the need to talk openly about masturbating Its what being a writers all about its there right domino replied And youve got to add a sex scene somehow, no matter what, I mean even if it falls against your work unnatural, youve got to have something that the book worms ill jerk of over He said and you get the stained pages in libraries john said A visitor to the table interrupted the conversation. Do any of you guys want to get something to eat because Im going for a ride now Hinder asked? He leapt to his feet he knew that he needed some air Running down to the car and hopping into the passenger seat He didnt care that the driver completely wasted even when he was straight. This was a good thing because Hinder was fairly wasted. He didnt care the one thing Hinder was good at was driving, for everything else in life Hinder was a complete loser, he even spoke funny, hinder could only barely string out a sentence without garbling the words into scrambled disposure, or sometimes comment on something no one else could pick up upon leaving it unintelligible. Hinders driving was a little edgy. He could feel a slight swerve in it as they changed lanes at high speed; he even felt slightly scared but didnt want to distract Hinder by asking him to slow down. He just sat there slightly fidgety as they shot along the coastline. Hinder slowly eased into the drive, they had left the city limits now and He just sat at his window looking at the coast. He remembered the day he left his old home for the city when He sat in a bar and looked out at his old harbour and saw at least a hundred juggernaut fishing ships, each decked in rust. He remembered seeing the lights of the city for the first time, from the boat he was in speeding upward

into the city being so overwhelmed by the change that had just begun to infiltrate his life almost as if the tone of the light swept him up in his future. The car lights swept the darkened road ahead; they arrived at a roadside fish restaurant. The place ran every gimmick a road side fish restaurant had to offer, fishing nets draped off walls a sign stating fresh fish in roughly applied red paint. He stood under the single outside light that lit up part of a wall exposing run down boards you could hardly see the place from the road at night let alone know it was open it held a ghostly desolation that its age had grown. Moths battered themselves in a light orgy over head. Hinder fumbled with his lighter in the slight sea breeze before lighting a cigarette as they stepped inside. The interior of the building was empty and silent Dimly lit and littered with dark reds greens and wooden floor He could smell the rich dishes and grease a single fan hovered above them. The owner approached them jumping on them with a surly seafarers voice what doya want He and Hinder looked at the chalkboard menu and decided. Ill have the craw fish entrophille, he said And Ill have the honey fried shrimp Hinder said I didnt catch any shrimp today the old fisherman said Ok the groper then thanks Ill bring it to you when its cooked They sat down; He looked up at the walls they were cluttered with pictures of best catches and paintings of the owners dead wife. He quickly shut of any thoughts connecting the two, He tried to think of what it would be like to live alone on the side of the road, go out, and catch fish early in the morning and open shop for lunch, but he was having trouble concentrating on anything. Hinder was looking out at the sea and was silent for a time. Do you think about how the sea is slowly wearing down the land? You mean erosion. Yeah, one day itll take it all away and therell only be ocean. Well I dont really worry about it if thats what you mean. No I was just wondering thats all. He wished he could see cheap revelations from looking at the sea, He knew it had the power to stir great emotions from people but it did nothing for him, if anything it cleared his mind. Looking out the window into the dark all He could see was a reflection of a man who had no reason to feel sorry for himself. The pair drew salvia from under their tongues as their meals were placed down on the table for them. He slurped at the thick red gravy; the meat was soft and melted in his mouth. He was soon filled.

They thanked, paid and hit the road. Once He had tried to return to his old home on the island, his old friends and family seemed slightly distanced towards him. There was an uncertainty as to whether they would see him again, so each time He went to visit their behaviour was dictated by the sadness of ending. People shouldnt live that way living on what they stand to lose. He thought to himself So what He had on the island was already finished the first time he left. Maybe it was just that they found they could live without him that he didnt have the significance to them they thought he had. He thought further and realised old people had to face this sadness every day, their friends and loved ones all dying off around them, there would be no certainty at all with every moment, knowing that maybe they can live on with out these people in their life that they never really mattered and ultimately that they themselves never mattered. He could see why they could grow bitter. He stepped out of the car door and nestled his body against its hanging frame, before him at the end of the alleyway, stood a man leaning against a wall with the back of a girls head covering his crotch. It took a moment to realised he was being watched. Even though there was a car light trained on him making a shadow of an enlarged version of himself on the wall behind him. The man glared into the high beams unable to see past them. The man threw the girl aside and ran off in a stagger stooping down in mid stride to gather his pants and zip his fly. The girls stood up off kilter, straightened her dress, and brushed the hair from her face. She walked past He with what dignity she could muster. She had long brown hair and a round face, her eyes shimmered with deviance, and she pursed her lips as if to force them into the minds of He and Hinder, with visual flickers of a spit greased penis. He shook his head and smirked. Hinder sat in the car mouth agape. He made his way back to the party through the white winding corridors that all looked the same; out side the door some one had been sick. Vomit juxtaposed against a white wall. He walked into the kitchen Mendel was sitting at the table by himself Hey wheres Jim. He asked In his room. Mendel replied He excused himself timidly crossing over bodies lying on beanbags, those standing in crowded clusters that left no room for navigating and one man wreckers determined to stumble over everything they could get in their way, on drunken lounge safaris.

He knocked on Jims door before entering. Jim was propped up against the end of his bed looking down at a piece of paper he was reading to a girl on some sort of chemical odyssey. She sucked the words from the air in admiration, and was half undressed with one naked breast flopped on his shirtless chest. Nether seemed to mind Hes presence so He gave privacy little deliberation. Reptilian brain, dishevelled pebble in hands folding inwards, eyes reddened, inhuman, a wasted ethos in a jersey, a smile a silent fuck, eyes reaching into the back of the skull, blank faced grimace, spittle forming at the edge of a hole. Jim ignoring Hes presence (for dramatic measure) until the end of the poem cast the paper to the floor and looked up in recognition as the page floated down and joined similar pieces on the floor. He tracked its oscillating decent before registering recognition, humouring him with a round of clapping and an internal shrug. Jim presented the image of an Arabian king, Rasputin, or at least a whore house hero. Maybe even a prince music video. Jim was pulled by He back to the party, and He for a brief spell was coursed into dancing, He tried his best at dancing ironically but soon gave up. Someone had invited a transvestite in from the street for a joke at her expense. She came into the room dolled up in poor gaudiest taste standing unnaturally tall, she reminded He of Fluro colours not that she wore any. Some one yelled what a giant from across the room and a sneer of laughter echoed from across the room. The giant took offence to the nearest laughing girl and poured half a cask of wine bladder over her head. The men in the room took offence to this and started puffing up their chests and yelling jeers and abuse. He was in hysterics. None of the men there had enough mocksy to do anything direct to get the poor she-monster out. It all counted up to barking, until the giant picked up a beer bottle and hurled it deep into the room. It landed bang on someones head that was oblivious to the disruption, everyone there new this guy to be the nice guy. Now he was the guy out cold on the floor with blood sobbing from his skull. The men stepped forward now angers raised. The transvestite responded by picking up a wine bottle and thudding it against the wall above her head. The bottle didnt break but made a mess of the plaster work. She screamed in a croaky boom, while cock out in her hand from under her dress. You dont know me. No one wanted near her again and she stormed out. He was thoroughly entertained the scene had every thing in it. He tried fighting giggles while the mess was mopped up and the nice guy taken to hospital. Hes father had offered him one piece of advice that stuck Dont make fun of transvestites son, underneath it all they are big men with serious issues. His father would then point at a long scar over one side of his fore head.

Carpet as the patterns danced into static as his eyes clouded over, shifting focus to a single shoe before Him. It was sprawled on its side his eyes mapped out intricate canals where the leather had cracked. The shoelaces askew winding their way to their tips. Images had begun to freeze and when He took his eyes away the shoe was etched in his brain. He smiled for being brought this beautiful image of Simplicity as peace clouded over his mind. He looked Upward to the ceiling above him a symmetrical pattern of dots lay repeating into the walls where it disappeared with tiny inconsistencies that burrowed into existence, appearing in his prolonged glare. The patterns shifted as his eyes blurred. He looked to the people around him and the background began to change and meld into other things locations, He had been diminished to scanning the room for object detail out of boredom, now he was back to people and the scene remained the same. He blinked and the vision disappeared now he was just staring ahead interrupted by sudden speech. "Wow you must be pretty wasted" He turned noticing a girl sitting next to him it was John girlfriend a nice girl that He was in the process of befriending; He hadnt really had any female friends since He was a Kid. He decided to put her straight on what the situation was. No I just have an active and vivid imagination" "Oh okay then.... Im in a great big bubble He smirked and shook with a great silent laugh John sat down beside the girl and stuck his arm around her. He rarely saw a relationship like theirs offering public restraint when most slurped and sloped at each other disgustingly. John and his girl proved Also they could communicate with words. He was reminded that He should make an effort to see people while He could having plenty of time during the week to self indulge He turned to john and began to speak "Hey this sucks have you tried to change the music Yet" John had mellowed out "He stop complaining you have great company who gives a Fuck if the music is bad if people enjoy other things to you dont have to partake, just because you stand somewhere and others somewhere else doesnt give you the right to judge its bad this isnt your space its theirs. It anit always your party chief He was put out by his friends comment, especially seeing as that it was made before someone who didnt yet really know him, his ego was wounded but He considered who had said them and their nature and realized they were true that He had picked up a negative and wallowed in it "It just never really seems to be my party." "I know this isnt your thing so how about we catch a movie or something next week" "That sounds good look I think Im going to leave being in the wrong mood and all seeya."

He was eyeing up a girl Hed seen earlier in the night and hadnt rebuked him immediately when He tried to stumble through a conversation with her. Earlier He had built this girl up in his head with every romantic notion, writing over her with a dream. Even as far as distorting what was said between them and what that meant. She was a seraph that matched him completely, wasnt at all tried into modernisms surface skimming and as far as He was concerned hadnt known love before their eyes met (not that He could bring himself to look her in the eye) she was the one. So it cut He to the crest to see her across the room wantonly slurping at a better dressed guy with an unselfconscious graceless animal heat. His hands cruising her back and ass, the folds of her skirt in his grasp exposing the form of her body. It met him with a drain but he could not look away, to see his future wife, unhinged by this man that was never him. He was liked but never loved and couldnt see the walls He put up that got him there, the utter lack of reality He operated from. He had an inability to accept the current shutter frame window of opportunity when courting a girl, thinking it was impossible to express himself without a slow unfolding of character. His focus of relationship rather than encounter and finally, his failure to understand physical relations as the currency it had become, was not presenting a good sell. He let out a cheer, point and slow hand clap to mask the cold crush damage this vision unearthed. The two lovers barely faltered at the attention, probably unaware of any public chide. This was another sickly side effect of any ardour, the complete self containment away from any world beyond any real kiss. It was more than He could bear. In Herald a car crash sounded in the alley bellow those still in the flat rushed to the window to look down at the smoke bellowing from the wreckage Hinders car had become He looked over to Hinder who was standing beside him in shock "Shit" Hinder said "I new I shouldnt have given my keys to that guy" He used the confusion to slip away, not before emptying a bag of flour all over the kitchen floor and stealing a six pack of beer from the fridge concealing it in his coat pockets. The kitchen was a bomb, the freezer door was open contents spilled over the floor mixing with spilt condiments, someone had thrown eggs on the ceiling and the benches were covered with flour, no doubt it would be blamed on him. Outside there was a slight crispness to the air but decided to take the long walk home anyway. Every party in his life was more or less the same.

Death in Suburbia By the time He had walked to the city limits the six pack was ingested and his vision reeled. He stumbled in the jarred frames of objects presented before him the inadequate streetlights ran heavy shadows before him every car bush rustle placed a chill in his spine each step He made in the silence reeked with intolerable agony an inescapable dread rose in him in anticipation for an impeding doom He was inappropriately dressed for the chill in the air alcohol and saliva escaped his mouth in his breath and hung in the air in a thin mist He cursed silently into the night air frightened He would wake someone when He heard the train He could have been on, in the night air His mind was clearing sobered by the sound of his footsteps echoing out from the houses He thought of his friends Jim and john they had been right on things He hadnt picked up He was thankful for them but his thoughts skipped over in loop fading in and out ungrammatical logic garbled He heard a dog in the distance He yearned for his home He just wanted sleep to evade the chaos dead on his feet kept moving by the sheer auxiliary motivation treading on thoughtlessly existence switching to mechanical to He had energy to get home exhaustion ran over him confused as to what point He was in his journey his feet and back ached numbed by the cold and alcohol He stopped and shivered up at the moon partially shrouded in dark cloud luminating it into a bright translucent mist He sat down having to rest and catch himself immediately vomiting onto the grass beside him feeling better instantly got up and strode onward He had not shaken the eerie nights atmosphere from the foreground of his mind turning down an alley and emerging in a lane where the side walk was sheltered by trees which curved over above him to produce a hollow that gusts of wind whined down the bushes rustled in constant movement the branches and leaves held great crevices of shadow which distorted Hes face as He passed underneath them Hes heart jumped into action as suddenly just in front of him a dog sprung out in front of him and hovered in front of him still neck lowered it sudden appearance before him had knocked him backward to the ground grazing his wrists slightly using them to break his fall so that He wasnt on his back it was in front of him He couldnt see more than its outline and its eyes shone at him in a twin iridescent glare as the light reflected in them to form a dull grimace He tried to correct himself gingerly his actions responded to by a low growl now crouching on his legs He edged backward to He felt safe to rise slowly He tried to cross the road but the dog followed him along the invisible line that He could not cross He backed off making sure the dog didnt follow hissing out a curse in frustration that dissolved fear having to back track around the animals territory. He had consciously avoided the old area but now He was in the middle of it the

old area was a section of the outer suburbs that had not been upgraded to more modern dwellings instead houses were left rot antiquated occupied by drug dealers junkies and students or unsuccessful art types in a run down dirty cluster He had no problem with the occupants but the houses themselves haunted him He favoured the more modern houses at least when they held no character they didnt terrorise as actively But these older houses consumed an ghostly Edward Hopper feel that a drunk and freighted He could not possibly deal with, as He walked the overgrown front sections the drooping eaves with their intricate patterns darkened large panned windows all silent in a faded glory the almost provoked sympathy that was mutating into something more course as the paint peeled away and parts broke down dirt piled up depressant hung thick in the air an ambiguous sense of loss clung to He walking on in the edge of panic a flicker caught in the side of his eye turning slowly sliding his neck upward toward a window in one of the houses where light streamed out shadowing the figure inside its open frame the light panned out leaving only a dingy source from above partially blinded He eyes snapped back into adjustment a steady terror swelled in him as a black haired girl stood unmoving above her slim body was wrapped in a soft green dress that hung loosely against her thin straps exposed olive skin her black hair hung to her shoulders her face was flat except for the hint of a smile her beauty was little comfort for He who feared averting his eyes and could not flee for fear however she slid away from the widow as the moment ended the light fading away after her departure He ran off into the darkened streets of suburbia with a fear and sickness intolerable and inescapable swirling increasingly violently inside him since she had left his field of vision his mind desperately trying to digest what had happened swallowed with panic and dread. Reason had left him. Warmth flooded his heart as He stepped onto his property stopping shortly to ease his breath but feelings of happiness and safety dissolved in a flutter of the heart as He heard horrible strained breathing that was not his own He let out a soft whine another wave of strength knocked out of him in full panic with a head swimming from the fear He used all his energies to slowly step the remainder of the long drive way the breaths peaking before He could turn the corner to reveal his tormenter these inhuman rasps slow and calculated around the corner He turned the corner to face what force had been tormenting him all night something moved on the shadow of the doorstep its form was undistinguishable it stood waist high before him unbuttoning a plethora of horrible visions as to what it was what ever it really was He had to step over it to gain access to his house the tension drove him to action fears residing slightly stepping ford with the keys heart squeezed stepping over the creature slamming the door behind him. Switching on the light to reveal the same dog looking up at him with conceit in its eyes still breathing heavy it had followed him home surly an agent for the girl He saw. He paused haggard in the doorway before fumbling with its three locks before returning to the swirling paranoia and nausea that consumed him attention drawn

away from the dog to the girl by reflex he made his way to the bathroom before vomiting in the basin taking in the fact that he was trashed on alcohol He with a creeping nausea created by a chemical imbalance in a subconscious brain which was triggered by an anxious paranoia and loathing which had followed him in of the streets into his usually save haven He decided it was best to immerse himself in the anti nausea pills located in the medicine cabinet hidden behind the bathroom mirror. She was all around him, behind every corner as He flicked every end, where the pills He had just taken real, or were they a placebo given to him by his doctor because his doctor thought He had only materialised his illness because He was really insane or had He materialise the nausea the doctor the pills because He was insane. The pills didnt work any more. He had willed them out of existence. He paused running though the silence in his head fearing the inevitable end that would destroy him at the point of salvation terror had thrown him trough the house to the kitchen and had left him frozen in the dark paralysed before the light switch. He spun and slammed his into the wall where his imaginary demons had been lying a moment before At that moment he saw a truth that boiled flickered and died at point of conception, and collapsed on the floor unconscious. No dreams, He awoke shaky, climbed up a chair, collapsed. NO dreams, reality rode in suddenly, it was late mourning, every thing too sudden, suddenly too clear. He rose slowly into a crisp and clinical world shattered but relieved the feverous frenzy had passed. He limped to the bench dragging a stained enamel mug across its surface. Swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth, brandishing a spoon from the draw below him sliding it into a jar and wrestling with a large black mound as He transferred the contents of the spoon into the mug sweeping up the remnants He had spilt on the bench and dusting off what did not stick to his clammy palms into the mug. He realised He had forgotten to put the jug on racing over to the stove to fetch it and back to the tap at speeds only a somewhat groggy and beset individual addicted to coffee could muster He could not stand the intrepid stench of his mind his metabolism slowed to a point where his Neuron connections were barely function his thoughts halted abruptly as the dissonant whistle and rattle of the jug graced his ears. Poring the hot water into the mug pausing a moment to admire the swirling liquid dissolve into a rising gas. before the smell off coffee embedded itself in the his nostrils upon an inward breath caressing the hot mug in his hands and burning on the initial gulp holding it in his mouth and letting this black velvet mistress slide down his throat like a fine silk. At the end of his breath, slowly expelling the air, content. He was trapped at this moment by what he envisioned He saw suburbia as an evil, a living organism personified in order to create all of Hes problems, its

occupants trapped and rotting in its juices. Where his neighbours judged him mercilessly on how friendly and normal He was or how maintained his property was. He wished his mind would die so He wouldnt dwell so negatively on thing He was unhappy with and at the same time so ultimately out of control. When He looked to the door the beast was gone He Knew He would have a good day.

HOME He was home, in his surroundings He was the only place he didnt have to panic or be anything because home was where he was in control of his environment and he could alter it within the boundaries of his circumstances. Or at least imagine future changes to dcor without having to qualify his decisions. It was the only time he could retreat inward and spend the necessary time thinking about himself uninterrupted and explore himself defining what he was and wasnt, Hed read magazines to find out where he stood on issues. It was especially important that he could control music because music was one of the pivotal things in his life and also something he took no joy in it if it wasnt to his taste and determining volume, position, definition, and kind. He need to be allowed to attach a situation to the music not vice versa although when music accidentally clicked into place with his life in an accidental soundtrack was pretty good too, it was a unifying concept that the right track could play out at the right time like there was a higher power and He had a special place in his plan, something to do with synching up tunes to action, Hed know when that cue came. Like a sponge He would sit at home digesting albums books and movies one after the other to a point where most would call overload. Sometimes others ideas crowded in and he had to take a break, or an afternoon nap. That flood of consumption that filled in otherwise empty moments of boredom. Sometimes it was too much to think with, sometimes it was someone elses thought that He ran around for days living out and drooling over and when it wasnt it lead to him itching out his own ideas as to what to do next. Drawing on paper, assembling objects standing back and looking at what he had made. At home reality was defined by him and his mindset; no one could encroach on his frame of mind unless he let them enter it. Once He was aware of what he was and consequently what he thought the world was about, he set about analyzing what he needed, wanted, loved, hated, kept, and should discard. His biggest worry was that he was missing out on something important because He wasnt someone else, or that he was missing something better as someone else. With that thought He realised that he had become bored of the parameters he operated in because he was the kind of person to get bored with himself and want more than he had. He was so He set about changing that, figuring which way to go was difficult, even that was shape by is current tendencies. He had to dissolve himself and start from scratch. Hes goal, was to change what Hed been for the past few years, for himself and to others. He initially thought that the decision was enough to make him a better person, but it seemed like a lazy way out, way to stay the same. But would he be losing something important He didnt know about. However further thought suggested this was one event He would never truly recognize as He would be changed. One thing He didnt want to change was happiness achieved by an

ability to feast over all of the things He hated. He liked to test out everyone, see what happened when he set up a social trap that was his favourite homely pursuit planning problems for people. He was well known for his pranks, to the point where He now made a living out of them and people should be thankful for them. He knew testing their nature and response made them grow because most people needed experience to grow in and He wanted to see what they were, behind their stock standard opinions, Hed read somewhere that a psychologist named Milgram had set up an experiment that had regular people instructed to electrocute people in another room, the joke was that it was an actor in the other room, but Joe blow didnt know that, Joe blow kept pushing the button as instructed, even if it was a fatal voltage, even if the actor screamed with pain, even if he stopped screaming. That guy knew how to party, there was a bit of a scandal about the ethics of the experiment, having people face their own lazy minded demons, it was a good thing art didnt have such constraints on ethics. You couldnt rob a grave and call it art, but that was something He was working on. Once He got that bug when He got the feral urge in him, He was ready to feed up on all the negative attention and spit it back from his position of superior humanity. He would undoubtedly go too far and could lose a persons respect and friendship by being an asshole this was the main factor He saw as a fault that plagued him. His overbearing nature ensured that his friends were amongst those who could easily be described as tolerant, forgiving, compassionate, maybe dominated and masochistic or they hadnt yet been pushed to breaking point. This was the point He constantly feared, but this was also the point He was most curiously driven to find. He aspired to opposition. It was almost as if He sought out trouble to make happiness seem twice as sweet, He longed for a knowing relationship one that couldnt possibly exist, He was happy with the friends, but the thing was he only chose them because they were reflections of him. The thing was He wanted a person to be him, identical. "Forget soul mates and other halfs I want to communicate with someone who is myself of course there is the problem of what we would talk about thinking all the same things simultaneously I wouldnt have any thing to say to someone who was myself but if the myself I found was female the possible hormone differences could create differences in thinking but I guess then theres the physical upside but Im faced with the same impossible probability of finding a girl who is me as one interesting enough for me unless cloning people for love interests becomes accepted morally Ill just have to rely on an improbability. But then again someone better than me would suffice, again I cant imagine someone filling that criteria easily either. I guess my dream girl can only be a dream." He shuddered when he realised what he was saying. He didnt want to dwell on unhappy matters so He just switched off to them and disassembled them in a daydream.

He lived alone in a small rental property in a fairly good neighbourhood He let the gardens grow on their own accord and did not pick up the garbage that drifted or got thrown into his property and as people saw that others did it became okay to do. Some even went out of their way to dump garbage on his property and it became desperately entrenched and dispersed within his tangled overgrown garden. The rubbish began to drift into neighbouring properties some of which had contributed to the mess and they began to insist He pay for not only the cleaning of his property but theirs also. They began to hate He for other peoples terrible lazy dumping, but He was having to much fun to stand down. The landlord threaten to kick him out and worrying about devaluation the neighbourhood took him to court getting him into the local papers. Both this and court allowed him to publicly air the problems with peoples nature and Mendel came up with the idea that He should call it irresponsible art. So just before He was forced to deal with the situation He was called by a journalist for a big art magazine wrote a big article on it with pictures. And thus it was transformed into art, the article gave He more opportunity to harass people on their unconsidered evil and the whole suburb wanted a piece of the fame and dumped garbage on their front sections as well. This only added to the acclaim of the piece and He was one the night news and current affairs shows. He had a melodramatic showmanship that lent it self to the cameras and the areas property value sky-rocketed and soon the whole city copied to increase their properties value. Overnight He was famous for his recently spawned irresponsible art movement and the cities major Art gallery paid a great amount of money to remove the artwork and place it in their gallery surrounded by pictures of the affects the work had on the city. His neighbours hated him for removing the artwork fearing it would devalue their properties but with the amount He already had He was set for life and when the a stranger knocked on his flat door He had himself an art dealer as well, finally He was given a good deal on rent by the apologetic landlord who was playing the long game with the property. If He lived their long enough the landlord could sell it for a bomb as a former residence of a famous artist. Pollyanna would have been spitting in her grave. The inside of his house in contrast was clean and in general order He had developed an obsessive disgust for a mess from his mother Hes rooms were busy with CDs books and various other objects He had found or was given that had sentimental value or reflected Hes aesthetic. Even still they still held that modern minimalist edge without breaking down any character, He wasnt that keen of minimalism but a certain amount of chic was needed now he was known. At the centre of the lounge lay a glass table framed in a wooden box a shelf housed more objects sitting just beneath the surface this room housed his entertainment needs and advertised Hes recent contributions to high art on the walls. If post-modern art is the ability to shock and repulse the viewer making the viewer explore things in the world that they never really wanted to in the first

place He was a brilliant artist, He had tapped into pure irresponsibility. Hes current concept was to draw violent and graphic scenes of anguish showing all the various acts of evil capable and imaginable and accompanying them with a humorous, playful and sickening slogan regarding the scene He was selling his movement in the most brutal fashion He could finger. He had four other rooms, a creation room where He produced all of his music, prose and visual art from, his bedroom where He was haunted from, a bathroom, a kitchen/eating place and a hall that connected them. He realised suburbia had its seasons and moods and last night his drinking had created dark visions and deliria but today from the safety of his window suburbia looked happy again even offering an apology for last nights bringing into line. He was like a child and suburbia the great regulator of man. It was for He, impossible to stay upset with suburbia, his source of income; it seemed silly to loathe something so pretty, so normal. It was foolish to fuss about such a place considering his lot wasnt that bad compared with some. But then again it had made him famous. He looked up at the sky through the glass, opening the window slightly to let himself take in the air, the sun crept onto his face and through the pores of his skin into his soul it lay in his belly golden as He tasted happiness on his tongue. He realized that a fight with society only brought unhappiness and He didnt want that, He recognized his exploration into the things wrong with the world had upset the balance of what was right with it. Hes art personality hung over him and was beginning to forget the ability to perceive any good, to be able to live simple. He knew unfortunately that people werent buying beauty in art these days and thats why a lot of artists were topping themselves. They had to get tied down to the negative subjects the public wanted and became too immersed to go on living, or believed the stereotype to begin with. Even the great outside artist had become enslaved by the same commercial processes that got every one else. They had become expendable meat for the affluent to measure their cultural awareness by. He was glad He could live with the money He had already collected and hadnt become addicted to any aspect of the lifestyle. He wanted out. He would release one more series of paintings labelled "the apparent lack of irresponsibility in a bole of fruit" then announce his departure from visual field of art to focus on his post-fusion band. He as an artist hadnt had any power to change things only power to make things worse, rebellion was pointless and worse it to had been commercialized and turned into a clich. So He was going to prostrate himself before society and have fun at others expense but He was going to be subversive about it by destroying the image the public had painted him into. He was going kitsch, out the backdoor. He had his band He would use his band to keep him going. Maybe Hed be pained by the occasional where are they now file, that was the price of fame. That you would

always be judged against your day at the top, like a normal life was the greatest shame. The multitudes in their banality couldnt understand why anyone would give up fame of their own free will. It was robbing them of all their imprinted hopes to blindly follow anothers dream. But it was more than that the famous were not allowed to be more than that, it was the publics dream that they masked on others and it ate at the object and the objectee. A fall from stardom meant that a person was never what they had assumed to be. People wanted greatness; they wanted Gods to give them the meaning that they denied themselves. A God could not be seen at the mall with kids and ice-cream and the people at the top could not complain could not fail to be gracious, because they had everything everybody else wanted. Because no one wanted to hear that what people want is often the things that hold the least meaning, the things that hold the least value to leading a happy life. He wasnt going to rebel and He was going to change either He was pleased with himself that He had found his morality voice again. He could use his talents to destroy the image everyone had walled him up in, they thought they had He under their finger but that was where He was most dangerous. He was set to win back his childhood piety. The phone rang and He snapped into action it was crucial that He dissolved his thinking processes or the words he used would be unintelligible for the person on the phone.

The Interview hello that movie thing we discussed you up for it Yeah sure OK ill come round later to pick you up Hey john all the bands I listen to are at least 8 years old now and I dont like any of the new stuff Im afraid Im becoming an old codger yeah its frightening Im facing the same problem but it has to be just that the climates wrong at the moment and its creating a musical vacuum fuck techno Yer.... Well see you tonight Ok bye Now with a event set ahead of his waiting came fighting down the nauseas that came with hidden anxieties He couldnt put his finger on yet thought He knew they must be there or other wise why would He feel unwell every time before He left the house one thing He was sure of how He dealt with what He had effected his state controlling himself fixed things simplicity was what kept He whole anything to rich He would avoid or moderate or He would be ill that included thought witch was all he had to dwell on when He was waiting with all this in tow He felt fine. Time passed until it was interrupted by a knock upon the door disorientated by the sudden shift in time raised to his feet by a sudden jolt which sounded the turning of his internal mechanisms which resulted in He awakened at the door by the fact that the person at the door was not john but a strange female (brown hair) who immediately read his confusion and slightly stripped of confidence put one foot forward and raised a hand exclaiming in a wave of fast speech with a hint of awkwardness Hi Im Lynda stone from the magazine ah we talked on the phone last week about the interview recognition swept Hes face clean poor girl I made her feel unimportant ah well seeing as that Ive started....he thought then out loud said youre quite young... slipping back into thought that Ill get her She replied in a surprising rally The magazine was going to send a more senior journalist but I expressed to the chief editor my interest and proposed that an article on you by someone who actually liked your work might be a refreshing change from the pounding every magazine outside of the art world and occasional university press has given you and try to communicate to the common man where your coming from its interesting that you would upon meeting me so actively try to achieve dominance over me why is that, is it a defence mechanism? Hes face beamed and as it twisted into a grin his eyebrows raised and eyes shone ape like scratching the back of his head whilst ushering her in with a gesture of an outstretched arm leading her through to the lounge where they both sat and she produced a recording device and sat it on the table.

So He could you briefly describe the irresponsibility movement as you see it Um well its really just me trying to piss people off Really uh its um, a reactionary statement overemphasizing whats really going on so that it disgusts or encourages a person guilty of the said irresponsibility without the moralising effect previous social commentary has had. So its like an allegorical in-joke only a few people get, causing an effect that makes peoples lives worse, its the art of misinformation mimicking the advertising agencies, conceptual art has previously had the tendency to feel the need to inform to be an activist and therefore have a positive effect thats what makes this new. So what about actual advertising is that irresponsible art ? No of course not its irresponsible yes but its business the advertisers are doing it for the money it needs to be done by someone who doesnt gain from the event or even someone who loses themselves from the result, because art represents society, or otherwise if art was society, there wouldnt be art just society, soon I think that will be the case with for example movie plots being based around product placement. But, for now irresponsible art functions on it utter nonsensical stupidity that accurately depicts too many peoples lives its kind of an in joke for a select group a practical joke holding up a mirror without pointing the finger But you make money from it? Yes but it has ruined my reputation made me well known made me hated by people want to kill me and made attempts and now the security measures imprison me Ive screwed myself over with this. Advertising is direction and has a purpose, my art has none. Except trouble, Im not selling anything either. So if its truly irresponsible art why do you let people know its irresponsible doesnt that make it responsible? Uhhh no its a product of the times, people will do the things on my posters around town or the scenarios I make up, the TV. Ive done, or the internet. Now theres a medium that lends its self, because they dont know its me doing it their actions turn it into irresponsible art then it gets hung in a gallery and the said label is attached and then the people who fell for it will try to legitimise their actions so they deny themselves learning from doing wrong, they justify it away, it doesnt fit with their self image, it wasnt them. So they commit another wrong in itself originating from pride, basically this art form does point out what is wrong but if that makes harming people in the hope that they are wizened by the event seem right. Well, arent we muddying the waters a bit by admitting that, it really is irresponsible because its blurs lines best not blurred and today look at the moral groups they have become too much of a minority or so caught up in their own ethos that they are inflexible in their understanding of others. They latch on to ideals and forget about people. Do you want them to employ harm in the hope of their progress as a doctrine?

Besides how much stuff do you think I do that I get away with and tell no one about, heaps. Thats true irresponsible art societal change for the worse without letting on that its some jape. If people wont think about their daily actions then the destruction of daily life can be easily achieved. Those groups call me a terrorist and want me locked up, but they dont understand, the problem with me is that people swallow a lot of bullshit and are too disconnected from the effects of their actions to realise they are fucking every thing over. At the same time people take things to serious and really ort to lighten up. Yes as the creator of the movement youve received allot of hate from those groups whats your reaction to their reaction oh I wouldnt really call myself creator...... no I just left property at the hands of human nature which created such a commotion with such a negative effect but it was an art magazine which created irresponsible art as a concept. I just built a testament to man which contributed to it but without a name this art form doesnt exist and without peoples negative action it doesnt exist and these moral groups shit, they are better than me at this creating believable lies to determine some acts immoral. Their response is certainly irresponsible as they devote time to thinking up immoralities, or sin, they arent happy with their lives unless theres something to rage at and demonise. Its humorous to think that so called moral voices would do that to harm me and I sometimes have helped them by confirming and denying rumours, Ive certainly blurred the myth further to my own end, drawing interest toward me because people like filth. I like the moral groups; they certainly provide the most passionate response, which makes them good ends to use for promotion. Is it political? No the lefties used to idolise me because I really caused some chaos in the business sector but then I turned on the activists in some of my gags they got burnt called me a fascist lackey in the press. So I pretended to roll over to the other side you know market products, sponsorship the whole shah-bang. Ad campaigns with sweat shops for Nike. The whole we screw everybody over (shrug) public dont care because they are saturated with it, admitting it in their ads then having it happen. The information didnt free people. People brought twice as much Nike as ever. You know for the irony and shit. Some even thought Nike was against sweatshops because of the ads. Some brought shoes because they liked Nikes honesty, others didnt care or found the ads funny. But business eventually got it as well. The whole is it healthy? exhibition I did with random products and newspaper ads, my lawyers just got me out of that one, apparently if you print fiction in certain places youre liable. Good thing the Internets still totally unregulated. Hell companies conduct similar biased research all the time. You seen the news these days its all just promos now. Any article which starts with scientists have discoveredwell whose scientists. Its a vague appeal to authority and everyone buys it.

Do you consider yourself to have a negative world view, judging by what you said you dont hold much stock for the human race? No not really I operate from some belated hope, mixed with childish amusement. Basically the way I see it, the way modern life works is you have two groups of people. The consumers and the producers: The consumers will grab at anything you throw at them it doesnt matter whether its good, or good for them or not they will take it as long as they think they need it, if you can get them to think its quality (which has no bearing on workmanship or content) you can charge them three times as much for it. Sometimes if you charge them three times for it then it becomes quality and if its a fad they have to have it or otherwise they dont get to rave about it at parties. If its something that people are talking about then they have to own it or other wise they wont be able to relate to others. Its the perfect system. So you create a flood of preserved comforts to fill the gaps and stay the material nightlights against the primordial dark. Life for these people is like a never ending feast, and their only compliant is when there isnt stuff to occupy their life before they die. Every thing is handed to them so they dont have to think beyond which brand to choose. The educated consumer is the opposite they herald originality and obscurity, in order to put themselves above others. They thrive on derailing everything around them, hypercritical and obsessed with the past achievements of all things material. They see culture as something that moves onto higher forms exponentially. They live to criticise everything around them, demanding better for themselves, some of them are aware that culture reflects humanity, and fear that whats on television is a reflection of themselves as individuals. There is one thing about these people that pisses me off. They will never lift a finger to do anything themselves to put themselves in a position to effect change directly, in short they will never create culture, only bleat when it doesnt suit them. They dont have the right of compliant if they are too lazy, too cowardly to make something for themselves. They may even try starting to write a book, or have a band that never plays anywhere, but they wont follow through and push something into fruition, and theyll give out a lame excuse why. Half of them will vice away their chances, flood their heads with others ideas, then become derivative of the people they admire. Drink and dance away their spare time, a few might screw themselves out of the equation. None of them understand the sacrifice; you cant make something without letting something be taken away from you. What about producers then? True Producers only know sacrifice, their meaning in the world is derived by what they achieve through creation, its also how they communicate. The needs and form are individual. The only sense of value they have is their work. Often they dont get laid. Quasi producers use their work to get laid, or think it will get them laid. Like I said its a bridge to everybody else in the world, and worth is based on cultural impact not making babies. The sacrifice is that they have their own dream for the world and cant be comforted by it, to be comfortable is to

stop. A bit of a mens view on art isnt it? Well I am a man arent I, of course Im going to think like a man, youre a woman go out and get youre own insights, then we can get together and compare notes. The girl moved in her seat slightly, was that a masked pick up line. It was time to change tack; you couldnt trust a guy like that, imagine a date that was just a string of humiliating pranks and if it wasnt a fling, what sort of father would he be. do you worry about people getting seriously hurt? Yes, yes I do.....youre gonna love me......a scoop just landed on your lap Ive decided to finish art for that reason. I mean its gone as far as I want it to go thats going to piss off a few fans who will denounce me a wimp for no going far enough but I dont want to be responsible for anything serious, my final irresponsibility will be to the people who believe in me. Hold on a sec Lynda said She flicked the Dictaphone off, and stared down He. This isnt a prank is it; I dont want to look like an idiot. No it isnt but I guess you have no reason to trust me, I could suggest that you write it with a voice of doubts, you know its hard to believe that this isnt another one of his jokes. Or you can leave it out if you want. If its true its too good to leave out. Thats my problem. Youre an asshole you know that. He couldnt tell if she was being playful or felt side swiped. She clicked the Dictaphone back on. Hopefully Ive gone far enough to get people to think about what goes for acceptable behaviour these days, I mean my arts lost its edge because now days any thing goes in society so I really cant go on shocking people because its all part of what they do every day, arts gotten to shock heavy and its vulgar because its nothing to this society which is just as shocking and uses all the same methods, the problem is that people think theres direction in art. Art doesnt evolve it just is it doesnt built on its self its the flaw of the twentieth century and the result is a monosyllabic statement maybe it suits the stupidity of the times but what Im saying is I cant reflect or critique the times Im sick of the times I want out, some will say its just another stunt that its stunt but this time the stunt is that it isnt a stunt

what will you do now? Ill focus on music my original intention for life it probably wont be very popular music has become commercial and the audience to uneducated this will be ideal for me nice and low key Ill never go back to other forms of art too pretentious for me. when will the musical material be out As soon as the other stuff has died down or never. I dont want to ride the back of previous publicity everyones looking for duty in life even if they find it dutiful to ignore duty. Ill undoubtedly either become a where are they now file, or go back on my word and take up art again, its what the ex famous seem to do. As she left He wondered if shed print his retirement, maybe He was stuck as an artist, whod believe him when he said it was all over.

Let me take you to THE BEACH He sat in his lounge drinking Portuguese red wine with Mendel, Domino and johns girlfriend. John wasnt around tonight because he was setting a sound system for the concert they were all going to. They were all talking about Hes affinity to alcohol, He could go for a couple of years abstinence at the drop of a hat but when he did drink he was like an alcoholic who had broken into a bottle store. He didnt know if his friends liked him better sober or drunk, but had the sneaking suspicion it was drunk. He was less likely to pull his pranks on them when he was drunk. Mainly because most of Hes pranks went way too far, for instance there was the time He insisted that Hinder drive He and Mendel up a small mountain while Mendel was horribly drunk and have Hinder chase Mendel down the entire hill in his car with his headlights on manual strobe and the car stereo belting out Frank Zappas studio suntan. While He ran along side filming the whole thing. Let me take you to the beach was playing by the time they all reached the bottom. Hey lets go to the beach tomorrow He said You always want to go to the beach He Mendel said I suppose I can take you guys. Johns girlfriend said She had a gift for stating things in uninterested tones that made a listener instantly thankful for what she was doing. Hey He do you remember that time you came over to my place to help me through a messy break up with my girlfriend Domino was the type to always have a messy break up with his girlfriend; Domino would probably have a messy break up with a prostitute, which would explain the credit card debts he was always toting about. It was just that Domino was far too romantic for his own good and had been dubbed Domino by his friends because when ever a relationship fell away his whole life often fell down, into alcoholism and depression. He always took his friend woes to heart for all his posturing he was hugely empathetic to his friends, sometimes He tried to take aboard their problems and sink down with them. He was also the least able to solve these problems often worsening things by trying to abate them, entangled in seriousness He would Flail about weakly. He thanked himself that he rarely had any problems of his own, he wondered does that make me shallow or enlightened. Yeah He comes around with a conceptual album Hes just made mapping out my entire history of failures in love cover art and all and he sits me down and forces me to listen to the whole thing and each piece of musics structure, key and timbre reflects each girlfriend Ive Had, he tells me. He made himself a coffee and without asking anyone else if they wanted any gulped it back and threw the dishes into the sink to be washed later and gulped back his last glass of wine. I shouldnt be drinking now my brains out off sink again its only going to make me sick like last night, my subconscious is sick again its only going to hurt me if I drink at the moment

He looked up at the kitchen light refracting off the glasses and stood stunned basking in their glow. Well if Im not going to be drinking for a while I might as well go out with a bang, I cant believe I actually hallucinated last night and it was her too and that dog. I think I can handle her this time Im going to look her in the eyes and ask her what it is exactly we are to each other Domino entered the kitchen and He spun around with a guilty expression on his face like hed been caught masturbating or something. Hey uh its getting late were going to miss the band again at this rate Sometimes Hes friends would get so rapt in drunkenness that they could forget what they were drinking for. He followed Domino back into the lounge and brought his hands together in a slow clap which He thought would have everyone jump to his command. It didnt have that effect; in fact none even noticed him. He muttered something under his breath about it being the clap and then started screaming repeatedly Get out get out Get out Everyone confused and worried as to what they had done hustled done Hes Hallway and out his front door. Johns girlfriend was about to open her mouth to apologise for was it was that everyone had done to He with out their knowing but Hes smile made her close it abruptly. A short and uncomfortable silence was followed by a reminder of what time it was in reference to the concert. There was a chill in the air tonight summer was falling away leaving He with exposed legs hunched in his jacket. Tomorrow might be the last beach trip they were going to make for the year. Summer was all fine and well but He was ready for the change in season rain, cold, and darkness didnt get He down. Brooding days trapped inside in the heat of home doing nothing, content, that was winter, an excuse to watch movies all day. Summer just brought restlessness the only good thing about summer was that you could fall asleep outside provided you didnt mind mosquitoes and that you could go to the beach and swim. They caught a taxi into the city centre the driver didnt speak during the journey and barely grunted at the money he was given. It was drizzling in town but it had to be. Every time He walked over a particular overpass it was always raining and wind swept. Walking in a storm in an exposed area filled He with a foolish courage that lifted him beyond any worry, a direct tap in on the pleasure centres of the brain, dopamine euphoria, an Im alive and thats ok with me. The storm front was really drawing in and the others with him were complaining about the fact that they had to walk over the bridge in this weather when He could have just told the taxi driver to drop them off outside the bar and that going out of your way to walk over a bridge was a stupid tradition. The wind bit against his skin and the rain swept and lashed his face like a thousand small resurrections, he looked down at the layers of motorway below him the lights buzzed and blurred as the rain fell in front of cars. The dinge of music filtered through concrete walls was heard out side He

rocketed forth with rare excitement through the doors into a wooden hall with stained and faded carpet plush seats a pub style bar and an open fireplace. Layers of peeling posters, cell lighting, black paint and masking tape held the stage together; it was a familiar misplaced half effort that warmed the heart. The band on stage was your typical pre-crowd warm-up band. He brought himself a beer and sought out john. Johns band were sitting nervously on a couch as they watched the opening band with retrained anger. He offered a sympathetic nod and sat down next to john. Geeze this band on stage got their girlfriends they should just quit because theyre not going to get anything else out of playing the no talent hacks. He noted that half a handful of girls were the only ones dancing in front of the stage. He took a discreet look at Johns bands girlfriends and took a mental note that maybe he should form a band or two. By the time johns band had taken the stage Hes head rolled shaky in drunken flashes. Hed all ready made himself known about the bar from his earlier assaults on the couches crawling all over them and mock fighting them whilst screaming and pulling forward rolls in a clumsy fashion. The management hadnt kicked them out and for that he was gratefully surprised and respectful. Johns band started with a segmented call and shout which fell into a burst of noise cut from sharp complimentary angles. The drums kicked in with a steady and simple drive and then the bass and guitar started to fill in each others gaps in thin twangs as the vocalist sung about book references, abstract concepts and how the audience should apply them to getting drunk. Bodies crushed and pushed around him as he blocked swinging fists and shaking heads; he briefly lost balance and fell amongst stained sneakers only to be picked up by the strong hands of strangers. There was something to be said about the camaraderie between dancing drunks. He felt at home in that crowd with no ill will, no need to stand out or do better. Every one was everyone else a moving mechanism that mimicked the musics form. He was tricked into thinking that the crowd was creating the chords with its combined will of mindless automatic movement. He yelled out something stupid in between songs a couple of times. The set was over, one of the mounted fold back speakers had toppled over it was a good sign. The crowd thinned out as he sat sweating through his clothes on a couch. Hed had the common sense to buy Mendel a drink so that he would bring it to He. It was thirsty work dancing for kicks. He wanted to leave for home alone so he invited his friends around for a few more drinks. They dragged their heels around the bar not wanting to leave even though there was nothing left for them where they were. It was like they hadnt completed their night and didnt know what was missing, or that they missed it. Finally they were all kicked out and a cab rolled them home. He felt sorry for the taxi driver John started complaining about how he should be able to put his head out the window and yell at the sleeping houses about how he kicked pregnant women in the stomach. The beer had really chopped him up, John was blathering like a man against himself, swallowed whole by his own mouth and spat out. He

tried to talk him down to a conversation about music and how bands now days had to be up and comers to be the next big thing to be popular and people only liked them before they got big so they could say they liked them first. Johns replies didnt make much sense and were off topic. They form a stagger from the taxi up to Hes porch as he fumbles the lock and swings them in. None of them need drinks but he pours them anyway. They put on songs, albums and yell over the music talking of things that dont matter and are quickly forgotten. He finally relaxes into the night his schedule for tomorrow put aside, they stay up late dance fall over each other He has an idea to wrap johns girlfriends legs and feet together in masking tape and tickle her toes while John holds her down until she starts screaming and He stops. Mendel locks himself in the bathroom and forgets how to unlock the door so has to get He to climb in through the window to let him out after instruction fails. Mendel decides to stumble home and John and his girlfriend opt to stay in Hes spare room. He turns to sleep also because his stomach starts to pull at him and He is tired. The sleep that you have when youre approaching hung over is a half sleep where you can feel the room and feel your stomach and still think of things you dont want to or dont make sense, is some one speaking are you talking out loud? He rushed to the bathroom to throw up but once he got to the bowl nothing would come. He tried to punch his stomach and push in his diaphragm, but the only thing he had was nausea and a headache He desperately had to sleep but couldnt. He got up and walked to the kitchen and skulled back a jug of milk, it hit the spot and He felt the relief of spewing curdled white froth and yellowy bile whilst puking he noted that the actual throwing up was quite relaxing a steady rhythm an alleviation of nausea and automated muscle spasms werent so bad it was either side that was hell. He blew some milk from his nose with a tissue and giggled to himself as the thought of a giant Neptune at sea throwing up into the ocean to make waves for you and me. Under his crinkled duvet he started to shiver with cold and dread, an anguish that had no shape hung behind his closed eyes. Every thing was wrong with him and with the world and his friends voices closed in on him mocking him. He thought unimaginable things, which made sense until he released what he was thinking about, but still made him clutch at the blankets depressed and scared, the voices chanted and churned with his throbbing head and then they faded to a moan. Two moans quiet and spread apart, heavy breathing, a slow robotic creak. With the horror upon him He realised what it was. John and his girl were fucking in the room next door; this sent He spinning downward into horror confusion. Bad timing, the blank gate within him had been opened and it offered a confused loathing. The only movement he could muster was uncontrollable patches of shaking, opened mouth head turning to escape the noise. It was quite enough for he to doubt himself was this all in his head, then the slow beating of bed springs got louder and moans and groans ran together and were realised from other activities Johns exited shallow breathing, the girls He started shaking again when it hit him when He had tickled the girl had he become some prop in

foreplay; the sounds she made were familiar to him. He sat up, rocketed to the waste bin across the room, and threw up coughing. Silence theyd heard him did they know he knew, He tried to get in to bed without moving the bed springs, tried not to rustle the blankets. After a stretch of time with nothing in it; He could not hear see or dare think. They started again in cautious rhythms. He didnt want to hear their intimacies and he didnt want to let them know they could be heard for his own embarrassment, There were sounds He hadnt heard before now sound he didnt want to attach to his friends the creaking sped up the sounds more passionate. Oh why did I have to use the word passionate in my thoughts? Anger flooded in How the hell could they do this to me. The shaking was from anger, then from guilt Im fucken sick in the head this is utter filth I feel dirty and poorer for this I feel like I can never be me again. He got up in his duvet and went to the lounge and put on headphones usually soul music comforted him with its slow beats and smooth sounds, but the lyrics where a poor choice for a man in his situation. A preacher imitating vocal came on and called to him about the dangers of love, mean while he was sitting in the dark fighting demons and shaking his head leaking out in all directions when all he wanted to do was be still and not think over and over again in detail in different ways what had happen to him, until his mind let go and collapsed into sleep. In the morning He got up to find john and his girlfriend had fixed them selves toast. There was a quiet air to the room as He walked in, the whole had he heard us last night or not thing. He decided to shove it aside. So are we going to the beach or not. Yeah man later on John replied It took most of the day to get things going; they packed up and drove up along the coast until they found a spot they liked with nobody around, a curving bay with scorched grass and rocky islets jutting out like rear molars. There was a slight wind but nothing to deter he, rolling out of the hot car with the radio still on wrapt his towel around him in a skirt. Bounding slowly up the dune He stood transfixed by the view and air. There was something about large clouds and so much blue. The warm shimmer and the feeling of heat upon the bare back. There was something uncomfortable about sunbathing; having to lie still and absorb rays always seemed to be a poor utilisation of time. He stirred restless while the others were just settling in. The beach was just right the sunlight and ozone gave everything a utopic haze as if paradises doors were open again to man, maybe Eden was a sunny day at the beach. It was all a deep inward breath. What point was a beach unless you used the water; He couldnt wait for it, running over the scout breakers before diving in and rushing up. The water was starting to cool; it was another sign of a seasonal change. Keeping his body under the water, He half waded, half swam out to the surf and waited. That feeling, the slow lap of the tide, awash all around him, the slow pulse that you could set time to, ocean time. He didnt have a surf board because he didnt want to look like a poser, even though there was nobody on the beach.

IRRESPONSIBLE
He was going to drive a truck load of beer into an AA meeting and proceed to get drunk earlier that morning but his friends had talked him out of it, the whole legal picture wasnt right, it was a good thing He had friends because he had no idea how far he should go with this thing. Hed just wrapped up a sign swap scheme around town, He was done with signs, Hed peaked when Hed changed all the bus route times posted on each stop around town, so that now they all suggest a bus would come at a time that would produce the longest wait. Everything He did now was enamelled in controversy so everyone would put there hands over their mouths to say oh how wicked. or old housewives with down pointed mouths ran the implied infamies from their strained lips. It was like He was the measure for infamy, the guy that mapped out wrong for everybody else. He didnt even have to try anymore; just walking down the street implied something via brand name, he was more scorned upon than any criminal. Its not that He didnt think this was all really funny. Thats the sort of guy he was its just that he knew he was feeding of negative energy and it was warping him. He was out growing all this limited wit the act of art had dealt him whilst telling the same story over and over, it was getting boring He had dwelt on change heavily over the last couple of days but still didnt know how he was going to achieve it. He spent a moment on self reflection Others think of me a certain way Ive got to change that Ive got to change the way I react around others Ive got to change my thinking processes Ive got to stop getting such a kick from these pranks I pull and the lows I have afterwards Stop being serious and hiding behind humour Stop playing passive in order to absolve Stop sounding like a self help guru mix tape. He decided hed have to reread some novels he hadnt read since high school, anxious to gleam any meaning from any source, maybe hed missed something. The new plan for the day was to go out to the country and do something there with Hinder and Mendel. It was a bit rushed but a magazine article had given He an idea about a new thing people didnt know much about. Lets go out to the country. That was all the explanation given, Hes two friends knew to find out when they

get there. Hinder was in for it because he liked the anticipation and Mendel had read the same article and second guessed what was going to be involved but didnt want to confront him about his overdramatic habits. They all sit silent listening to the car stereo He and Mendel staring at the scrolling scenery while hinder sat intent at the wheel unmoving with a goofy look on his face. Mendel tried to focus on everything as it scrolled by which made his eyes hurt, but it was a habit hed picked up travelling to the city from the country in the back seat of his parents car. This car was very different for him Mendel wasnt the sort of person to think much the kind of person that invested so much of there life on a car. At the same time he sure was grateful that Hinder was that type of person, providing comfort and space on such a journey over the mountains. It was three hours each way through the native forested foothills with huge patches cleared for logging. He looked out at the static coast line and watched it disappear behind low cloud as the road climbed upward. Mendel thought of the sun bleached interior of his parents car, they didnt believe in a car as an investment either, he secretly wished he hadnt been so stoic about the environment as a teenager or otherwise he wouldnt still be putting off learning to drive at his age, it was a pain getting the bus, they always came at a time that bore no correlation to the timetable. Mendel always felt a little self conscious in a learner vehicle at his age and had hated bus trips in between the city and the country when he was a kid but he didnt blame his parents for that hardship, where else would academics live aside from the wilderness, there was something Wordsworthy about it. They drove on through a back water town and crossed a long bridge above a gray river. Mendel looked up at the mountains white caps and the glaciated valley the river came from. They were well above the clouds now close to the top of the foothills. The journey would take them an hour along the top of the hills then an hour of decent Hinder stopped at a picnic area for a cigarette and to stretch his legs. Flat plains and straight road provided stark contrast for them and Hinder used his surroundings to push some speed through his vehicle. They headed for the township and he let them in on his plans. Okay were going to ransack some crops in the name of protest against genetic engineering except were going to ransack some organic crops someones years of research. So were gonna pay someone off whos finished with their research and wants some publicity wants in the news go to work on his crops document it then claim credit for the set up weeks latter, oh and I think its genetically modified not engineered Said Mendel Yep those greenies wont know what hit em. said Hinder You do realize as always this is a very controlled irresponsible act. Said Mendel.

Well as always were taking the piss on the losers who think we are legit, irresponsible art is an in-joke, we dont go around beating people up but people think we do. They rolled up to the research facility there was no gate or guard stopping them from getting in the facility relied on un-ambitious architecture dressed in white and pretty gardens to keep people out. No one could be conducting a perverted molestation of nature in a place where there were such pretty gardens out front, not many protesters even knew about this place. He walked into the building that held reception a little nervous about explaining himself to the receptionist. It was more of a counter than a desk with the receptionist standing behind it. It was a girl, no surprises there; old prejudices still held sway in many vocations and receptionist was one of them, a receptionist was always a certain type of girl as well. This was the part of the job he hated the most he would hate to have been drive out to the middle of nowhere for nothing just because some backwoods receptionist thought his propositions were weird. The first thing he said was to smooth the encounter via commentary on the receptionists station. Do you have to stand there all day? Hello sir, yes I do I guess thats the price of design. What lowered practicality? She let out a measured laugh and he gave his surroundings a quick glance, why did reception designers bask in tacky stereotypes? Who thought peach walls, water colour paintings and fake pot plants gave a client a confidence in the business they were dealing with. What can I help you with sir? What did she mean the price of design? Was it a knock at art? Was she going to turn him away? Or was it a gesture of alliance with higher art? Or was it a passing statement one that she didnt think about and certainly didnt think he would think about? Well actually I'm wanting to do a social experiment relating to media portrayal and I was wondering if I could speak with the head of research. Youre not a protester are you? No no Im an artist wanting to speak with an academic in the field of agriculture with regards to my latest project Youre not one of those land art wankers are you? No take land art and replace land with people and youre getting close. Sorry we get a lot of these land art guys in here harassing us theyre worse than the protesters but what your doing here sounds interesting. What sort of art is it then? Thats because I've remained cryptic enough to get a sense of curiosity in you. Im the guy that does irresponsible art. Wow you really must know about people if youre willing to second guess me then announce it in front of me, ill see if hes busy

Geeze, someone needed to tell that girl she wasnt paid to get lippy, she was just an unnecessary go between. He thought. He went to sit down but discovered there were no seats so he stood uneasily waiting. He straightened and shook hands did the whole routine on the young manager who was all teeth and direct eye contact. The deal was to smash up some G.M. plants and say it was someones three year research and had nothing to do with G.M., pin it on activists and make it look bad. Get the news involved. It all sounded good to the manager, who wanted his sound bite of fame and wanted a crisis to look good in, so he could get a job at a better place than this, the kind of large organization that had the resources to scout talent and the structure to lose an employee in the system. This manager saw himself living out his workdays checking his emails and surfing the net. But what the manager didnt account for was that this deception would be unveiled as a series of photographs and newspaper articles and some installations of dirt and broken corn for a whole bunch of people with to much money to twitter over. The absurdity of it all hit He the hardest on days like today where he and the others played around in the dirt in mock artistry while a small group of people watched and tried to understand what art was about. This was the best bit of the jape. He and his crew had dressed up like cowboys and an Indians and were pacing and moaning out mock Gregorian chants. Occasionally theyd effeminately topple a plant, or pretend to strain themselves pulling it out of the ground. Great care was taken to place the crops in a symbolic pattern, then they came back through screaming mad while scattering the crops back into disorder. All while trying not to laugh, at the suckers who watched on seriously, like the situation meant something. This was it, contrived formulaic destruction coupled with an in-joke that would be revealed later.

THE COURT ROOM City Hall was dimly lit and steeped in white marble and rich coloured paintings of stern looking old men; these were the angry headmasters of the city. He was close to a panic attack; justice to him was like getting drunk on the Old Testament with a chaser of Franz Kafka. He had been keeping today out of his head namely because things when horribly wrong in his life each time he encounter arbitrary powers. A judge was someone who had the power to decide whether you were right or wrong, what could be worse than objectivity. The whole deal sounded fundamentally unfair. He wondered whether or not He was the same person that got into trouble in the first place, which was three weeks ago now. He was certainly in a different frame of mind now, He didnt even think what he did was all that good an idea anymore, so why punish him for something he did under some other pattern of thought he wasnt feeling now. Some old man in a robe wasnt any more or less fallible than he was. He hated the fact that direct confrontation was inevitable. He would prefer it if the whole this was solved without him and that punishment was something fitting that he never became directly aware of but could link directly to his previous actions, it dawned on him that wishing for Karmic justice was somewhat ironic at this stage and He didnt like irony. A trial was a direct action it was the world staring at your face and jeered at your stuff ups, a trial forced you to be defensive, a trial forced you to be submissive and for He a trial had you in public defending the very crux of your ideals. The Sunday dresses were going to eat him alive. But He had received a letter in official letterhead charging him for misrepresenting a religious leader, clearly the Buddhists had taken offence to the weekend retreat Hed set up; trust Buddhists to not be able to take a joke. The advertising had said teachings by a senior priest of Tibet. What they got as their retreat in a secret location in the middle of nowhere was, a Motivational speaker with full showmanship and headset. The gag came on slow with meditation and prayer and the Chinese actor robed for a whole day, and then slowly boom lights camera action, it was great. Maybe it wasnt one thing but the whole effect on society over the years that He was to be punished for. Hes mouth was dry and he was having trouble phrasing his thoughts. He entered the courtroom a jailer in a vomit green jersey standing at the door of the court gave him a thug grin as he passed. The courtroom was empty and all but unlit except for sunlight. This was too odious for him; then again any such notion was bound to be amplified out of proportion by now. A group of men came in all fine suits and old faces; they sat down in a panel before him. Their distinguished faces held a taxed look as if worn thin with power. It all had to be a set up, it was

all too stage show. He eager to cut to the chase stepped forward so that the panel of men was the only thing in his line of vision. This is a joke right. He said In a manner of speaking, yes it is, but, however, I imagine you see a lot more of the joke in things than any of us sitting here. One answered Well in any case you know it is rude not to answer someone the standard questions in a situation. You mean who are you and why am I here? Another asked with obvious distaste at having to voice such an obvious phrase. What you mean to say He is it is evident by our lack of announcement both your circumstances and even our nature in this situation. But not the details... He remarked This conversation was far to wordy with little being said, both parties trying to solicit an advantage, He hoped the situation wouldnt lean towards anything more confrontational than this. There was silence. One of the panel before him pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth in a refined absent minded gesture that carried an air that did not suit the deed. Smoking is the most tremendous of filthy habits, elevating the right user to a highly affable status, whilst slowly eating at their health. Smoked spilled in fluent trails and ran up in wisps caught in sunlight, the group of mens silence was intended to derail He but, looking up at the way the light filtered through the smoke, they could see He didnt have the attention span for such a gesture, maybe He was oblivious to such a subtle tactic, He seemed more interested in a passing reflection than the unspoken doom theyd hope to convey to him. The lit cigarette was quickly stubbed out. Ur-Hmn Oh sorry were you going to say something. Hes eyes darted down at the panel a flash and aware. He knew the game. We have an assignment for you, we being some facet of society that distributes power from behind the curtains, to further our own gains, and beyond that a direction formed in an intergenerational plan. I changed my mind. Spare me the details; you want me to attach your influence to my abilities, in some shady fashion, like some sort of cooperate/political thriller novel. Well Im in you must know by now I seek out the very darkest within ourselves without care for the cause. So let me loose amongst the blood and viscera, let me defile myself towards your aims and so prove to myself that everything modern is corruptible.

Dramatic little chap arent we, but what you call corruption we call continuity. Whats to stop me turning the gag on you, I mean youre just another something to throw myself against. Hmn, you are deluded and if that is your reality we will have to impose ours on you, but for now we must promote such admirable traits as yours. Thats another obvious phrase and I didnt even have to goad that one out of you. Well then he seeing as you have this scenario scripted in your head, allow me to continue it without interrupting, do not mistake awareness for intelligence. We admire you He because we see a little of ourselves in you. A James Bond Bad guy clich I know, but the thing is, well knowing that the world is broken is one thing, knowing that an individual is nothing against it and that human nature will spoil any utopist response that same nature will aspire to that is that same broken thing. Youre smart enough to know all this but not quite smart enough to see a solution, and thats what intelligence truly is, not definition but understanding and measured action with results that match the aims. Furthermore, the aims need not be good or bad, just implemented towards the desired results. I disagree with that, its true I dont know what I want, but the aims must be good to invoke intelligence, other wise its all just cunning in guise. There is no good for everyone, because everyone has their own aims, so there is no universal good, just a map that reads use peoples aims against them to achieve yours, you know this map, and if you want to survive you will learn to bury that notion of good and bad in back in that graveyard of idealism that was the 20th century. Its as childish as not knowing what you want. Heres your assignment. The man speaking tossed a brown envelope to Hes feet. He picked it up and tore the package open. It read. -Sell country X weapons in exchange for natural resources. -Demonize them idealistically. -Pay off insurgents to commit an act of terrorism in our country in exchange for a power shift in country X that will see them it power. -Blame the status quo in country X. -Play up the Weapons capability; dont let on who sold them the weapons. -Liberate that country set up business in that country to extract and distribute the countries natural resources. -Continue to sell weapons to any new insurgency to insure instability and weakness to eliminate local competition via regulation for our businesses -Continue military presence -Give the media companies shares in this business

-Bombard the home population with biased coverage, entertainment and comfort to stimulate a culture of apathy. Hey wait a second is this it? Money and power. I thought you would be doing something interesting with the human race? Dont confuse originality with progress. Ok, but why do you need me you do this pretty well already, dont you have Central Intelligence for this. Yes, but its predicted this model will only last another 30 years, you know this models details, already everybody does thats the beauty of this model, but when there is the next big intergenerational power shift what will happen?, they may look back unfavourably, we have all that comfort dependency built into modern life and power itself is a big sell card. But when all this happens well need to ensure have adapted the system to guide future cultural change in favour of the old aims. Youre the man for the job. Foster that same destructive apathetic, helplessness, however, temper it will every decadent urge, every mindless jingoistic grace and you will secure the future of our nation. Use your intelligence your creativity to achieve results in this area. Whats to stop me handing this over to someone? Hand it over to whom? Its unmarked and youre a known practical joker. In fact it would be better for us if you did. You can leave now. He left the room, fulfilled there was now something else to drag down with him in his own pointless life. Now He knew he was right about life and how pointless it all was.

SOME TRENDY BAR Wow this bar sure is trendy he said well its my kind of trendy as well you know you can really sit down relax have a quiet drink looking disinterested at every thing, its a place where you can be yourself or at least the being your self that you want others to see Domino said Its fucken European isnt it. Jim said Shush its a crackerjacker this place cracks me up its great john said They had just stumbled into a back alleyway and up an unmarked stair case with a burly Yugoslavian bouncer who smiled at He in way that he felt it would amuse him to break one of Hes appendages. The bouncer said something incredibly witty to he that He found incredibly funny but forgot instantly. The picture of a perfect doorman shared many traits with the perfect James Bond henchman. Heading up a narrow staircase with mood lighting they had walked into a bar with further mood lighting, rich wooden panel walls and incredibly tasteful but completely passive jazz emanating from a keyboard player and a drummer. The bar was arranged into randomly placed booths separated by hollowed grey bricks arranged in a pattern that resembled trees branches. The staff dressed in formal chefs uniforms and moved in carefully balanced steps, they looked well trained in the way they interacted wordlessly and attended to customers with a friendly banter that swayed with just the right line of professional boundary. you know whats really cool about this place, theres no dance floor, I mean people could dance in that patch of carpet over there but theres no raised flashing light disco boy dance hole any where to be seen Above the bar was a multitude of exotic drinks in oddly shaped receptacles, with just the right amount of backlighting to inspire awe. He would always reserve final judgement for a bars stock of rare alcoholic materials. The bar staff seemed to put a lot of care into every drink most drinks involved complex construction with multiple strainers and precision timing. He walked over to the bar to order drinks for every one, the bar tender slipped him a menu before he could speak out any words. It was a small black leather bound book with an unmarked cover. Inside in simplistic but eloquent text was a list of cocktails he had never heard of. We only serve our own designs here sir said the bar tender picking up on Hes slumped brow But I think you will find that adequate descriptors are provided under the title of each drink sir the bar tended added He nodded at the comment but thought the advice was a little over the top, so He ordered drinks at random and returned to where the others were sitting. John and Mendel were frantically waving their arms about in over exaggerated gestures faking intelligent conversation. Ok Ive ordered randomly multiple drinks, and tried to match drink names to people. You cant bet on a race with one horse its bad for business. He looked around the various booths visible to the eye He had trouble describing the modern day person even when he was looking at them. The closest thing He

could figure was that the best way to describe them was that they didnt exist if you werent looking at them they were the dreams you forgot when you were awake, like symbol chimera. There werent any true trends anymore it was more sublime than that it was an unspoken goal no one mentioned anything for fear of quelling it, the world was rebelling with itself over again. It was like becoming an individual in the crowd, with the crowd, for the crowd, becoming the crowd becoming an individual, if that made any sense. You could wear anything as long as it was worn well. Hair, expression, clothing it was what cool used to be and if someone like he were to call it meta-cool or something then it would be destroyed forever or at least thats what someone like He would want to think. It was like anti-fashion. Some guy with jeans and a dark brown body clinging jersey with an exposed tshirt was talking to a short girl with short hair highlights and a stripy shirt. The guy was waving his arms about in an effeminate manner and speaking with a manufactured lisp. You know I think Hitler did us a favour by killing all those Jews I mean the fact that he found 3 million of them in the first place well fuck theyd be running every thing now days if it werent for him He said loudly Jesus fucken Christ now Ive seen it all its a fucken Camp Nazi He was looking at the guy when he said it the guy turned and made some offended gesture that made he feel slightly socially inadequate. The girl rushed to the wounded Nazis defence what are you some kind of homophobe or something where do you get off persecuting people like that He sulked down in his booth and muttered fashion in persecution with a sneer. Some guy came staggering up to the fop that had cost Him a minor confidence blow. The guy was ill dressed for the place and it seemed amazing that he had gotten in; he stuck out like a culture rash. This strange fluke began using the Camp Nazi as a crutch, and was putting a serious dent in his game. The Nazi offered no resistance for the doom apparent in this guys eye. The skinny man had a brow drawn flumping forward, intensely fixed as if he were conjuring the world into life with his face. It was a nightmare world to him. The frown faced man started ranting at the dandy. I work for the television, I make the documentaries, do you know what Im filming now, do you know what Ive seen, and Im making a documentary about gassing homeless people. I gas them my self, I hunt them and then catch them, then I throw them in a room and gas them, sometimes I just slice their throats, do you know what Im going to call it. Schindler's list 2, the temple of doom. When he was finished the stranger slipped of the shocked trend monger and stumbled to the booth where He was in after weaselling a shot from the bar. The guy sat down at their booth with the same intense frowned burrow of a face. The same apish warning signals. The man said nothing, a shot of absinthe in his hand, not for trend but for destruction. Most people made familiar friends when they were this pissed but for this guy it was all familiar enemies. The drink in his hand cupped in a thin flounce. A demented T-Rex move, the drink looked bound

to spill but stayed put as he waved it about not knowing what to do. The guy saw a storm or something, some ghostly flame calling to him. The drink slid down his throat and he did his best not to cough it up. The mess that emerged scrambled up around the booth climbing up over Hes back. The comfort zone for this individual had shifted to upside down and wedged behind He and the booth. Not moving, his breath a damp point on Hes back, frog legs in the air sliding down to the floor, on the ground for a moment, an expletive, trying to find his legs falling over again. The guy stumbled to his feet, absolutely draped against the bar by arm triangles holding him up like chicken wings. How does this guy get served again? Every body just claimed their own superior class these days it was a fashion show when you walked down the street. Everyone except for maybe this guy at the bar falling over. Social structures were made up on the spot and were weapons made to slay those trying to stay out of the game. No one knew how to have a good time only how to appear like they were having fun. (As much their self restrained cool allowed.) How did that guy survive it, why wasnt he being kicked out? After a few rounds john got up and shook his fist at the keyboard player. You better start picking up those chops of yours or Ill turn into fire and kick arse youre a lousy disgrace. He got up and dragged him back to the booth, moments later an employee came over. He thought they were going to ask them all to leave. Im sorry but an employee has just recognised you, We all just love your art, and it just doesnt do someone of your status sitting in the main bar so Ive come over to ask you if youll accept an invitation to the members bar and commentary drinks for the rest of the night. Ok just lead the way He said disguising a smirk. The next thing theyre in the members bar with people quietly socialising around snippets of dialogue around them about lifestyle items and whos fucking who float into a mush of shallow clamour. There are wooden slate bridges over water with exotic fish in it. The water is back lighted with white light which leaves dancing patterns on the ceiling, the booths sit organically sculptured from rock faces, as if the loosely arranged leather circles of padding and twisting metal central tables where a natural occurrence. Around the bar hung groomed humans that ran ethereal in a forced maintenance of casual movement. The bar was made of glass and you could see the staff in tuxedos and formal blue dresses wading knee deep in the water as they served drinks. Some slick back swaggered over to the booth theyd settled on and with a jaunty face challenged their being in the members bar. Bit young for the big boys bar eh kids bet you guys dont even know your martinis from your Rob Roys.

The man was well into his thirties but still thin and sleek with age lines smoothed over, the only age defining landmark a slight receding hairline. The guy reeked of advertising all over. Yeah well at least weve still got hormones oldie. He said. Surprised by his own wit, he would usually stumble something like that out. He didnt do well in situations involving direct conflict. Listen kid Ill show you whats so good about being a little older. The man reached into his jacket pocket and produced a brown paper envelope. Great thought He this guys going to try to splash his money around and weve already got it on the house here its going to be fun crapping on this guys money. The man sat down at the booth and opened the envelope. These are what its all about The man took out baby photos and handed them one at a time to He. When you guys grow up youll know what an utter joy it is to have these youngsters in your lives. I work really hard for these guys and well Ive stuffed it up with my wife weve split and that cuts me up inside I hardly ever get to see them but when I do, its all just bliss for me, but they need stability a mum and a dad and I dont know what Im going to do about that. Geeze is this guy going to cry He thought He and his friends just sat there shocked, they couldnt believe this guy, was he pulling one over them. They all nodded compliantly and made non distinct noises of approval when shown the photos. They didnt know what to say and couldnt believe what was going on; theyd been spun off loop. The guy gathered the photos up and got up. Remember what Ive said you guys think youve got it made, no cares, no goals. But when you get to my age you realise what its all about the man tapped his jacket pocket and left to talk to a girl over at the bar. They sat stunned for a while afterwards. O.k. either that guy is one funny mother fucker or a complete loser. He said What was he even doing carrying those around in a brown envelope said domino Bet its to pick up chicks said Jim Yeah I bet theyre not even his kids. said He

Keeping it Real Its terrifying to know a lack of logic and know it as logic with utter conviction. He laughed mutteringly through his dancing head and self-pity. Ward shouldered the dank plank through the main fuzz. This was his language now it held all the sense that was in him. Days before He had woken up sick with mucus and a head full of carnival candy let in the sun and pecked at by gulls. The gulls had become entrapped in its sticky body, and died adding beaks and feathers to the sticky form. That was about the time when he had decided to make a documentary about how unwise it is to drink yourself to hell when you have the Flu. He phoned up Hinder and Jim nether had steady work so they were more than happy to help him out when they found out what they would be doing in order to help him out. Jim would man the camera and Hinder would be a driver. He walked slowly to the bottle store and brought some scotch some tequila and some beers. This would do him for now. He cursed him self for not having the Gaul to buy absinthe on top but it would probably kill him and if he had to die buy the stuff then he needed it poured from a strippers teat into his mouth until he rolled over like some perverse return to childhood. He imagined a viscous layer of flesh growing around him forming a womb filling with absinthe and an unbiblical chord fused to his face as his vision fell into an excited black, clear and stark. He ran from the store laughing, before being stopped by the mucus in his lungs. This was an idea Hed live to regret with a passion. Still in his dressing gown He sat calmly in front of the camera and outlined the terms by which the documentary was being made. His delivery was carefully measured to illustrate himself in the weightiest academic terms, in hefty language and flat paced tones. He was smoking tobacco from a pipe he saved for occasions such as these; he tried to hold back the coughs his lungs made in reaction. He sat in front of a television, which displayed images of a fireplace flickering in an unnatural loop. He picked up the whiskey in a glass with ice that had been pre-placed on the arm of the chair. He put the glass to his lips taking a hint of the smell through his blocked nose. It was knocked back in a fluid sweep, the ice softened warmth slid down his throat. Ice clanked in the glass as he placed it back on the arm of the chair in a casual collected motion, his finger wrapped around it resting lightly against its surface. The next thing He knew was that a lot of the whiskey had gone amongst the flashes in the mist and there were strangers barking at each other rolling around on furniture spilling drinks and breaking glasses. Shouting incoherent babble

from their confused souls, running riot in Hes sanctuary from them, camera in his face. What the Hell is going on. A voice from behind the black circle full of inebriety spoke to him. Man you got all fucked up on that whiskey and begged me to call everyone over. Youre a mad man. Hes head spun out again, his face sank as helplessness fell over him. Grinning. I sure am. He reached for another drink and whisked himself away. The violation of the house could find him in the mourning. Shadows and distorted faces climbed over him.

The movie He walked down towards the movie theatre hunched into his jacket by a slight chill in the air he was quite excited by the prospect of watching a movie and was doing all he could to keep the word magic away from his internal descriptors of the situation. Then again this was The Imperial and not just some multiplex, this was a building with all the architectural trimmings, he couldnt remember the word for those ledge decoration thingies, but that was because he was too busy being awe struck by them. Spotlights hung in the sky darkening crevices in the building. The city council was going to knock this thing down like they did with every other point of interest in the city but then a lot of angry people stopped them in a rash of public opinion. He pushed himself through the huge glass doors into the atrium of the building it was crowded and filled with smoke. Giving the crowd a look over He found that he couldnt see anyone he knew and that it was a bad idea to arrange to meet with friends in a crowded foyer. There were only a couple of minutes before the film so He counted his losses and purchased a ticket. At the ticket counter the girl at first suggested that the film was sold out but when he asserted that he only wanted a single ticket for one she found that there was one seat left in the theatre. Are you sure you just want the one single ticket Yeah just the one single ticket I mean Im not wearing my usual yellow rain coat but I can assure you I am a social outsider and deviant There was a big social stigma about going to see a film by yourself. He grabbed a beer from the bar and scanned the crowd again every one was dressed up in their best and there was a cheerful amicably in everyones voices. Girls hung of the balconies above the twin stair cases that mirrored each other on opposite sides of the room. He headed up one the left stair case towards his seat the interior of the building was even more impressively intricate than the out side. Once he stepped into the theatre his head tingled, how the hell did they fit such a massive interior in such a comparatively small exterior? The curved ceiling of the theatre was painted as the night sky the illusion was so impressive as to make He feel smaller than a normal night sky did, perhaps it was the rows of a thousand or so seats filled with people or the columns and balcony windows lush with entangled greenery around the theatre postured to give the feeling he was in some garden coliseum. There were so many layers architecture that he stumbled to his seat wordlessly. Ahead of him were giant red curtains and above a three dimensional insignia of a world with wings saturated in dimorphic purple rays of light emanating from behind it. He was snapped out of his open jawed mind when the person sitting next to him engaged him in conversation. Shitt. This is my first time in here eh. The stranger was staring up and the ceiling and avoided eye contact.

Yeah I imagine enlightenment would be something akin to sitting through a whole movie in here without the awe of ones surroundings dispersing at all. Wouldnt that ruin the movie? Yeah but if you could enjoy all elements of both Yeah I know what you mean I usually have to see a movie around three different times to take it all in, one time I watch the story another time Ill watch the directing and cinematography, and the last time I watch the music and sound. Wow thats weird what about a time for actors Who cares about actors yeah I have to separate my viewing into different elements of the movie because I have a thing with my brain chemistry that doesnt allow me to process more than a few things at a time. Wow that must mean youre close to my original definition of enlightenment. He didnt know if the guy was pulling his leg with the brain thing but was enjoying the conversation. Yeah I got the very last ticket for this movie. He said Youre alone here right, so am I, I find it much easier to go to movies alone. Say for some one who cant process to much at once youre doing a pretty good job of looking at the ceiling, listening to me, talking and listening to yourself talk all at once arent you The stranger sneered to himself slightly but before the man could reply the curtains parted and the movie starting fanfare started. The talking and whoops of excitement died down as a scene of a large number of people swing dancing layered on each other opened the film. A man leading with two beautiful Asian girls cut in front of hes vision as they passed him to sit next to him. It broke hes concentration as He jealously gave them the look over. The man was living most mens fantasy, two girls it was a shallow fantasy but he had to admit to its shallow dirtiness. It had a simplicity to it he secretly longed for, not that the reality would be simple or desirable. He quickly feigned the idea by suggesting to himself that he didnt know what to do with one woman let alone two. It was probably a harmless situation that He had distorted any way. The movie was a surreal satire on the movie industry, it was quite well crafted, and characters were changing who they were so much that he was feeling carried away with them to their new lives. He was desperately trying to withdraw organising the events in a linear fashion, with this movie the characters lived in interlaced realities that were linked by threads that moved over time. He knew the movie had something to do with the multiplicity of an individual. Another thing he knew not to try and do was symbolize every weird thing that happened in this movie not every thing had to make sense. The movies only down fall was that the director had cast a female as the lead, this director was famous for making woman mysterious and unattainable, He thought this was because the director didnt really understand them, so with a female as the lead there wasnt much realism in the parts they played, but then again maybe that was the point that everyone in the movie was shallow. He wasnt enough of an expert on movies, He was always careful about saying anything someone who had attended higher learning could tear down. The verdict was still out on weather he would or not. He

didnt like the wankers who inserted knowledge into a conversation only to flex their qualification. As the story unfolded a movie studio run by cooperate gangsters were trying to track down a movie star who could bend the fabric of reality, they capture him and set him inside a machine which controls and amplifies his power so that they can turn the world into movies and reality changes with each new movie idea they release. The lead is a girl is protected from losing awareness in each change because the man in the machine loves her. She enlists the help of a creation from one of the realities the water assassins who are another set of gangsters from under the sea, that are water that has turned into a living substance. So theres this great composed fight scene between the studio that have used the machine to make them selves invulnerable and people made of water who were liquid and are therefore also invulnerable so the fight goes nowhere until one of the studio executives wills the water assassins out of existence using the machine. Eventually everyone, including the main character gets caught up in each new reality losing themselves as they become part of what they change. But then the girl reverts to who she was and remembers her love in the machine. But when she rips open the machine there is nothing but wires and electronics and the audience is left wondering whether or not there ever was a man in the machine or weather it was just another illusion of reality. The movie ended and a dazed He tried to process what he had just seen but there was no one to bounce musings off, he tailed others conversations but couldnt interject. His head buzzed. He wandered of his thoughts through the crowd and tried to find his friends in the lobby. He was looking the other way when one of his friends grabbed him in a familiar fashion, the kind that everyone is guilty to at some point in their lives. The poorly executed grab intended to frighten a friend and make the relief that it is a friendly face is at the other end of the menace. Anyone witness to it shudders at the fact that when they did it to their friends it seemed much cooler than when they witness it in the third person. That is the un-self-conscious nature of true friendship; it seriously weakens your cool. This gesture warmed He who had become somewhat paranoid that his friends had contrived a prank and were watching him sweat alone from afar; it was something He would do. He loved his friends. John because he was alive with intensity and sprit producing concepts and ideas, a wise guy that could destroy with a string of stinging phraseology which he used to become an untouchable strife he was astute. Filled with a mischievous grin, his enjoyment and sorrows in life were tied to Hes. They took the same pleasure and pain out of the same stuff and were natural friends. His small skinny kid features had beady eyes that shone though uncombed hair. He loved to torture him promoting terrors John was good natured enough to enjoy tricks like incomplete sentences. He reasoned He was only helping along the drugs natural effects helping them along with their reality bending ways. He worried in humour that john would become addicted to He. A rare respect shone though hes actions and manner to him, there was cunning behind Johns words that demanded such a feeling and confronted the listener.

He had noticed this and this was why they got along He messed with him every now and then, but his was mainly because of johns boyish kid brother appearance. There was an air of mutualism between the two. Jim on the other hand He was consciously trying to change by letting Jim think that He was consciously changing him. Jim was for every one the generic unfortunate example a melancholy moron, his very appearance poured out his sad soul. Unshaven, chubby, with drooping flaps under depressant eyes, he had talked himself into the teenage cool of sorrow and never dug himself out of it Jim wrote bad poetry and tried to use women who always seemed to end up doing a versa to his vices. Jim was unsuitably proud of leaving girls he loved for what he saw were romantic and literary reasons, imprinted on by a book or song lyric. Jim may have appeared dejected but at the same time he had a high opinion of himself and everyone kicked the wounded dog. It was a group thing singling out the easy meat because they saw him as dismal when he had little reason to be aside from being epitomized completely. He had to stop giving Jim a hard time it was making things worse, Jim wasnt a bad guy really he just took himself too seriously in the wrong areas and that may have been Hes fault for encouraging it. At the same time Mendel was becoming changed by He because He was talking him into thinking they were changing Jim. This summed up the one-up-man-ship games they played with each other. Mendel held the most contempt for Jim for some reason so He was currently exploiting that. Mendel could turn almost any situation into a cynical phrase and as most people who were on their way to a doctorate based on maths deservedly pretentious and insane. However unlike his peers could appreciate art not that there was anything that Mendel took totally seriously. Mendel played every thing straight but had developed a humour for every thing when originally Mendel took offence to it and He took credit for the change They were a couple of decadents with a handful of parlour games, He tried his hardest to keep up. Domino was not quite as well known by He quiet reserved yet visually eccentric, he quietly related to everyone with few words, as a result everyone had different takes on who he was, it was like he was still trying to find his place in the group. Amongst his loud, egocentric, opinionated friends he stood out with his gentile soul. He deep down took remarkably little merit for his own actions, marking the initial influences from his friends He wanted to understand the mechanics of people and their interactions, if only to properly explain himself, if only the world new who He was like his friends did. He hung out in town to the small hours of the night talking with his friends about what the movie meant, and then continued it with drinks at various venues in town. Soon it was getting close to daylight. He departed from company and thought of the past on his way to the train station.

There was a childhood friend that no one would believe existed, who was a comical a lovable psychotic that had admitted to setting cats on fire and created conspiracies involving female rapists the aids virus and organizations dedicated to mixing the worlds ethnicitys resulting in mentally retarded babies. Every one of his friends thought it was a made up anecdote, but then again He never believed Mendel when he claimed he dreamt of werewolves, who really dreams of werewolves? He wondered where the guy was now with life skills such as these. He smiled to himself as He reached into his pockets fingering the exact change need to pay the fair based on the tactile differences between the different coins and handed the fare for the train guard, who mistook the smile for genuine friendliness towards him, responding with a smile in return. Waiting for the train, He found himself pleased that He had accidentally made someone happy reminding him of a conversation He had once with Mendel and Domino on a darkened country road, over gale force winds. It concerned good deeds and Mendel and Domino had suggested that there was no such thing because ultimately we were all driven by pre programmed results that drove us to action either because it could benefit us or it would be troublesome if we didnt which was self serving. He responded by pointing out that an accidental action or an intended evil that mistakenly did good was the true selfless act because it did good without any motives of moral, emotional or material benefit. The brightly lit station singed his dead eyes as He looked up to the station clock; He decided to look upon his wait as a spiritual deed, some meditative test of patience. The blazing lights seemed to dull things with their clinical effulgence and drew attention to the unkempt nature of his surroundings. The train groaned and wailed into the station with great strain in its last journey before it was replaced by the day train. He hopped on the train thanking the softened light inside and took a seat immediately sticking his finger in a hole in the vinyl seating where the foam was exposed and pulling out as mush foam as He could absentmindedly before He reminded himself of the heavy fine imposed to prevent vandalism. The city was connected to the outer suburbs by a series of trains extending like finger in all directions, the city and suburbs rested between the sea and a mountainous range. The mountains often caught clouds in their heights that brooded perpetually and sometimes shed wraith on parts of the city. Green bush reserve and parks dissected the city along the narrows where the foot hills nearly met the sea. To the left of the city the coast stretched on miles beyond and to the right of the city was were He lived the foothills widened and joined with the sea the coast turning into cliffs and where the rich lived perched. The cliffs were well known for the brilliant flowers that hung covering them. He lived on a slight rise near the reserve before him lay sprawled suburbia to the ocean, lined up directly before him lay rows of order marching into the sea. He was looking forward to home to climbing into bed and sleeping.

He suddenly realised He was moving as He looked out the carriage window and felt a forward lurch. Outside the mist swirled repelled away from the speeding train in wisps of silk the random noises of the train spluttered out sinister discordant whines drones repetitive chugging and lulls that swirled in intensity He realised the train noises in the night that sounded trough the sleeping streets and splashed against peoples homes the sounds invading their sleep leaping into their subconscious distorting their dreams with the drudgery of their commute to work the streetlights danced over his face as they blurred into a constant stream outside. He was reminded in his thoughts of Pavlovs experiments with his dogs and in the stimulus business of art had come up with a theory that canned laughter could produce a programmed response making any thing that was accompanied by canned laughter funny so He tested it out on some of his friends by mixing some stock footage of Nazi death camps and acts of cruelty to animals the canned laughter had the usual effect of making them laugh and the film a sickness for their laughter at the same time. He was sure that if He could have gotten his friend to ever see the footage again another couple of times or so perhaps even include hallucinogens He could get his friends to actually think persecution of minority groups and cruelty to animals was funny. His friends told him not to show it to anyone else because it was offensive. The train was passing the industrial area and He winced at the sudden light that flooded the carriage and as his eyes adjusted to what met his eyes a scene of lit smoke stacks bellowing into the light, machines grinning slowly beyond the red brick factories. A huge glass complex covered with cryptic insignia a company preferred a symbol rather than words; He found the behaviour disturbingly tribal. The industrial zone cut off suddenly and He relaxed again to the darkness and outlines of trees entwined with mist, another track ran parallel to the one He was on the train slowed to a crawl as another train pulled up along side it He curious to see the occupants hoping to catch an eye of the first wave of suits commuting to their vocations and give them a smirk to reaffirm how much He was better off But what greeted him during the seconds that the carriages were aside before they sped off in separate directions into the mist and night was a perverse scene of sinking horror The lights in the parallel carriage flashed twice in long bursts, its seats crowded with suits, but to Hes dismay they were horrible mutations. They had an obvious lack of design for reality; they were too hideous to be real. It stunk of surrealism and faeces, the suits had sagging blanched and pale buttocks for faces that farted and sputtered out chatter, one shat diuretic brown stream onto the paper it was reading and hastily wiped its arse with a tissue that it shoved back into a pocket, one turned toward He and did what only could be described as looked at him with an arrogant air.

The scene was dispersed in its brief intensity with a flash that left He wondering its place in reality. He sometimes had trouble differentiating but something struck him, He felt he had witnessed had been to adamant this time there was not enough doubt this time He had to take it up with someone He looked around his carriage desperate to find another soul and find weather or not the experience had been shared usually He would be to reserved to propose a question to a stranger fearing the unexpected reaction He never asked certain things of people He didnt know but this time He had to There was another member of this carriage the sole other member of the carriage the only other soul that He could converse the situation He was sharing the carriage with a gaunt pointed face a prominent nose and cold blue eyes accompanied with full Victorian dress with mid cut jacket vest loose pants all an aqua blue velvet He caught his eye the man producing an ambiguous expression that embraced flickers of acknowledgement sadonicism and intellectualism and carried himself with a formal withdrawal from every thing and an inquisitive eye with a manner of a professor of some obscure offshoot from a well established branch of intelligencia The sight of him made Hes head spin as He attempted to rise supporting himself on a pole as He stood in an attempt to approach him instead finding his body weak as He clung to the pole flaying to the pulsing on the train the strange man stood tipped his hat to He exposing blonde hair slicked back stopping before replacing the hat on his head to mop his brow with a handkerchief that had been produced from one of the coat pockets slipping it back in a pocket and readjusting the hat the man conducted himself with an utter refrain in all actions that was probably a notion of class His actions and appearance placed a heavy feeling of dj vu within He lightly dusted with a hidden tinge of fear that spun He downward The man materializing a fob watch from inside his coat as Hes eyes swung shut and He hit the floor unconscious.

Personified world He woke sitting upright in a chair in his lounge thrown into frightened shivering by the person facing him. In a chair opposite to him was the exact same person who tormented his dreams, she stared at him with a disinterested gaze she was running her fingers though her black hair at the back of her head. He was senseless, trying to conceal the confused anxiety he was feeling. oh god, its her, whats she doing, is she just trying to lull me to augment the terror with silence so bad Ill want her to strike me down, damn I dont even know if shes hostile toward me, but I dont want to communicate with her I dont want to hear her voice. I dont think I could stand it, I want to punch her. Im not dreaming ether I mean my dreams have tricked me before but this feels and looks so real, what the hell is real now that she seems to exist, I dont think I can stand this. He got up, trying to edge away, she stood also. This sudden movement sent He spinning mad, stuck been action forward and backward, despondently looking around what seemed to be his lounge for a glimmer of salvation, if He sat back down would He be averting calamity or ruining escape. He decided he would rather sit than run He needed to find out what was going on before making any decisions; He couldnt show her the advantage. "The train, that guy what does he have to do with her, no, yes that did happen as much as I know this is happening now." He sat down and looked at his feet preferring to not look at her, he didnt care any more if she would surprise him by striking him down, it was too much to look at her in the flesh. His eyes decided otherwise, he became compelled to study her more thoroughly to try and find her attitude to him He looked up, her expression had eased to a self-satisfied smile, a wave of tension lifted from him. Outside what he thought was his room was a tiered viewing platform, from an outside perspective the room was a transparent suspended cube that He and the girl were in. There were several layers of seated men observing and writing into note books, one of the youngest among them was the person He had seen on the train, the young man got up and walked out of the room. He had given up trying to make sense of the situation he was in and had moved on to trying to figure out how much He dictated it, all with out conflict or communication of course. However, He soon realized he wasn't going to know how much control he had until he knew what was going on. He decided the best thing to do what to speculate until he found out what was happening. The young man mentioned earlier appear at Hes door and placed himself next to

the silent girl. This isnt a very funny joke. He said his voice wasnt as strong as Hed hoped. It isnt a joke. The man said. Listen who put you up to this, no good will come of you threatening me. Right, Im sorry that sounded a bit menacing under the circumstances, it wasnt my intention to threaten you, youre quite safe. Ive been abducted by a girl that has threatened me all my life, thats about how safe I am. Youve been inducted not abducted, Im sorry this doesnt happen every day for us, you have us at a loss as to how to break it to you, well actually it hasnt happened at all before, not since the beginning. Inducted to what, what doesnt happen, what beginning? He youre a God. What, so this is a cult, I dont know how you got to look like her but judging by this room youve done your homework, this is what people like you do to famous people like me, you abduct them, brainwash them and then you suck the life out of them. You dont believe me, of course you wouldnt, given youre past experiences, theres no reason to believe me. Well I have no hope that youre capable of reason, Im guessing this is the part where, you suggest crystal worship, unicorns with spider legs and spaceships. Youre, a God, a new God. Youre a mental, a real mental. Listen at least would you. Ok, humour me. Technically everything in existence is a God; err; now Im self conscious, that does sound a bit new age doesnt it. He nodded at the man and the girl gave him a smile, her head cocked to one side as she stared though him, she flicked her hair slightly and he found himself looking away. He found himself thinking This is how they do it they send out the pretty girl first to soften you up. She said He blushed, so that was what her voice sounded like. Thats a stereotypical trick for someone who can read minds. The Doctor replied for her. She cant read minds but she knows you in another sense, what quality you hold, what rules you live by. Because youre the girl with black hair. Trying to address her directly. Oh, no Im sorry havent even introduced you to her yet, how you could trust me, Im not even observing the rules of fundamental civility, Shes control and Im Doctor... Control thats not a girls name. Sexist. The doctor replied, redirecting any of Hes attempts to talk to her. Control, what like God of stuff happening the way you want it to.

Well, its a bit difficult to explain really, like fate but a little bit more flexible. Say youre a certain person, youre going to act a certain way, learn from certain mistakes, thats her quality control. So what Am I god of then. None of us know, thats the problem. Wait a sec you dont know me, but you just said she did. Well She knows all your properties, just not what they mean, theres no name for it yet and you arent you yet in that sense, its youre future actions that give you a name. But if she knows me in that way then she knows my future actions. If you were mortal She would, but gods tend to make their own rules, say youre the representation of a universal power, but you dont exist yet now, so theres no definition available because you create it, your future actions dont mean anything yet, because the definition for them is missing until, you create the concept for it. So you lot know everything that happens before it happens but not what context to but it in. We Dont just know we make sure everything that happens, happens, some one else creates it, someone else tries to thwart the rules and have something random happens, someone else tries to compliment them, and the result of all these complex relations is reality itself. What? Well everything in existence is a representation of the quality it posses, people like us we are eternal concepts necessary for the universe to function, and the humans they are imperfect ideas, transient dreams of thought in the minds of an eternal, once the idea has been fleshed out once it has served its function, it is replaced by a superior function, they are their own ideals, and that is how the universe develops, moves on, staves of stagnancy. That seems like an unnecessarily complicated way to run things. The walls of the room changed substance and He realised He wasnt where He thought he was. A tiered panel of shaded paces looked upon him with a clinical cool, an ancient cool, and the smell in libraries. Does that make you against the status quo and if so what if anything would you do to simplify matters. He bolted up out of his chair and made for the door, which had been left unlocked. One or two psychos that had deluded themselves into thinking they were God was manageable but a whole panel, each to reinforce their flawed thoughts with cohesion of collusion, this was bad. The presentation was too slick for your average cult; maybe this was TV, or worse a rival artist trying to out stage him. If so He was looking pretty stupid right now, but he couldnt risk it, godhood was a dangerous delusion. The idea that everybody was no more then an ideal, that sounded allot like the like a moral get around. Behind the door it seemed like the back of a stage or a space between walls,

props were lent against walls and boxes clustered the floor. He didnt have time to pay attention to the details, all he had time to take in was left or right, the decision only supported by the hope of chance. It was corridor, a big long one, he listened to the uproar of disagreeing voices behind him fading with distance, disagreement was a good sign, and they hadnt decided to go after him yet. The scale of this corridor was ludicrous, it didnt seem to end. It didnt seem to get much use either, except for a dumping ground. The walls werent maintained; as a result they were a map of peeling wallpaper paint and water damage which changed every few paces. There was dust and scraps all over the floor, the varying light made this straight line sprint a maze of hazards. He passed though a dark spot were the light had been knocked out and stopped for a moment. He had been running in the same straight line for what He thought was fifteen minutes and wanted listen for sounds of chase desperately trying to subdue his panting so he could hear beyond it, his hyperactive breath receded into an unutterable silence He dared to let out a breath noticing a slight shiver in the cold air; he heard a muffled clank sound echo past him reverberating onward down the corridor. Distant voices sounded from behind him and muffled barking they sounded like radio jabber abstracted from four rooms away. He knew he had little left in him and the sounds drew nearer by the second, He looked around at what was visible to him. "Side doors He said He was greatly relieved at the new options before him it redeemed much of his lost energy in a surge of hope, He could see five doors to choose from, realising his decision weighed heavily on his chances of escape and also so did the time in which it took to make that decision. He decided that it was best to make that decision based on the markings on the doors before him. He felt a horrible feeling come over him, he didn't know where he was he above or below ground and even then where was he still in the city? On the same island? planet? Plain of existence? He stood nervy understanding that above all this deciding to take a side door at all might ruin his chances of escape. He took a step in a direction as if to shake off the plethora of useless thought He had to just react with what he had. He quickly surveyed the doors some were wooden, others metal, and most had no readable outcome based on their outward appearance until He got to a large old wooden door with a round brass handle, however the most important feature of the door was the small plaque on the right-hand side of the door which read gallery as if He had received a shot glass of hope, the first since he had lost consciousness on the train. He bounced forward toward the handle, everything was going to be fine this door would probably take him through to an art gallery and out onto the street He was pretty sure he was in an uninhabited complex behind a block of shops and his captors were cult loonies. He turned the handle stepped through the threshold and felt a step closer to freedom.

The gallery He was surprised to find himself in a green liquid that stung his eyes when He tried to open them. What He did somehow manage to make out was a shark looming up on his present position, in panic He let go of what little air he had left in his lungs at the end of his breathe He completely lost it trashing about hopelessly unable to open his eyes and not knowing up from down. He began to struggle bitterly for survival against a liquid He could feel and a shark he couldn't see. He thrashing became involuntary and He despairing noticed his movements slowly dying down his mind beginning to fade out. He jumped as something grabbed him He felt that surly the shark had caught up with his clumsy thrashing thankful the wouldn't have to stand suffocation much longer dulled as his mind had become it quickly dawn on He that it was not a shark but a human hand holding him by his collar dragging him to the surface. He panted for air wildly he was on a beach he was at someone's feet when he had finally finished gasping involuntary He looked up only to see the same well dressed young man before him, he was one of the people He had been running from. He's heart sank; he couldn't run or fight from this power so he decided to sit and find out this mans intentions. Which He hoped were more enlightened than, the era he had dressed himself in. "Are we done with the running for now, good ,now where were we yes imperfect universe striving for perfection that is the goal, I think with whats happened to you so far that you might be beginning to consider what Ive been without deeming it insane I think, now you will have questions wont you. Oh Im Doctor Sulphur by the way." "What!, no offence but thats a crap name, I Hope you didnt pick it. Ah thats the problem with permanence, you do tend to suffer when the trend goes against you, trust me it was hip when I chose it, it also sounded better before there was English to speak it in, but is that the question you want to ask given, that youve been told that the world is a personification of itself, especially given that you are, I judge, a little sceptical of that fact. Yes how do you know this is the way the world is?" "Well for years we have realised that we couldn't die, thats one thing and well we could alter at will reality to the point where our ideas became people who had ideas, thats another..." "Come on now empirical proof" "Well we have a machine I can show you later, I know you standards for a God are probably fairly high, but you must now accept that we have at least some

supernatural power, I mean the train, the girl of your dreams before your eyes and in the corridor, you jumped planes of existence to get here, I assume you dont walk through doors and find yourself underwater often, so just go along with the theory for now you can make your mind up later if we qualify." Do something, prove it. He Said. Now listen here boy, Im not some trained Monkey to do what ever it is monkeys do when commanded. Go on, prove it, I mean you expect me to believe without some proof. No I utterly refuse, learn your place boy this is the height of hubris. Sulphur was becoming flustered he paced and fretted and looked back and forth at angles either side of He, then took out a handkerchief and sat down in a chair that he had absentmindedly materialised beneath him. The Doctor looked up having realised what he had done. He restarted the dialogue. "So if this is all true, none of the great minds were responsible for their own ideas "No it was all us acting though the person, who is a representation of our hopes for more." "I see so every one is influenced by others or more precisely what others represent" "yes even though you and I represent a particular (as far as we know) immoral quality of the way things are, we still have to abide by every one else's qualities so there is no real power structure, only a structure of influence. "So our character is just a reflection of the thing we represent and it accommodates attributes of everybody else" "But the dominant feature is what you are; yes thats what Ive been saying" "So you are..." "Oh god of morality and chaos" "Can that be, isn't that a contradiction of sorts and how come your not two separate entities" "Well thats a story Once I was two people, but Chaos being who he was fused with morality to be, you know chaotic and all, creating me, I mean, all in all, morality was supposed to be a temporary concept developed from mortal to

mortal until it was no longer needed, but now look at it, permanent. I suppose you would like me to explain your surroundings.........well would you" He looked around despondently at the beach he was on before recognizing that speech had been said and almost another full moment passed by before his brain recognized the words. "Yes when I was in that corridor it did trouble me a bit not knowing were I was, it was a feeling I cant quite put my finger on. "Ah the feeling, yes well you get that sometimes, being a conscious representation of an element fundamental in all planes of existence including your own, its almost as if you get disconnected from it all for just a moment and youre alone, like being stretched too thin, isnt it." Doctor Sulphur stared out at the ocean as if he was searching for something that wasnt there, before clapping his hands together and rubbing them back and forth Uhh its always hard to formulate ideas into words, ah yes your in, currently, a gallery except right now your standing in the direct physical and mental embodiment of a piece of art one of the surrealists I think Paul Nashs landscape from a dream, down the coast a bit is the guys who wrapped the coast line in rope and fabric. Doctor Sulphur pointed up to a point to the left of them up high above one of the cliffs where there was a board and a wooden construction. Paul Nash, Ive never heard of him, hey everythings changing its not quite real its like theres a filter been but over what I see the textures different to real and can feel this disconnection and theres this um for want of a better word, foreboding, like somethings about to happen I cant rationalize these thoughts but their there. He spun around but the Doctor wasnt there no one was there. hello Nothing replied He suddenly found himself compelled into a run clambering up the cliff face running a mirror that was perched there mirror. There was a bird in front of him and a sphere motionless before the mirror the bird, He thought it was a hawk, it stood there motionless darkened staring at itself He stepped through the wooden frame to one side and looked at the reflection there was nothing there the reflection stood unchanging He looked down at himself nothing was there He looked at the mirror the sky was red He looked up the sky was gray and blue. impressive isnt it Doctor Sulphur said from nowhere He not knowing what to reply to stared around blind as he spoke

what is it thats happened Its the painting thats what everything you are experiencing is, this gallery was part of a failed attempt to physically place ideas as observed properties rather than within subjects like we do now, its like you said too complicated, it was just duplicating everything in the universe. We ran into major trouble reconciling intention between artist and viewer. I suppose me not having physical form is because of the painting it doesnt incorporate the viewer in that way, this isnt fun, could we go, Im putting on a brave face but Im getting a little panicky about not having a body. How come the affects controlling reality were gradual? Ok lets go, ah this way He, yes, Once again its the way the painting was designed that way when you experience it in a normal gallery you are slowly drawn into its landscape you can move around in this one, with some art in this gallery your stuck in one perspective you see the conditions are totally induced by the art so you are totally subject to what it throws at you, that is why we must be careful in here no to wander into an art that traps you for infinity, drives you insane or kills you, weve lost some stuff into some of the pieces in here, at any rate your mind is still fresh to this new world its found, so it wont take much to hurt you mentally, so hopefully we dont run into anything like finding out what it feels like to be an aesthetic or abstraction or flattened ambiguous and existing in every frame of movement all at once What was the first piece.......the one with the shark Ahh sorry about that it was Damien Hirsts the physical impossibility of death in the mind of some one living as you probably have gathered from the title there was no real danger, it just, rather violently, tried to get you to examine your fear and mortality you came into that piece because of what you were thinking as you stepped over the thresh hold the gallery chooses a piece suitable to make for a smooth transition into its world I think well stay away from the violent stuff also although there was no real danger mental or physical with that piece its just implied. As long as we dont touch land art. Well rather than stumbling round this cosmic joke, you get the picture of what it does. A little of how things work and so forth. I think little is gained here. That cant be revisited later in your own time; I prefer travelling to the earth galleries anyways. Yes I guess only a dullard with little imagining would need a tool like this over experiencing it in a real gallery. Or in the streets as you would have it.

Your flattery has softened my mistrust of your intensions. He doing his best to mimic the Doctors pompous air. A door materialised before them and He followed the Doctor through it. He was about to ask about whether this meant for everything real there was a carbon copy that epitomised it and this was how infinity was achieved, but apparently there was a party to go to.

The picnic The sky spat grey spores of itself briefly, the wind sweeping cold droplets into Hes face. Hes nose felt cold. Thunder menaced with black clouds and no rain, scattered with unmoving orb lightening. It was as if the sky would break open and pour all over at any moment, but it didnt. This made He wonder if there really was a god called Zeus. The field he was standing in waved golden and dry, the wind moaned slightly. The woods to the right of him held dark green clumps, at the end of long thin trunks, shaking wildly in complex movements. A farmhouse sat on the horizon and was the only other land mark. In front of him was a strange scene given the state of the weather, on large cloths sat a mass of people talking and eating. He was not at all surprised that the gods that sat before him resembled decadent European hipsters; it made sense in a way. It wasnt certain whether or not he was going to agree with deity culture. He didnt trust earthly hipsters, so would eternal hipsters be any different, generally because by the time something was hip anyone could claim it as their epoch. Hipsters were a planed form of destruction by definition, like giving an idea a form so you could break it. It was the pretensions, hipsters couldnt laugh themselves unless it was the fashionable thing to do, when something became the it thing, it stagnated into self parody. A gust of warm wind blew in his direction, although the assumption that the wind was blowing towards him was a mere assertion of ego. Usually represent vie scenarios form the past can inform the present by adapting them to a current similar condition for a current situation, the sheer cacophony of which scattered any possible heuristics beyond everyday entropy. He was certain that within moments he would have a new situation and relative emotional response to archive. Another thing puzzled him, why did their dress not conform to a singular time period. He walked over to a near by group of people sitting on the ground. Those sitting on it had sporadically styled hair and excessive make up, one lay on her side kicking her legs against each other whilst fondling a piece of food with the same disinterest she showed He. She was wearing a woollen dress that resembled a toga but held one arm in a sleeve. Across from her lay an thin looking man in a singlet with suspenders whose face was partially hidden by a brown brimmed hat which he was using to keep the non existent sun from his face as he slept There was a third member whose face was obscured by her position her hair was fashioned into some sort of a roll that had begun to become unhinged. She was wearing one of those puffy southern dresses, with the frilly underside that formed a sub dress, the sort of thing that would probably held heavy

cleavage if she was facing him. She turned her head slightly and offered him a cartoonish whimper. He looked up again, at a sparrow as it flew by; a hawk flew close behind it. They zigzagged forward until the hawk snatched it out of the air with its talons. A banner was being erected across the field in the distance; it read Welcome He New Deity!!! It brought new understanding to the situation. This was another one of those stupid parties in honour of someone. He knew that whenever anyone had a celebratory event dedicated to them it meant they had to endure social alienation for the duration of it, somehow it created a partition between the said person and the people attending the party just because the person had achieved something or had some sort of event they could put on their own personal timeline of memories, most people liked this because it gave them a whole bunch of attention or didnt like it because it was the most attention they were going to get without paying for it and it still wasnt enough. He didnt like it because it made him different to everyone else, He didnt want to appear different or better as a person, his actions as a person were the same as every one else, at least that was his opinion of himself. When He did something he wanted to be appreciated for he wanted to hear that was a pretty cool thing you did and not youre a pretty cool person or better yet for people to not say anything at all and for he to know they got it or at least for him to presume they did. It was a fine distinction but He made it. He thought being the personification of some higher power holding the universe was the very epitome of this feeling. What was worse was that his name was set against the picnic so he would be associated with the guests happiness, sadness or boredom. The girl and the doctor gestured for him to sit down at their rug, He smoothed out the fabric where he was going to sit and made him self comfortable. Someone handed him some cake and a cup of tea. He handled them awkwardly with little interest in using them. This was the worst kind of party. So this little tea party isnt your thing your lackadaisical attitude is refreshing, there are so many rules to break when you have an eternity to make them. The girl said. He was still overly cautious of her with reason. He said nothing. Of course He doesnt approve the young always want to change what is old its how they measure them selves against the world The doctor said and He still doesnt have any idea of his measure yet The girl said, He mused so she could speak of her own accord. He lined up at a table filled with exquisite food, figuring at least he could get a good meal of it. A Japanese Midget in tux and top hat bumped into him aggressively and tried to cut in front of him. Of course there was a midget how typical the world is when its trying to weird you out, a midget is the oldest trick in the book, it makes you feel to big and to small at the same time. He thought. He had cottoned on to the fact that because these people represented everyday

elements of the world most of his reactions to them were familiar. Hey move it will you newbie I out rank you. The midget said Its my party little man. He said The midget was obliviously drunk and had a clear Napoleonic complex so He wasnt going to tread around lightly, he didnt care who this guy was it didnt pay to go around playing power games at parties and it was rude to show disrespect to the person the party was thrown for and it was rude to show such a manner to strangers, He wasnt going to pull any punches. It was more equitable that way, and He had to make up for staring at him just before. Ok, ok said the little man measuring up Hes posture. Ill take your place in the line if you can jump higher than me Youre on Said He. The dwarf pulled a jump that measured up to Hes waist, it was a surprisingly good jump but it did not reach Hes full height which meant He only had to jump any increment to win the bet. He bent his legs slightly and made the jump, but something went wrong, as he looked down He found that his legs werent there that they were prosthetic bound stumps. He immediately lost his balance when he tried to bend his knees that werent there and fell to the ground clutching his legs which had reappeared wailing. The dwarf and others chortled in refrained amusement the dwarf helped himself to a piece of cake, and spat out between mouthfuls. You see newbie the world operates on how much impact you can make on it; how you can utilize your part of the system to influence others and get what you want. I dont know what I want. Well it could be worse kid; you could be space over there. The Midget pointed to an obese hulk funnelling food at the end on the table with the look on a drowning man on his face. He hadnt seen someone so set upon food with sadness. It was a repulsive slight. You fat fuck you make me sick. Note how that bastard folds in on himself hes so fat, if we stretched him out hed almost go on forever, but he is finite and he keeps eating over time which is eternity, like a balloon where all going to go and spill out into an empty room. Partys over. The midget swaggered out. That comment drew a shock around them as if a heretic had been found; Gods that lived forever didnt like to consider how things might turn out. It was obviously one of those forbidden topics of pressing concern. What do you mean the worlds ending? Theres a small tear in fatso over there and as matter passes into nothing it gets bigger, soon the world will end, no biggie.

Who are you anyway? Said He picking himself up from the ground Im perception. The midget Perception replied. Perceptions a crucial element of the universe. You fag, what would you have without it, a big fucken mess thats what, people running around knowing who they were to everybody and themselves all at once. No direction no up no down. The universe would cease to be anywhere at all. So He had just gained immortality and now had just had it taken away, although the way the midget put it seemed years away, still there was a slight pinch of having to worry about an end date again. The midget drank more and more alcohol, and became uncontrollable, kicking, punching, biting, molesting. The fellow got up on the table and howled screams while he got his dick out and pissed all over the food kicking plates from the table, before losing balance and falling like a spring salmon in flight fell off the table, sulking off to a quiet spot and passed out puking with his pants still down. He found this all pretty amusing. The Doctor broke off from a conversation he was pretending to have with a lesser female deity and walked over to He, taking as much attention in as he did so. Do you want to come with me, theres a restaurant I want you to see. The midget instantly recovered from coma and stood beside them lucid. I cant think of anything cooler to do, beyond leaving my own party early. They walked off along the field, beyond the gathering and onward to the tree line in the distance.

THE ALLEY WAY RESTAURANT The forest was cut from shades of dark and light streams. Old trees, lush greens, majestic and foreboding, It held a still silence felt in the stomach. The quiet hand of calm reached down through the trees with out touching them, in some diffused stroke. Even the twigs did not yield or snap beneath the foot. Even the surly midget with his purposeful stomp stodgy march made little sound. The effort neutered by effect seemed to further his resolve towards impact. He considered a Snow white and the seven dwarfs one liner but thought again about a cheap burp of audio which would encroach on the natural hush present in the forest. The Doctor in contrast (if not augmented by) the Midget flowed in a manner that matched the fabric that fell down from his coat, making clear strides over any potential stumbling blocks with an old elegance. A thin smile on a thin face, both veiled from He. There was still the question of what exactly he was and something that did not fit was of infinite curiosity to a being epitomized by chaos. Only as much as a directionless entity could be kept interested, maybe it was his moral side that captured him to playing out the probabilities, still maybe such a principle as He could be of value. Provided Sulphur could ascertain what the value was. Definition precedes use, so a definition right now would be useful. If He was forced to react then nature could be prescribed, actions do not make the individual but they do provide indication through experience, because we act in response to who we are. An idea defined was an idea contained and controlled by its own nature, even chaos, which could be described as unmapped probability. The fact that every thing meant something didnt really affect the way the world was no matter what it was made out to be, if the fundamental building block was thought it was still going to leave you with a hang over hung over in the morning after drinking all night, unless you were still drunk the next day, it made wonder how being drunk fit in to the picture. An idea seemed a lot more flexible than atoms, but even thought is governed by defined nature of the user, and furthermore reality was governed by a string of subjective ideas rather than a universal truth. What a terrible pretence, He always knew he was better than the world he lived in. Now He knew he was cooler and less pretentious as well. It was a universe shaped from clay Geeks, who probably had intimacy issues or couldnt get laid, Communal solipsism what a vulgar world He lived in and it showed incredibly bad taste. The midget just thought of more drink and food, hated the forest and couldnt get a read on He ether. The guy seemed a bit up himself though. He was most certainly a matched value to chaos. The Doctor has been dealt a softening blow by absorbing morality. The move was supposed to double his

perplexity by fusing distastefully with a temporary and near outmoded concept that would drag on beyond its use. Instead it bound him to a code, not ever more diminished than the day they finally named him. His actions reduced to harmless social witticisms. Now Sulphur had even been trusted with responsibility in finding out what He was. The Doctors mind shifted in an indefinable map of thought. The conscience code gave him a direction to take. Too long had he played the insolciable. There was another possible problem; this He may be chaos successor, a herald for a new world beyond the shores of current thought, or at least the end of anything recognizable in this one. The world would always be imperfect for Sulphur as long as individuals battled for dominance in defining it. A person could set up a bubble of their own subjectivity, but it could not hold under the weight of others agendas and mismatched out looks. Every individual ideal reality would only contain the self, or at least Sulphur mussed this walking though the forest. They came to a wall of rock grown over green. There was a crack the doctor pointed over to unseen by the rest; it ran all the way up the wall thin. The doctor led them all on, through the wall. Light filtered stone ran up against them, the place felt old. They came to the other side, a grown over city, a woody ruin. It hit He hard how wonderful this place was, it had everything for him, it presented a forgotten end. A quiet old doom, civilization gone and its loose ends adopted for unintended use. This was what a place should be like, something thick enough to read into, with mysteries that hardly mattered in the face of such still beauty, a hint of danger in the peripherals, but all imagined entertainments, in this place that held nothing out against you. This was the unobservable end of the world, where the world remains intact and must live on without itself. The Doctor led them on through the rubble under foot, along empty streets. The emptiness left Hes soul full, this place was infinitely preferable to the jumble of the city He lived in. Maybe He could stay here for a while, to come to terms with his own immortality, and the apparent end of the world discussed at his immortal induction party. It was this or a mountain top, because from what He had read, immortals liked to brood over their eternity in solitude. He lagged slightly and the other two transfixed in this eternal twilight, climbing over a mound of rumble and steering past the half face of an apartment building. Its internals laid bare in a cross-section. It was a table laid banquet of what once was in this place, now it was something else for He. An object improved by tense, transformed beyond use into a thick indolent daydream, something for the soul in He, deranged but pure. He stopped to stand before it, romanced by the broken layers. He gathered himself and paced on into a section of narrow arch ways and worn slopping steps. This area was cooler with so much sunless stone. The steps He

made clattered off at odd angles. Peripherals were working over time, robbed of workable material. That known gut feeling, Hes ears were buzzing like crazy. He jumped, something caught his eye from an open door frame, before this moment in time the universe was incapable of turning anyone from horror to pity with such an image of wretchedness. The creature with the gradation of a child frightened by thunder, gaunt greyed face and saucer eyes. Stood in shock and awe of He, just humanoid enough for He to feel it, He crouched down to combat the fearful eyes held on him. Dont go with them. The rag child spoke. It had placed clear strain on this meek beast to orate any sound in Hes presence, yet it stared on a shifted slightly tiring to audify itself at the same time not wanting its presence known. They are destroyers, they will destroy you. The eyes stared hard trying to get the point across. Then the child darted back off to where it came from, a moment before the doctor came back looking for He. The doctor had on an arched eyebrow and a curious smile. Ah so you can talk to ghosts can you. He wasnt sure what to make of the doctor after being told not to trust him. Ghosts no, but a creature of this city told me you were a destroyer. The doctors face turned bitter, but holding the darkness back his features dropped back. Not before He could see a city destroying wraith on his face. Listen, you go somewhere and its not just you taking it all in. Your presence alters things around you and so you (and by you I mean just you, not an inclusive you meaning us or we) you can dredge up forgotten defunct ideas. Bring part of what something was back bridge the gap between then and now. So what does it mean for what it is I am? It doesnt mean anything; you can pick up on things that no longer have any use. The relationship between concepts is as varied as people, some learn to coexist and over lap, to change over time. Others either become invalid by other ideas, or they lose meaning in use. Why you can do this, holds no greater meaning because the resources you can summon are useless, its just a side effect of whatever it is you mean. That thing warned me

Of me, what can I say Im an instrument for change, if somethings broke, you go down to the store and you get a new one. That wretch you saw blames be for being un-dynamic enough to become extinct. The universe doesnt stall still for any individual. Its a great tragedy that some things dont make the grade, that theres competition sometimes for cosmic influence, but those are the dice. Where are you taking me? A great restaurant I know. In the ruins This place isnt totally redundant, come on its around the corner. What a corner to turn into; imagine the food hall to the mall of Babel, every smell and sight as yet unseen. Smoke vats wafting cooking smells, a thousand different odours intermingling pleasantly felt in the salivary glands. He immediately had an itching tongue. His stomach left at his chest in spasms. Such a variance in stalls could only be seen in a beggars hungry delirium. Some placed godly displays behind glass. Others opted for simple menus with exotic titles. The scale and design of the place was torture, He wanted everything in front of him, but would spend eternity eating himself into a dementia of flavours. He hoped he need not choose. It was impossible. It was all here and seemingly just for him, He could not see any other patrons. The Doctor studied his face, feeding off its over whelmed delight. Knowing from his past what it was to go through this spectacle. Come on I know just the place He, I know it seems to much for one stomach and two eyes, but the thing with scale and the way the mind works, well you adjust to any enormity in front of you eventually and ultimately expect more. Thus the true meaning of the phrase eyes bigger than stomach. Hey its this one here. The doctor had chosen one of the more frumpish stalls available, with plastic outdoor furniture chairs and umbrellas. There were laminated food-stained menus, with appalling pictures of what was to be served. Some times disappointment is just as filling He. The Midget offered. Yeah Ive travelled far to eat average food before. A shadow with eyes appeared in a wisp next to the table, apparently Casper was to take their orders. He couldnt read the words which were a blur of symbols, none of the pictures fit experience or any desire. Ill have number four, pointing to a picture at random. The other two ordered with more poise, even masking attempts at pronunciation with a self assured dedication and serious superiority. They even ordered a round of drinks for the table, which He was always to prudish to do at any restaurant. The small group of people (that apparently represented important and

fundamental principles of the universe) had a pre-dinner conversation about reality television. and sometimes I tune into the mortals current broadcast system and I say out loud, where is the entertainment, where has it gone. The Doctor had become quite animated after the first glass of what ever they were drinking; it kept changing constitution in the glass. Perhaps it was ambrosia that was what Gods drunk wasnt it. Maybe this was why the doctor seemed drunk. The midget just kept his course as an asshole. The food arrived. He had a number of small plates in front of him with battered treats and coloured ensembles of food he didnt recognize textures, smells everything new and dedicated in purpose. He began to shovel food into his mouth with fast darting hands in every bowl; once he tasted one thing He tried another, and then had to return for more of one taste, gorging himself in the process. The Doctor stepped in and interrupted him. Always remember He, between the food and the stomach the mediator must be the mouth. The midget began to pull apart his meal with words, disassembling everything because it did not make his standards, he had the waiters running, the whisps became a little more translucent in the face of his piggish tantrums, and the whole world had to be brought to despair because his meal wasnt what he was wanting. Combinations of food rattled along his tongue in complementary bliss slabs. It is a pity English fails in its descriptors when there is no shared experience, because this was a meal worth writing home about. The Doctor slipped a capsule hed mutely taken from a coat pocket and went about unfastening it bellow the table. It opened with a twist and something buzzed out of it, a fly of sorts. The winged insect buzzed about the murky alleyway air before finding an opportune moment to land on the rim of Hes glass. It then dumped the contents of its abdomen into Hes drink with precision. It flew of carrying the shrivelled husk of its body a sort distance, finding a quiet spot to performing a series of death throws. This all went unnoticed by he. He took a few mouthfuls of drink, it tasted like a lager Hed over drunk and grown tried of. The floor felt good, He hit it hard. All of a sudden He found himself drugged and helpless, at the whim of two

cosmic beings, in some restaurant, in some unknown corner of the universe. He should have followed his gut and not trusted that girl. Always trust your human instincts when offered Godly ones. Then again a causal curiosity and self assurance that wit can get you out of any pinch was also human as well. What the hell did they want with him? This drug The Doctor had doped He with, it allowed the subconscious mind to generate a field of reality around it, what the mind thought in this field was what was real. Not to be confused with a hallucination, the field was real for whoever was in it. The effects of an ego on the effected area lasted long after the drug had worn off. It needless to say it was a very dangerous drug. However, the actions rendered within the field could be interpreted to surmise Hes influence on the cosmic playing ground. If the Doctor knew the colour and the shape of Hes thought processes he may know what it was that was so fundamental about him. What the hell did He represent? What did He control? They had two spectres drag him into a side room, past the kitchen, down yet another corridor with garbage piled up and into a bathroom un-cleaned, undecorated and generally forgotten about, with water-stained magazines strewn about. There was a calendar of some place youd rather be than this toilet was helplessly out of date. They left him there for the drug to take effect, so that they could watch what happened.

A REALITY BENDING DRUG He looked down at the carpeted floor; it was so many strands of wool forming curled tufts .It made chaotic lines of scribbling darkness that graduated into light it sat sparse but at the same time was in a blur of stains and discolorations of collected dust. He was relieved that it didnt signify anything, that it didnt ask to be answered. There was a watch and tie on the floor, in his field of vision. The watch lay on its side in a shimmer of metallic lustre it stood between its own depth and the flatness of the carpet. The tie ran along the floor crumbled folding in on itself edging toward the watch it showed its naked threads hiding from within its own shadows. He felt a wind against the back of the neck and small of his back where his clothing did not shelter, he rolled over along the floor to see the winds source, a pipe in the wall. A faint sound arose from it carried by the wind and distorted by the shafts resonance. It was hard to discern the sounds but He could hear a slow muted metallic click followed by a low drone pulse that swelled, slowly rattling the pipe foiled by a short cacophonic burst off random trumpet notes and screaming. Meanwhile, He somehow saw the device making the noise at the other end of the pipe which was in another room, namely because he was in the other room with it. It was an old tape deck and He had just pressed play. He wondered exactly how he could be in one room and another at the same time I cant be seeing though anothers eyes because Im still thinking and seeing as myself and feel the presence of myself in both rooms at once Lying on the floor he saw a precession off three insects crawling in a straight line following one another across the carpet into a crevice in the wall. He moved the tape player from the mouth of the pipe and asked himself to play the piano in the corner of the room. It was strange to hear his own voice in two rooms at once. It was more than strange it was an impossible concept. He got up slowly brushing the dust from his pants and walked over to a piano sat down on a stool and began to play. A spotlight shone down on him as the rest on the room darkened. The spotlight then faded into darkness. He pulled up his shirt and took a huge chunk of his flesh from his chest which some how remained unscathed and threw what he had as far as he could into the ocean only to wake up in every bed room hed ever occupied, asking himself how did I get here? Wondering how his life has come to waking up in a bed room from the perspective of the different points in his life My childhood bedroom the one where I thought atoms would lift me up at night before I knew what dreams were, in the next house I knew what my bed room would be like because it had come to me in a dream I had in my first one. That was where I first dreamt her and now she real (wait thats taking this experience from past tense Im here now, no Im everywhere now what do I do when theres no tense) I woke up one day in that room and I had ejaculated in my pyjama pants after dreaming about killing her , I felt so sick I thought I was sick Id never seen that sticky stuff before and it had come out of me from a dream

about killing her what did that mean. That house in the bush where I would wake up to mourning sun and cicadas go upstairs into the lounge and listen to some fusion while looking out over the trees. My old flat where id wake up and stare at the peeling wallpaper and listen to a car garage across the road imagining the machine sounds were a giant harvester sweeping the face of the earth clean and coming for me. In another room that was less familiar, the curtains hung curving into themselves, with waves of folds bunched at the rail. Flowing down hunched against the ground in an un-matching vertical length and left a small gap where the joining horizontal widths did not meet the light that they were keeping out shone though, a beam of it danced across his face as he shifted footing in the dark. There wasnt much room to move without distorting the shape of the curtain, the cloth pressed against him swept into motion by a breeze. The dust particles swirled in the light and the gap in the curtains imparted with a slice of the room. There was something pink and fleshy on a bed of pillows, shifting back and forth a section of flesh sliding back and forth rhythmically. He at first thought it to be part of a human. Its form however remained inconsistent with the human form. It was long and cylindrical and oozed like it were breathing and throbbing immorally. He measured his breaths carefully but could still hear them over the dry sliding sounds of the creature. It paused for a second and hes mind flipped into panic but it returned in a moment to its ridged sliding. Had it noticed his presence? He did not want to have to find out anything more about it. He turned slowly to try the door behind him, turning the handle only to find it locked. He turned back again; unable to bear the cramped space he occupied He took a step forward in courage. The curtain slowly parted as He moved through it. The creature ran the length of the room disappearing into the wall at either end. It was just a horrible fat cylinder of flesh oozing in a slow rhythm. At the points it met the wall it bunched and sided in hunches of cropped fat. He stood mesmerized, drawn to it. He could see more of it but still it eluded description, the full body of its form was out of sight, He did not want to question its form beyond the confines of the wall. The room offered little, stained white walls of cracked paint and water stains. It smelt of sweat and mould. Above a moth drummed against a naked bulb until it fell to the ground where He was standing. He felt something in him that wanted to destroy the thing in front of his eyes, it offered no possible harm, and He just hated it. To avoid the repulsion of its image He averted his eyes to the floor, to the dead moth. Beside the dead moth was a blade, He picked up the blade.

The blade in hand, He wet mouthed and wanting. The blade came down and was carried by the hand into the beast. It let out a horrid milk curdling scream and twisted and writhed its way to death, sweating blood. It moaned and shivered, towards a pitiable end and eternal calm. He felt waves of saddening guilt, what hate that had possessed him passed with the creature. He looked down at his hands with blood on them. He was now a murderer, He didnt like something so he snuffed it out, smote it even. The Doctor had been judged by him for this same action, back in the ruined city, next to that great alleyway restaurant But, what did it mean? Was there a meaning? What did that creature represent? These things He asked of himself, but the answers werent there. All that was present was the act and inventing a higher cause was only a scramble to remove remorse. In this world that was supposed to be, life could be taken and that was the way it should be within the order of things. An individuals ill deed was instantly absolved by its value on a cosmic scale. Anyone could do anything as long as they were true to themselves and any reaction to that action was part of who you were as well. There had to be better than this clockwork doom. So this world was ending, let in end. There was nothing to be done but let things take their natural course and if He was that hand, then at least now he had the nerve to use it, to correct an error, for surely there was better. In another room a man tried frantically to make love to a pile of sticks in one corner. A man whose face could not be seen, only his animal actions and grunts of delight and frustration, the sticks were all clattering about. The man caressed them and reordered them as they fell, grinding and licking as if he could penetrate the wood and absorb it with his lust. The scene degenerated into dream logic where values were scattered and reassembled into loose patterns that only had any sense within the moment. He was glad for the change even if it meant a loss in cohesion. The man and his sticks was creeping him out. The girl was there with him, Hed wondered on when she would make an appearance, standing in from the dark. The familiar blade was drawn up as always, with slow poise, the dread and the hopeless hand hiding the head. This was now a routine for him, to fall back on himself, to the floor, edging away. The infinity of a falling point, that sharp conjunction above his head, was there even anywhere to wake up to before it struck death?

A BIRD SHOW Across the road from the Zoo lay a small community hall and a shabby bed sheet advertising a bird show was wrapped between two posts. Mendel and John stood in front of it taken in by its lack of image; they stood there silent offering inward chuckles. The sign came welcome in a day spent walking about trying to make a decision about what to do with it. Maybe it was the boredom but there was something about this sign that held some meaning to them. The mismatched apparent effort and sufferable results dramatically increased the value beyond the information the sign conveyed. What was someone who appears have no visual skills at all doing making a sign. Who then didnt put their hand up because this was the best the bird society had. For Mendel that was it, what type of person joined a bird society and what did a bird society show pertain? John wasnt really asking these questions as Mendel did he was just going along with what happened, hed long ago switched off. It figured to him he was just doomed to waste away a valued day of away from the store, he might as well be relaxed about it. What exactly was going on, were they trying to compete with the Zoo holding it here. The sign wasnt doing them any favours. There wasnt even much of a suburb around the area, Just the Zoo, and a bunch of home improvement shops. Mendel and John werent going shopping for new bathroom tiles either. Such a chance encounter they had to take. In the same thought did they really want to go in? What kind of person went to a bird show, one out on by a bird society? They walked towards the entrance, urged on by each other. A death sick old woman sat at the door on a stool with a pottle of coins. Another equally amateurish sign on the wall beside her, one that said Donations in uneven lettering that squashed up against the right margin of the brown card board it was displayed on, it gave a view a notion that the lettering was about to spill off the board. Why did people expect tribute before entrance, shouldnt it be validated after the event. It was a bad omen that they tried to get money out of a patron before they knew what they were in for, as bad a sign as the one that brought them here in the first place. The woman bore a cultists grin at the signs of life. John couldnt help thinking the words young blood and attaching it to her expression. It seemed every bit like a trap, a horror story. Something could well be taken from them if they stepped in. It was going to be loose change; if John and Mendel had spare change to spend they wouldnt be here. The woman shuffled her hips from her perch, largely no doubt in anticipation of the money these youngsters would shell out, she offered her chirpiest greeting one that was all welcoming. The men who missed open discourse with strangers by a generation turned their head to the ground a walked past with a murmur of a hello. She offered a sour twist of the mouth for but a second before regaining her social grooming as the two young men stepped through with out paying or acknowledging her presence. Shed been on the uncomfortable stool for most of the day and the first people to come by in a long time hadnt offered a scrap of company and they didnt pay. It

saddened her, she was tired and just needed a chat to lift up her sprits, she didnt get out much apart from the bird society meetings and she longed for the comforts of idle companionship. Were all young people like this, what was the world coming to, when one couldnt even be neighbourly, how could people like that even be interested in birds. The stench you couldnt place was there inside, a smell from another era, the one that hung in clubhouses and R.S.A.s. It was a place without air for the stuff, old cigarettes and damp. Something lay behind it masked, the thing that evoked the most emotion. It was the smell of atrophy itself, as if by all rights the place should have been swept clean into the ocean. It should no longer be here as it is now. Sick and twisted with age, grossly stagnant and reeking of self reprobation, it was a mistake or crime against the nature of time. The people that hung on in these places were ill equipped for change; they saw dusk at their horizon. They had replaced their core being with the ideals they promoted long ago. A degenerate limbo they set themselves in stewing. Sniffing out the young bloods so that they may somehow pass on their curse like a spreading stain. John and Mendel felt a great ill at ease; the first thing was the ghastly screech of a hundred haunted birds. Then there were the captured sprits that lay in the members of the bird society, they who clustered into inhuman clumps of unnatural body language, those that wore clothes with two or three decades wear on them. Faded cardigans and stained suits, poorly coloured track pants. The type of person that joined a bird society needed a trivial specialized knowledge to engage with others. With total focus, they tore along their narrow bandwidth, regurgitating knowledge. John felt un-welcomed by his own presence in the room. Mendel more disturbed by the pulsing droll of the birds. They walked by a row of cages to see petrified wrecks perched huddled in corners of the cage shaking. The poor things were made witless and then be paraded around, their nervous droppings exposed on browned newspaper for the world to see. Little wonder then that the room was a fever pitch. None of the society members seemed particularly interested in the cages but stood hunched over cups of tea, and engrossed in each others opinions. The birds were all remarkably plain and the scale of the show was breathlessly small and as awe inspiring and the sign that had pulled them in. The whole show was like the gap between the people you invite to your birthday party and the ones that show up. They passed a few dated looking bird oriented books scattered over a table, passing a few people trying not to listen in on a numbing conversation about budgies colouring, nor making eye contact for the fear of being drawn in, or looking the wretched in the eye for permutation of the sprit, the next row, the same. The fear on the birds faces. One would feel deeply sorry of these people, the gap between their illusions and reality when throwing this event, or on a deeper vein the very course of their lives and shape of their sprit, if not in light of the wrecking they did blindly to these poor birds.

John was absorbed with these thoughts staring into a cage at a huddled pair. Love birds. Hot breath and a drop of spittle hit his ear from behind him. John spun round shaken by the close proximity sibilance and being jumped from his own thoughts, the small old man jumped back in a sliding step unable to make direct eye contact. John instinctively looked down searching for escape from the room as if by neck movement alone. Yeah I guess I like birds, I mean theres nothing wrong with em. The man leaned close to Johns face. no Loooovvvvee Birds he said Was this some shady pick up, no, John sheepishly looked up to see the man pointing at the cage in an awkward fashion. John flicked his eyes over to the cage, both fists clenched. In side where a huddled pair, of love birds, John laughed at himself for not considering the man was talking breeds not making a pass. Although he could not be sure the guy wasnt John wasnt exactly up with bird show etiquette. Rather than look at the man again, which he did not want to do John tied up the conversation as best he could and edged out of the room. They didnt stick around to be offered stale club sandwiches and instant coffee. They both now had something to talk about, and Mendel had yet another anecdote to over play at any social gathering of more than three people.

The false philosophers He found himself standing with a payphone to his ear; someone had just hung up at the other end. He knew he had just been talking to someone, but He could not remember who he was talking to or what the subject was. He could remember ringing a number and talking, but nothing else about the phone call. It was as if He was witnessing some segue in a coma and was about to slip into another. However, reality seemed to be its old self again. He became aware of the series of monotonic bleeps in his ear, the kind that indicated a terminated call. He slipped the phone in his hand as he retracted it from his ear and placing it back on the receiver, he tried to rub some of the stickiness of the phone from his hands. There was a great deal of ambient noise; He assumed the room behind him was large and filled with people based on the level of volume and the length of reverb. On turning He found that he was in fact in a large room filled with people, normal people, if your concept of normal was some sort of bell curve habituation. The room faded into familiarity as He scanned it to obtain his whereabouts, which he decided from memory was the city airport. People shuffled with luggage back and forth in front of him, swarming at each other in constant movement. Hopefully no one would recognize him because the last time He tried to fly He was arrested and detained until he could prove nothing unreasonable was about to happen, and this time He didnt have a ticket. He felt pretty stupid about not having any luggage with him as well. Hes heart sank as someone tugged at his arm; it was the girl with black hair. She smiled and pulled him through a side door. He wasnt sure of anything anymore mainly because a rational mind wasnt designed for an irrational situation all that was concrete in this situation was peoples intentions and they were always hidden. The intrigue had petered out into frustration. He had been driven through fear and excitement but was now just bored. Every thing had been overdone; He had experienced enough and now thought of home and his friends. He wanted his old life exhumed. She pulled him down a thinly railed staircase. He felt like a doll being lead to somewhere it was going to get lost. The paint from the stair rail crumbled in his hand as he ran it along it exposing rusted metal. It was someones house, he wondered what someones house was doing in an air port and immediately laughed afterwards, why would He find that strange now. This was a routine abnormality. The house was filled with small rooms with domed archways and walls made of a light red clay and doors and panels of a dark wood. He noted a rise in temperature, it was hardly subtle, the way the air sat now it was hard to breathe.

The rooms were filled with junk pushed into piles that sat against the walls. It had begun hard to tell that there was normal dcor underneath it all. The girl let go of his hand as if to let him stop and take it all in. He was however still having trouble looking at the room; he couldnt trust her in his peripherals so he looked straight at her. She smiled at him then turned her attention to one of the piles of garbage picking up a bent bicycle wheel and examining it. He turned to a pile deciding to let his guard down, if only to search for her intent. There was a picture of a family with cracked glass covered with food scraps. The smell only hit him once he knew it was there, a rancid decay of a collective of smells. He heard a crash behind him, his mind sagged in fear. He turned around as fast as he could only to see a bicycle wheel jump around on the floor in an awkward circle. He raised his head to where the girl was she had her hands behind her back like a child in a store filled with breakables Sorry she said So you can speak Yep but I think things scare people more when they are silent Why do you want to scare me? Ask the Doctor Hes the one who cares about the universe and what inhabits it and whos read his theses, no one You dont tend to dwell on reality No I dont see much point anymore; it doesnt change anything about it. It just tends to deaden things when you touch them with words that define them, but I think I've said too much Oh you mean that by stating what you think youll just destroy it. Yeah well all this power we have should be directed at decadence not this paling sufferance I think its enough to just to be aware but some find that the only way they can exist is by bending themselves trying to pick up the essence of it. Im just not a cut out to be a brooder myself. I hate people who always try to define things they often end alone in a flat surrounded by poodles, an experience is what it is, you cant immortalize it, even within memory, the whole thing changes tense and your screwed youll only waste your time to reproduce it. Life only needs passing observation with little commitment given to the words you attach to it. Nice whether were having isnt it Thats more like it Youre trying to tell me what I should do; I find that funny from someone who isnt supposed to care about anything. Youve got me all wrong Im very passionate about being shallow. Are you making fun of me? You dont care about what it is youre talking for, just as long as it makes you look good youre having fun, not being made fun of, men, Gods it pays to play to their ego, you can get so much more out of them that way.

Well in that case you wont mind if I claim victory if you dont care about things of importance even if they are shallow things of importance She laughed and cocked her head to one side as if to see He from a different perspective. He stole a guilty glance at the neck the head movement had exposed before looking away. Youve been spending too much time with the doctor hes rubbing of on you He didnt know if she was referring to Sulphurs world views or whether she had caught him glancing at her neck and the doctor was the sort to do that sort of thing. He blushed. So in answer to my question... Oh, must I, I was rather enjoying moving the question on. Well Id like to know why. I prefer the part of the story when the main character fails to relies the obvious rather than when he is reconciled to it I suppose you Gods are prone to outdated romantic irony, but I want to know why youve done so much to shape me lady Sport, I guess What, of all things sport, I fail to believe that. Of course, you want meaning, even if there is none. well I just want to define our relationship It was a bold a gesture as He was capable of Love but it was always guarded within him just in case the person he opened his heart to stuck a knife in his chest, and with her that was always a possibility. What was it that attracted him to this girl that had killed him in his subconscious through most of his life? She was the one he thought he knew the most about, having said that he still didnt know her intentions at all, but he could anticipate her actions easily, except for the part about dragging him to a house full of garbage. Sport, well how could fun and games could ever be this involved. Her presence had the strangest effect on He, she made him doubt his place in the world, and his life had had a certain current to it. He really hadnt done much about where it was taking him. People around him clutched at status and security which were projected via material symbols. Projection was an absurdity, as if all the gestures made, anecdotes filed and aesthetic choices spun around an axis and formed a nodal point entity. Most of the time He just reflected what people made of him, in terms of outward appearances what did he care. Hed made up a role earlier in his life and people wanted him to stick to it. Now on the outside there was no He. But, beyond that there was a wordless indestructible core, one that would not be changed and need not be shown. What did he care if no one knew it? He didnt care too much for people in the first place. He did care about her and this was it, his existence. Was it worth a grain to her? Had he achieved anything of worth was he a worthy soul. Or was his work and person nothing but ugliness. Desensitized cynicism? Half baked bleating? Was

He a bad person? Every false assumption she made would destroy him. Now he realized how much his work and his intentions were mismatched. She made him want to change so he could show her how wonderful he really was, deep down below all the sensationalist infamy. He tried to put on his inner angels face, reveal it to her, but what came out was a mirror distortion, on his face lay a shadow puppet, black clown carrion, a hunched ringmaster in a smiling bite. His face was a cartoon villain. Or was this what she wanted the doppelganger construct and not His core. Did she want both and was this relationship between himself and his inventions. He had no control over what she would see in him. What was she; she changed her personality with the passing of a fancy. She could show all of her self and all was desirable. She flowed forward in a carefully poise pose of mixed signals. The subtleties felt out with her hands, postures, eyes and speech. Her intention seemed a passing whim. He could not trust her and this intoxicated him with desire. She could transform him into an unbridled ability, a warm glow that ran through everything. His form would stretch out and fill out life itself. He would become God, himself and everything would become a single love and transcend this existence and become be the world itself. They walked out through a fallen wall its jagged edges and rubble drew Hes attention away from the man sitting in the corner of the room whose sweat gave his skin the appearance of oil. The man seemed miserable to the point of blindness, perhaps this is why He didnt see him, He didnt really want himself to. The house appeared to be at the edge of a cliff and had partially eroded into the sea. A Great trees broad branches cradled the house from falling into the sea below. The oceans breeze ran over Hes exposed skin; the release from the muggy stench behind him was thanked under his breath. The trees roots were well entrenched in the cliff face, its trunk lent out over the ocean. The girl with black hair jumped to a near branch without thought but He was a bit more hesitant about the stability of his surroundings. Control looked back at him having climbed upward two branches rolling her eyes in an unflattering manner waving for him to join her. He tested a nearby branch with his foot sheepishly before hopping onto it ungracefully. He wasnt made for climbing he didnt have the mindset for it, being an immortal was one thing but spending an eternity being swept up against the cliff face by the tempestuous sea, which would certainly be his fate if he fell. I wonder if I can fly, if that comes with me being the unknown quality that I am Now would not be the best time to find out. Control said He instinctively looked in the direction of the sound so he could make his reply but then realised that this gave him a view of the girls panties. Yeah youre right

He shakily navigated through the trees entangle braches around the house and onto the cliff face onto reddish soil. There was a desert in front of him, a shimmering sun running ripples through the landscape, like a liquid to his head, scattered shrubs, and its all red brown. The dust was stirring at his feet and at just the right moment a tumble weed ambled by. Yep its a dessert all right she said They walked forward until they got to the cracked edge of a road bathed in dust. The heat was more intense out in the open but it was elevated by an occasional gust of breeze from the ocean. In the distance lay a building with a sign outside He couldnt read, from the middle of the road it looked like those perspective paintings he drew as a kid, building on the left power lines on the right. The building drew near at slow pace it was a road side motel with a water tower for a road sign. There wasnt much to it Just a long row of identical rooms with a porch and a managers office at one end. A man sat on a bench outside one of the rooms. The man looked uncomfortable in the heat and caressed his forehead with an unopened can of beer. A sweet searing look of pained comfort, the cold of the can against his hot skin touched the sides of his mouth. On approach he boomed and He in a preachers tone of forced reverence I think therefore I am sad. What the hell thats the most despicable thing Ive ever heard uttered He responded A snap shuddered up his body and He struck out at the old man with a fist sticking him to the floor. I hear you therefore I am angry motherfucker. he said standing over the man still quaking in aggression The man looked up from a spindled stance on the floor with a mixture of fear and depression blood throbbing from a cracked lip. What was it that had made He break forward into violence. He considered himself a pretty passive guy almost always backing down. Confusion racked his brain. The girl spoke to him reading the distress on Hes face. These poor creatures they promote views that not only do not usually make sense but purposefully try to derail any truths with semantics hidden hypocrisies and anti logic. They are the pursuit of whats erroneous in life, anti philosophers thrown into the mix to muddy the water, to dilute genius by surrounding it with falsehoods and fallcies. They used to have a bigger role in this world but the scales shift as the universe perfects itself and they are no longer needed so the higher concepts moved them here where they cant bother anyone, to grow old and die. They are theories cheapened into one liners against the initial method. Philosophy is not your opinion but how youre justification behind it, they are the Hollywood of philosophy. Why did you bring me here? He said shaken by nausea without focus I thought you would find it amusing some cosmic irresponsible art, to show you the world is full of fuckups and thats ok, but I was wrong, you are curious in your

fragility. I just can feel the I dont know its in them a quality I feel an innate repulsion, and an irrational fear that theyre right and the jokes on us and its me thats inherently false. Oh I forget youve been raised in amongst the transient concepts come lets go, I think youll soon learn the pretension that your unwaveringly infallible its what most Gods suffer from. She linked her arm to Hes and dragged him away like a favourite doll. Pulling him through time and space as it folded itself around them objects from the scene they had left wrapped around themselves and fluttered into fleeting quasi-objects whose forms pulsated into intricate patterns. He saw parts of the man integrate with the ground and building in a profane manner and gasped immediately wishing he had not. New scraps of images appeared in the swirling matrix of stimulus until He realized that he was finally somewhere else left with the notion that what had happened had only taken place in the flash of an instant. The world glimmered, a slight fuzz of flux jumping, it paused then opened up around him in a rush of dizzying over stimulation. He was in an unfamiliar alleyway, sheets hung from balconies above where clashing music and languages where heard all echoing a dilapidated despair that had lost its own substance. Bricks that held everything up were cracked, faded and half fallen. They carried spray paint and randomly dated posters peeling and flayed. He looked down at his shoe to avoid the ruin but couldnt focus on the ground before him it was metal, asphalt, concrete cobbled stone, grass and mud in shifting layers, none of which seemed to exist but they all seemed to float solid, in some varying translucency. He tried to focus on a building but there wasnt any there they jumped around shifting foundations and flicking between states at varying speeds. A building over him out of phase with whatever dimension he was in. The shifting buildings began to explode and collapse and merge into new twisting forms. Then finally before him was a wondrous megatropolis of light and matter that conformed to every sensibility inside him. It was a city of his hopes and dreams the ultimate ascetic incarnation of what a city could be. Wow. He coined It sounded weak in the midst of all its beauty, looking over at the girl He noticed that she had an expression similar to what He thought his face would be expressing. She looked over to him with a look that made it clear that she would rather look at the city and said. The Doctor wants to deconstruct you He didnt understand what she was trying to say but didnt like the connotations in the words. He wants to steal parts of who you are piece by piece process them and assimilate them into his being, a merger of sorts, Hostile takeover. He remained silent. What is there to say in the face of such a preposition? He says youre the problem and the solution of the tear in the universe that has

appeared when you started making art and that you either dont want to help or you dont know how to use what it is youve got. I think behind all this, hes got his sights on a universal merger of everything and he thinks you can give him the power to do it. Sulphur thinks a unity concept is the true destined meaning of this universe. I had suspected morality and chaos didnt work together without evil being the result. He sat down folding his legs over each other beyond trepidation. Hed been given the knowledge that he was immortal and then it was taken away from him, now that was going to be sooner rather than later and worse still his identity would be used by someone else. What can I do. He said Not much thats why I brought you here to buy time, this effects us all The Doctor has a group of gods including fate behind what he plans and it gives him a great power base and you, you dont even know what to are let along have had the time to learn to use what it is youve got. Cant the other gods against his plans help? We can only try to suppress their goals but theyre very strong and without cooperation from their aspects they can obstruct us just as effectively. We havent encountered this before a collective against a higher concept such as yourself its as new as you are; theres been squabbles in the past but no planed extinction. I am control remember but they have to be themselves too I cant make them something theyre not only make sure that they are what they are supposed to be. So what do you suggest? Well Ive brought you here skipping through obscure deluge points in the world, so it will be harder for them to find you. This is the idea of the city where you live, timeless, ever changing but in sense static. Here youre going to use another forgotten door to throw them of your trail so you can figure out a way to do what it is you do in life and in this hopefully you can defeat him. What do I have to do? You have to make a choice using a door which allows you to choose the order of events to your death. My death! Yes Im afraid that Doctor Sulphur will soon catch up with you and the result is the same with any option the doors can give. Things are dire for you Im giving you a chance to live before you die thats all. Hell whats the point in choice if the results the same. The anger rose in him a sermon that throbbed in his skull, his fists stood shaking distressed by the absence of anything tangible to strike at. Looking past everything in front of him into a dot beyond the horizon every thing that lay ahead of him fell though his head like a wound and everything else followed the horizon to a point. The notion that He had entertained since he was born was now a reality the universe was out to get him, but now He was faced also with the probability that it would get him it would break him until he was quite literally a different man. The girl stood next to him waiting for a reply as He sat down on a pixelated chair, she watched with some interest as the chair steadied its self

while its surroundings mutated all around it. Im not going to let it happen, if this universe isnt static then fates hold cant be absolute. But thats the thing we all are who we are and in this our functions are set. But us humans not you deities were random flux its the details Im going to fight for. and thats what Im trying to give you, an assimilation is going to take place between you and him in order for things to right themselves, but I want to give you a chance to set the terms, if you go in stronger than him then you will be the dominant personality to emerge. He smirked. Im going to do one better no merging is going to occur at all, I am myself and thats strong enough to fight off the whole universe if needs be. Control frowned she almost admired his foolhardy non-acceptation of the inevitable he had clearly spent too much time with the humans, he wreaked of false hope. What can an individual do when the very social fabric of existence holds an active interest in harming the said individual to better the majority? Should that person accept the lazy rot that comes next and patiently wait for the death of what they are without the chance of a full rebirth, one that would allow them to run a losers game from within the system. Everyone else had made the assumption that He himself could not save the world. He had been told to be good had been taught to be good and had fostered it in himself and became good, the universe did not want good, being good was not enough. It did not want an individual to give others the right of way, it wanted head to head, clashing scrambling for dominance, it wanted skin shed and ripped from screaming flesh in order for someone to hold anything of their own in their hands. This was humanities greatest tool of self oppression, our now redundant nature bent society over and twisted into something in which people fought over, to influence what traits determined a winning ticket now that we were all but removed from our environment. We construct modern evolution with fads and it does not have to be this way but for our collective small mindedness, those that could not give up the jungle He knew this well but if he were to be destroyed He would die good, even if it held no appreciation at least He would die knowing he was better than everyone else for it. The greater good was going to be dying a nice guy. Lets go. The girl said She led him down to the shoreline which was made of a flat man made substance that He couldnt recognize. They jumped down a level and rushed a along a narrow passage that periodically filled itself with waves. He felt a chill as he gazed at the sea; something was different about it in this place. Higher again they rushed towards the artificial harbour along paved ground. He looked up a city a saw a building that arced out ward and formed a pyramid at its top. It was bathed in neon and images and words spun around it suspended in the air. A Giant hulking bridge reared up in front of them one that was a city in itself in its

layers, running out to the ocean but stopping short of any other shore. It defiantly wasnt a wharf but a bridge to something, perhaps nothing; maybe it was as yet unfinished. That bridge is where we are going but theyre on to us. Run. The girl said He didnt hear and thought he caught the sound of a pack of dogs barking before his head ran into darkness, a pathetic brainstorm that shook the world muggy, before imminent and disappointing collapse.

HOW IT ALL WORKS Two fierce gray eyes scowled at him through a slit in the door, they sunk with folded skin and stress darkened blemishes, they held nothing human in them. They swayed pacing on the spot as the creature shifted footing. The room He was in was small and held a low ceiling. He hung his head as not to touch it. The room was four stark wood panels with and exposed beam above, a single bulb which glowed against his face. The room was one of claustrophobia and utter hopelessness. After a painfully agonizing amount of time had passed (or not passed) in the room, after Hes leg had given in and his mouth had lost its saliva. The eyes went away and the door opened. It was the Doctor looking smug with harsh disgust. He was taken to another cramped room that was undecorated and barely furnished. He put on a brave face for what could be his execution; any moment from now could be the end. If he had to go He felt he should at least defend himself well, not that he could come up with any cohesive logic, not with the idiocy of the situation. Well with the idiocy of available logic, the next step would be to play that worn out routine where the evil madman acts civil to his prisoner and unveils his plans. Kitsch and vulgar as it were He was in no hurry to die, evn identifying it as such had become worn. Okay He said How can you be certain that everything that exists in this universe is just a representation of something in this universe, how can you say this and not consider that it might just be perceived this way? The doctor rolled his chair onto its two hind legs and opened a draw at the desk he was sitting at producing a microscope from it Would you please examine this microscope? He carefully pulled the microscope from the doctors hand. It was rather too petite to be considered a professional scientific device it looked closer to a kids toy, but was an ugly beige green and far too heavy for its size. Could you examine it carefully to make sure its a real microscope so I can possibly trick you There was something about what Doctor Sulphur had said that made him sound like a magician and that He was someone he had pulled out of the audience. Scientists too often tried to better their appearance by employing showmanship. He decided to humour him even though he didnt know what he was being led into it all sounded like a trap to humble him with. There was a focusing knob and a tray that the lenses focused on. He looked down them to a white blur, nothing unusual, then he went on to check the

magnification. What? He said A ratio of one to infinity Doctor Sulphur gleamed with superiority. I suppose you think thats impossible do you Well I would expect the lenses to be bigger in any case Except in this case, the proofs in the doing and youve already seen the supporting evidence this is just the final premise. The doctor pulled a glass slide from one of his pockets and placed it on the desk in front of him. The doctor then pulled a needle out from another draw and proceeded to prick his left index finger with it. A bead of blood grew on his finger as he put down the needle and squeezed it with his right hand then smeared the blood on the slide. The doctor sucked his finger and placed a cover on the slide, grabbed the microscope from hes hand, placed the microscope on the table then the slide on the microscope. Eager to find what it showed he pushed the doctor to one side and began to fumble with the focus, a clouded vision congregated before him. It was blood cells he refocused on another point in infinity it was sub atomic partials spinning in all directions following greater rhythms. Then came an aerial view of the city he lived in he looked up at the doctor for a second only to see the same smile he had on earlier before zooming in further to a slim bald man in a suit eating a sandwich he pushed on further to see the back of his head stare ring through a microscope. The microscope was about to zoom through his own head when it jumped in hes hand and broke. He was sure he saw a flicker of something that wasnt there for an instant and looked over to the doctor disappointed that things hadnt gone full circle. Its funny because before you were born things did go full circle and a perfect infinity, well we thought of it as perfect, but even though space looped into itself, time did not, time was more like a directional arrow. So the strain of new experience inside a compound area of space looped within itself caused a tear that broke the loop and now the universe is in entropy, spilling out into nothingness, so now the building block of the universe, do you believe me. Was nothingness the last thing I saw? No you must be mistaken you cant see an absence of existence So how does this prove youre gods especial seeing as though you cant fix this What makes you think we have the right to tinker with the universe? Huh I would think if anyone did it would be a deity

Well even a god is part of the universe he or she resides in so playing with something youre a part of is tricky because the worst changes in reality are the ones youll never notice But a lot of people insist a god is separate from its creations Yeah but theyre wrong. If a god wasnt what he or she created a god wouldnt be all powerful would they Oh I see youre saying you have more control over your own hand than someone elses Yes but an all powerful god has infinite control, must need to be everything in order to control them fully, but the reality we live in is a little more than that, internal conflict has led to the specialization of function. So because everyone is in charge of his or her own existential lot sometimes the big stuff slides past Not quite, mere interaction or in the worst cases emergency adjustment meetings usually do the trick to keep things in track but in this case the problem is greater than the sum of its parts, we cant fix things because we dont have the right tools for the job this is why having a new fundamental like you is so important to us because you seem to be the cause and possibly the solution to our problems. Ha, I imagine the end of the road is a nervous thought for an immortal Thats why Ive been asked to study you What, why would anyone entrust chaos with fixing a broken universe They havent theyve come to the conclusion that chaos and morality will work together to smooth over any problems youve caused, because chaos is in general terms always changes the current situation. Except when it doesnt because its chaotic, it seems harebrained to me, like using anarchy as method, theres an equal chance you will just make things worse. But I am also morality which you could say stumps youre theory about random chance besides you dont see the concept of continuity playing hero in this situation do you. So youre only playing the hero are you, well it just seems that you Gods spend far to much time considering what it is you are emulating, whatever ideal youre supposed to encapsulate when you should just be what it is you are by the actions you make. At the end of the day it doesnt really matter what you think, you do not have control of the situation, nor have you any say in our solution, essentially there is a resource gap between time which as far as we know is an infinite arrow, and space which simulates infinity by folding in on itself, do you understand me? Infinitely? He said having just seen the gap with his own eyes. Again you strike out at me from your position of infinite inferiority, but I am not in the mood today for proving pecking order with games, you stupid monkey. Ok, so what you are saying is that there is essentially no room for new experience. Yes we know what is happening and why, on the surface of things, but the problem effects us all on each level more than any of us could imagine up and even then probably infinitely more. In order to organize effective action, we would

have to overhaul our classification system to map out the relationships of every individual or group on every one of those levels. With each new thought further destroying whats left. He said engaged again. Yes in theory wed need to map out a whole another universe and exhaust its energy in order to find a solution. We unfortunately arent dealing with black and white here; multiple ideas can coexist and interlope, so more than one solution may be needed, the thing is creating a new universe well, where does the energy for that come from. Why dont you just sit it out and see what happens. He said Of all the irresponsiblewell wouldnt that make us pathetic creatures, we certainly wouldnt deserve to live on, seeing the end and sitting back and letting it happen. Ultimately only a coward would give up on manifesting their own fate and a fool would think they were wise for being aware of it and still doing nothing. Well whats the big plan then, I cant see any solution. Knowing what it was and dreading it He still asked the question. Well you are the key to this situation, perhaps the problem itself, and what say if you did not show any natural appliance to the solution by yourself, what if that test universe we need to create and play out, was you, you remember the infinity of the microscope, well theoretically each individual contains the sum of the universe and Nah no justifications, you want to steal my ideas and play them off as your own. Yes, I do. But because you do not seem to be here to save us, just act superior, without being at all superior, like those people who write newspaper editorials. What ever the situation is you lie against it. Its worse than that you want to be me. Of course Im against it, youre stuck in a mire of Victorian garb and camp mad professor mannerisms, and of course you want a part of the next big thing, but you will turn it into something tasteless. Grow up, existence is at stake here. Yeah mine What about everybody else you selfish prick. Let them sort themselves out, if the only solution is my destruction then, I say its not worth existing. You cant tell me you have nothing to gain from this, you probably havent even bothered looking for a better solution, you just want the one thats the most advantageous to you. Well either way you will die, my way your ideas will live on My ideas will be forever sullied by you; you are nothing more than a suction cup, existence for you is furthered by vampirism, forever cursed because the vitality you absorb grows no more under your flesh. The words sank into the room with boiled recognition under the Doctors eyes, the ugliness in him unearthed by the statement, the root cause under his own hubristic words exposed. The Doctor lunged forward and bit at the neck of He, who had feebly put up weak arms against swinish furore. Teeth sunk into flesh forever joining the two, blood was drawn then the doctor sank back to his

position. Pleased at himself for finding such a direct representation of Hes metaphor, pleased further by the taste in his mouth that had such an inimitably to it one that sealed the inevitable doom of the individual sitting stunned in the chair across from him. You fucken vampire fag. He gurgled meekly, clasping his neck. You and I are now linked, all I have to do is break you up into your elements for digestion, all you have to do is feel and think and both feeling and thought will become mine, all I have to do now is sit back and induce reactions from you and any thing at the forefront of your mind will be for ever detached from the sum. To speed up the process, this... The Doctor produced a syringe and lunged forward again, stabbing He in the arm, shooting another poison into his body. This is the Drug that is heaven and hell. Well based on your outlook, lets see how long your ego lasts when submitted to this. He was dragged into another room. The Doctor stood over him, to gloat. Why stop at you He, right now the universe is imperfect, and conflict defines existence, while each part tries to figure out what it is this existence is supposed to be. Why not fuse it all into one grand idea?...

The Drug that was heaven and hell To be festooned with both heaven and hell as a joint biaxial experience wasnt an ideal situation to be in, to have the heavenly light satiate the naked skin on your face while your back burned blistered and was smeared with pitch forks, was far from desirable. The strain on Hes psyche was enormous, to hold and gaze salvation, but to feel damnation in the spine, to have angels and devils clambering for voice in your ears. This diametric experience would soon unravel He into his bare components for the Doctor, Sulfur to absorb. Not that the experience would be bad or good, but the result did not agree with He who preferred his own ego to anothers. The muscles along his front lay relaxed and at peace but the back of his body twitched and crawled with itches stacking up pains and dull aches. The room was probably unlocked but the drug ran like a compass and He would have to face hell to do it. It felt like his body and mind were being split in two by the two states. Because of the directional nature of the drug He would have to break the natural order to do it. In other words the slightest directional shift and He would probably be destroyed by the resulting imbalance. He did not want to see what happened if elements of the two states merged together in different dilutions. Imagine a righteous evil, or a sacred pain. Well a lot of religions had imagined this and based their faith on it, for instance look at holiness achieved through the fear of Hell. This same reflex kept He imprisoned, trapped within a sensation that would untangle his soul for digestion. He was now the cattle witch would feed what ever desires the Doctor had for existence. He tried to back his way out, a mistake the Hell stirred and leapt up his back with an exponential increase in infinite pain with each division of a movement. He was forced forward to combat the wretched fester. The slightest step forward had him clambering against the far wall of the room in a rush of opiate-ism for a higher supreme meta-salvation. He had been forced into a corner by human nature. He felt like the book of revelations was being acted out on his frame. What does anyone do in this situation? Does one quit half of heaven just because they must also face half a Hell? Amidst all this dichotic confusion lay a terrible time constraint one that doomed him. He was lucky there was more at stake than him to think about. There was the world. He needed to save it from itself, even if that meant destroying it, if the world was prepared to slip into the beguiling presence of chaos, if it wanted to be coursed towards uniformity by this, diminished by its own impulses. Then it wasnt worth letting live on. One last prank, have the world destroy itself by its own devices. All He had to do was hide in the terror every bored modern-life had created to fill the vitality their life lacked, hide it in the clamour of voices. Statesmen, Mothers, company men, The media. Etc. etc. Have everybody afraid of everyone, let all fellowships dwindle, all interactions dwindle. What happens to an idea if no one knows about it? Answer: it isnt an idea at all; screw doing the

right thing and saving it all, no one had come to recue him, so why should He feel the need to recue the world. However, the problem hadnt changed and now there was less time, the door out of the room was as good as locked to He, beyond salvation. He would have to spend an eternity damned before he could try the handle. So He had to lose something in order to lose something, it was too late to choose. A huge chunk of self broke free from him, nothing physical, but He could feel it in his gut. That sense of loss that kicks you cold, most get it when looking back at themselves five years ago, imagine having that feeling with each moment that passes. Great clumps like shadows heading for the walls in waves. A quick move was needed and He only new of one ability He had as a God. He called upon all the dead ideas; He could breathe life back into redundant forms deemed useless by the process of evolution. They came, emerging from nothing, an unnatural violation about them, something dark and dirty that stunk out the room. They moaned and stirred in slow waking, something told He a judgment error had been made, they were certainly summoned but could they be controlled. He was the source of their new existence and in a weakened state what was to stop them from feeding on his to perpetuate their own, so the situation was the same. By feeding on Hes flesh they would live again, forever. They edged forward in an un-dead leg drag; their faces in a perpetual grimace, each breath of life pained them. Their pulse was no more than a momentary spasm. They were empty shells with out use, the disproved walking again aware only of their own lack of purpose. That disconnected redundancy fostered the desperation to become something. These thoughtless flesh-phantoms could not help but act on the basest responses, the same mechanisms that expelled them from life. They began to gnaw and tear at Hes flesh, munch and crunch through bones. He screamed out grrukkrrrrrrrrkks and slipped into a body shock dull daydream, witness to a banquet of his own viscera. They gouged on blood and organs, He screamed until they took his tongue in their mouth and made a scull crater for them to feed on. Some wielded guts to their bodies through some skin absorption; others stabbed themselves with bones left to jut out. He was spread out among them and they begun taking on his image, they screamed at the sight of their common self on each other, there was an insane scream of awareness when they realised it wasnt desirable. Then the compass Drug that was Heaven and Hell took hold of their bodies as it had He. They felt the same pull, the same hallowed light the same red flashing one. That pull from both states dissolved them into oblivion; they were now drawn to the Doctor for consumption (and probable indigestion.) The fodder of used cud ideas would surely no meet his more refined taste. But what of He in all this? He was the empty air in the room, the pile of slop on the floor. Still aware but all messed up. That pain, that unbearable disunion

coupled against a memory of what He once was and what his form should be, that trauma acted to heal him. The need and knowledge of his old form drew him to it. The flesh swirled into a whirl pool, light erupted and energies arced. He returned to form stepping out of the clamour. The trick to beat the drug was to become your own messiah, sacrifice with ever suffering and be reborn. By using the dummy decoys He had postponed his fate by transferring the effects of the drug into their tissue, they had still been of use after all. He gathered himself, still near collapse from the ordeal, the mental hangover of being cannibalized by ghouls. Checking his body for spectral injuries, He felt something off about him. The process had begun before He had freed himself from it. What was missing? It was harder to pin than one would think, what was He thinking before it happened; surely what was at the top of the mind was the first thing to go. That destructive urge He had, gone, it could just be the shock of death, but He no longer had that irresponsible urge. This was a bad thing; it was the singular survival tool for He, his one outlet. It could even be the thing that made He fundamental, eternal. There was nothing else that He did that had so much effect on the world the transitional and temporary world He had come from and now that destructive urge was in the hands of his enemy. What was He now? He certainly was sick of all this self analysis, if anything Hed been freed from nastiness, He felt mostly the same and that counted for something. He wanted to go back to that world he was from, to see its familiar sights again. The trappings of that world were at least familiar. He was now free to try the door that would get him out of this mess. It was open He walked along a corridor (there were far too many corridors in Hes life for him to pay attention to this one) until He got to a tubular opening with an escalator attached. You couldnt fault the Gods on this pastiche of the future; this phony George Jetson miss-topia He was on gave pause to his beating heart, lights and sounds danced on the walls in pleasing synthesis stimulation. Curved glass windows looked out into a painted out infinity of other escalators and a universe of lights disguised as stars, they even used cotton wool clouds. The conveyor belt He was on seemed to maze out on and on. He felt like an incomplete product on a production line, any moment now the fault would be noticed and He would be removed. So he was definitely out of work back on earth, those urges He had just lost were pay dirt. He still wasnt sure that had happened, but it felt gone. Now, He wasnt sure quite what to be, or what he was. It was sad not ever being able to get something that was so fundamentally his, get himself back. Someone had taken it his original idea and made it theirs, and would use it with little appreciation or class. This kind of theft is deeper than any material procession; He was no longer allowed to exist as he once did, his identity was gone. The sliding slate drawl of the escalator passed on slowly through great distances, forcing He to take stock when it was better not to, it wasnt something to just get over with reflection, but He tried.

It was impossible to shake that unclaimed luggage feeling, left to go round and round in some foreign terminal. Hes face reflected on the glass, showed a ghost, something that did not match recognition. Outside openings of the out side world appeared, water and sky. The tunnel opened out to an open area underneath the bridge that stretched out over the sea but did not meet land at one end, being so close to such a structure, beyond familiar scale, one felt overwhelmed. He looked back out to the distant shore to get his surroundings; behind him was a sprawl of electric pagodas and tasteful angles. He was far out at sea at the base of this mega structure; huge columns surrounded him wrapped by the sea, with pierced lines that ran deep. Above him only the juggernaut underbelly of the bridge that rained condensation salt spray. He ran along the outside edge of the building along side the pillars the narrow path was wave lapped and He was soon soaked and had to hope on the durability of the rail in places. Surely they would have noticed him gone by now. His only hope was to imagine escape at the sea end of the structure, rather than run the predictable many miles back to land, either way it would not be long before the Doctor and his dogs sniffed him out. The girl had wanted him to go to this building to find some doors that would somehow forestall the events leading to his fate. If this building gave of the impression of a bridge, why not look for a gateway at the end of it? The end of the Bridge that wasnt really a bridge was in sight in front of him was the end of the pillars and a less oppressive sight of open sea. Twelve steps ushered him up a level, into a jade courtyard. To the end of this courtyard was three door shaped portals hovering in midair just past the edge of the building level with the platform, He edged out to view his choices in future, knowing the results were possible the same no matter the choice. Choose you own Adventure. He muttered. He now had to make an uninformed choice, the result of which would damn him if He selected the wrong option. This Hellish decision was only aided by three visions: A Dance club (from what He could make out), Frank Ponty (sitting in a room somewhere) and a talk show. Hardly inspiring choices for pre-death activity. To compound matters he wasnt sure if He would partake in all of these scenes or just one, or whether He could choose the order of each or just the first. A leap of faith wait a second, the solution may be staring me in the face the clues in number of steps to this level and three doors the answer will tell me the right door Im sure, whats twelve divided by three He had to stop to count the answer out in his hand. shit Four? Well, what will make me stronger, well I hate dance clubs and couldnt give a

toss about promoting my image if Im fated to dieso theres only one choice really. He crept up to the edge gingerly; He wasnt interested in the tragic comedy involved with missing the jump. His body pulsed with chemicals when he saw the logistics of the operation. Not wanting to stay to long at he edge for the deterrent thinking it caused, He walked back a few paces, looked at where his feet needed to go along the wet floor and lined up the portal for where the rest of him had to go checked his shoes for grip, then jumped at a portal.

The hostel It had taken some searching but He finally found where Frank was holding up. He had walked up the street were the hostel frank was staying in lay and passed the building twice before recognizing it as the intended destination it was a dirty red brick colour, with broken windows guiding the eye into darkened rooms shielded poorly by tattered curtains. The reception, stained with cigarette smoke and furnished by patchy lino, was dark and uninhabited. There was a horrible smell of bad food, to the right lay to glass French doors covered with translucent white curtains witch had turned a yellowy colour from the amount of dirt that had been melded into the fabric. Behind the doors lay what He guessed were the kitchen lounge and eating rooms, to the left lay a wooden stair case. He walked up it running his hand along the age chipped banister before realizing it probably wasnt sanitary. The hallway was muggy from overheating and bad lighting, a piece of wallpaper lay ripped at his feet, and there was a patch of exposed plaster where it had been torn from the wall. The narrowness of the hallway gave it an illusion of a badly drawn depth painting. He walked the length of the corridor toward table with a dark green cloth thrown over it, the cloth had been dirtied the table seemed barren. Behind it was a window looking out over the roof of the other building smoke stacks lit by their surroundings skylights and various other objects indistinguishable in the days fading light. The view, asymmetrical, and in strange perspective reminded of the odd contorted nature of the building, the view at least drew his attention away from the peeling ledges of the windowsill. He knocked on the apartment door his knuckle sounded thin against its surface. Frank opened the door and offered a gesture somewhere between a smile and a grimace and quickly ushered him into the room. The room was no bigger than a walk in closet, the walls bare wood lit up by a single naked light bulb, it smelt of dampness. Frank sat down on his bed and took a glass from the floor pouring himself a drink of water from a make shift canteen kept on a ledge at the foot of his bed. "Weve got to speak quietly these walls are paper thin, you crack a joke , some guy three apartments down will laugh." "How are you holding up" "This place is mad, let me tell you something only animals live here, think about it whos going to pay high prices for poor service and the institutionalization of dictating rules...and communal showers I dont know Ex cons and perverts Ha, which are you Yeah, which kind of ex convict doesnt go home at the end of their prison

experience, Ill tell you paedophiles, rapists, wife beaters and family murderers I suppose The other day I was cooking some chicken breasts with a bit of curry powder and some coconut sauce, and the other guys in the kitchen looked at me like I was fruity or something, one of them some old guy, bathed in grease, said something about how I was cooking for royalty or something. The fucker was burning his baked beans and he pipe up about that shit, its hardly gourmet what I was doing, you get alienated for cooking any thing other than beans and sausages. Uh.he said and the fucken toilets they clean them once a week they stink and the seats and floor are always soaked in urine and the whole place reeks of what happens to beans and sausages after about four days of intestine and you sit over the bowl dry heaving and when youre finished you have to wipe your ass on that budget paper which I can handle were it not for the dispensers, you know the ones, that only allow two sheets at a time, and with one ply thick if you only pull the amount they suggest is enough to wipe your arise youre bound to get shit on your hand so its ok right just pull a couple of servings and then youll be fine, but then some one comes in and shits down in the booth next to you and you can hear them shitting and you realize they can hear you, they can hear you each time you pull for paper, each time you wipe your arseso you wait for them to finish and while you weight you can hear them and you know what I found out most of the cunts in hear go for the dispenser a maximum of four times its like they think a clean bottom is based on how many times they wipe. He made sure he had dispelled the imagery in his head so he didnt have to face anyone in the corridor and think about their arse. Well at least I dont have a smell based imagination. he said Im sure a tactile one would be worse, you know you were right about your surroundings effecting you, you said it to me ages ago and that you could tell a lot about who you were by whose face you sought out in the crowd and that you look people who are like you by weather or not they are responding to the same things as you. Well I look for potential enemies; thats what I seek out in life. Have you been reading those samurai novels again, that one about the samurai with a wooden sword fighting giant man spiders or something. I need to have my wisdom teeth removed man, theyre just sitting there rotting in my mouth but I have no way to pay for the dentist, all I do is try to sleep off the pain, been chewing down six Panadols a shot, I cant close my mouth, so I cant eat, Ive been living on milkshakes, my life is turning to shit, and Im turning into everybody else here, this place is a black hole, I think Im vanishing into the walls, I think the worlds coming to an end, Im dying. There was a litter of unwashed plates over the floor of the room, strewn clothing and half drunken glasses of milky gloop all left to rot. Frank looked a mess; He didnt want to look at him, the very eye of darkness. The place Frank had taken himself to held an oppression the bled out over the walls of the building. He felt caged in. Lonely doom, a building of single male occupants, this cancer was wearing thin. Music from multiple clock radios wafted in a distant ghost echo. So youre living with the enemy is that it or have I got it wrong.

Its more than that now I am the enemy its all I see people jerking of in the showers jerking off through the walls you know what theyre jerking about theyre jerking over every thing that theyve been told is wrong, the things that people rub there faces in every day in the newspaper, these guys just lap it up, it grows in them and they feel sick about it but it still grows until it becomes a need. They need to feel dejected, thats the source of perversion, a masochistic connection to the world by the thing that sets them against the world. Like fucking some little girl they see something pure and run it down until the little girl is transformed into some broken monster that want to be pure but the closer they get to it the further they push themselves away and then they get guilty and kill the girl. What the hell are you trying to say are you like that. I saying I understand it, it makes sense here. This is the dregs Im in my friend. Here I can feel the world eating itself. Its all flowing out into nothing here Yes well keep yourself because its all youve got, dont muck around with this stuff or you will be swallowed by its nothing Youre one to talk about losing yourself eh Frank was getting quite wound up and venomous, there was an unsettled animal look in his eye, it put He on edge. I have to go frank Yes you do I doubt I see you again the world may turn twice tonight. Ok what ever that means That was it He wouldnt ever see Frank again, He knew it and it shook him. He didnt need to be shaken further, jumbled up any more. He walked out of the building and hailed a cab to the studio, He had to be their two hours before the show.

TALK SHOW A girl patted down Hes face with finishing dabs of makeup, it was hot under the lights. There was a buzz about the empty studio, as workers rolled about equipment back and forth, shouting in what seemed like manufactured panic. A lapel microphone was attached and tested. He was escorted to a side room with a fruit bowl, some crackers and a beer fridge. This was where he was to wait to be called. A tiny T.V. screen showed the studio as it filled up with an audience. The band began to play and the camera swooped over the crowd. A title graphic emerged and then an announcer read out a list of names of people who were going to be on the show. With your host The talk show host ran from behind a curtain, he then proceeded with some gimmicky gesture to rev up the audience. The introductory banter fell flat, some play on words about a missile crisis, with a punch line that basically ran: at least it isnt over here, too political, not quite clever. The host twitched a half grimace at the mere chuckle from the audience, time to get a new writer. The band kicked in, pumping out Rocket man by Elton John. The presenter jumped back into action, running around punching flamboyantly before settling in his seat, taking in a glass of water. The first guest, some human interest story that had been skimming about the media, about a dog that had saved a womans life by some how being able to pull her unconscious body from a burning motor vehicle. God, thought He, am I going to have to sit next to that. Her face did not remain un-burnt and she was also morbidly obese, He had trouble seeing how that dog of hers had the strength to drag her bulk. This is stupid I hate dogs, how the hell did the mongrel get the car door open anyways. This is a setup to get me to do my thing. Ad break. Someone came in to tell He, he was up next. Great Im a bundle of nerves, Im being setup except Im no longer capable of doing what they what me to do, still a television lampooning beats being dismantled and absorbed by a cosmic being. He walked back along the corridor was told to wait in the eaves; the host introduced him with a succinct bio. It was funny how fame could reduce someone down to a few by-lines and sound bites. Then it was all smiles and waves from beyond the curtain, as He walked the walk trying to make it to his chair without

falling over, this was the narrow band of fame, the gap between the curtain and the guestchair. He made a good handshake for him, the host gripped a bit tight. He successfully sat down. So He I understand youre giving up the game, or is this just another hoax, you must understand were a little cautious weve been fooled before. Um, oh yeah that It was hard to remember live before Gods, and universes made from thought and all that. Yeah, I doubt Ill be around much longer. All things must come to an end, unless you can find a way to live foreveras the same personand it wasnt boring yeah. Yes that would be handy, but how do we trust you, I know you love the attention, most people come on my show to promote something and you say youve come on to say dont pay attention to me. No Ive come to tell you the truth, the world is going to end... Im sorry Im going to have to cut you short He we have to go to commercials. The talk show host had the same smile on his face, the audience wasnt close enough to see the murder in his eyes, he leaned into Hes ear. I dont know what sad little game youre playing, but Im going to destroy you when we get back, your art is nothing more than a repetitive adolescent prank, a candid camera show with high brow misconceptions. Im going to break you apart, I Kill stardom everyday on this show. Geeze you sound like the guy I want to warn everybody about, hes called Doctor Sulphur God of chaos and morality. The woman with the dog hero, sat there quietly not able to make out the situation, the dog licked at hes hand. I fucken hate dogs, Get out of here. He whacked his hand at the dog, drawing out a whimper, the audience gasped, the dog looked at him with intelligent eyes, clearly wounded by the gesture. Great even the dogs offside with me. They returned to air. Ladies and gentlemen, He is currently rattling off another routine, because he

thinks He is better than you in the audience and you at home, but there is nothing clever or amusing about this chicken liken routine. Wouldnt you say He that you are in fact a blindingly average guy that hides behind a string of gimmicks, when in fact youre nothing more than a fad. I-I Those words cut deep, they played upon every insecurity He had ever had, and art after all was a dysfunction, one that had people finding non conventional methods to communicate. Saying that his art was shallow was like saying He was shallow, a fake, a poser. That his actions were just a sad attempt to draw attention to a lonely isolated bore. This guy was good, but why do that to an individual. dont care if I look foolish tonight, because the world is made of ideas, me, you everyone is just a principle, Except the God of chaos wants to reduce everything down into one principle, destroying us all, you see there are some concepts that are fundamental and live forever because their use is intrinsically valuable, I am a new one of those and You see folks He even assumes superiority when feigning insanity. Listen to me, I have no defence to your statements, if I claim Im normal then the actions people pay attention to me for are then false, if I claim Im not normal then you can say Im just trying to be weird and think Im better than everybody else. Listen if anything Im less than the average man. I just want to be left alone. All these negative things Ive attracted, theyve damaged me. But Im not allowed to, because this God of chaos guy he wants to write me out of existence and destroy this world. The audience just laughed, a technician had put words such as Putz, poser and fake as titles on the screen during his speech. The audience could see these from the screens mounted above them. So what if they didnt believe him, hed given it his best shot. What mattered was that this dickhead thought he had won. That He had been made a fool of and that He cared what the rest of the world thought of him. The band started up with Its the end of the world as we know It. by R.E.M. mockingly. This was the last straw for He, but with no artistic outlet since losing the driving irresponsible urges there was only one thing to do, crude violence. He lunged forward knocking the glass out of the presenters hand and took an arcing fist swing at the host. It didnt fully connect but grazed his face and looked clumsy. The talk show host fell to the floor trying to dodge blows, wondering where hed misjudged the situation. This wasnt the profile painted. He had a sour look on his face like he was about to get up and fight, but security had He whisked of stage. Roughed up down the hallway and dragged into a room, it was the end of show business. It was funny how trying to do the right thing for once,

trying to do something for this world, had been so disastrous, such a failure. People just werent interested in the truthful absurd, it didnt fit the routine, at the heart of it what did it matter what you were, if it didnt change who you were. Uncovering governing principles, how does that make the bills and pay checks we live by any more meaningful? It only cements persons failures with the doom of a fated character, a loser by definition. No one wants that sort of presentiment to be proven real. The truth wasnt worth it. It wasnt liberation at all. It was a death sentence. He paid no attention to all the legal threats and angry voices in front of him, instead watching an entertaining television of a show that must go on, He couldnt fault the host for picking up the pieces. Wow how bout that He, what a hell of a guy. An audience Boo. No, no, no, we really have to feel sorry for him, He just doesnt know the difference between cosmic and comicand the result is just tragic. Its a wonderful send-off for and mediocre artist. Now, performing live is a band that has had standout reviews for their new album, introducing Laughter at the right moments, He laughed too. As if no one could think of stopping him He got up and left the building, in the end a fool for the furnace of entertainment. He no longer had it in him. A car load of familiar people parked up on the road along side him; it was his friends to his rescue. They hadnt seen him in weeks, called around two his house and he wasnt there. One of them had just happened to be watching T.V. and thats how they knew He was back from wherever Hed gone. It was clear He needed a little concern. They were also a little curious as to what was going on, hoping for scandal even. It had to be good; He always had something up his sleeve, and anything that involved weeks planning, that suggested scale. How could He even begin to live up to their expectations and even answer their immediate questions, He probably wasnt even their friend anymore, they only hung around him because of the stunts he pulled and a whiff of celebrity. To be defined by something, above others because of a special quality, then have that gift ripped from you forever, that was a farce that was beyond saving face. The world seemed the plainest dull. Down. They knew it too; they saw his sparkle-less eyes, his beaten face. Something had gotten to him. He wasnt going to be as much fun to be around unless they snapped him out of it. Without the lashing out, He was just another whiner. The best plan was to take him to somewhere that they knew He would loathe, drop him in the middle of it.

The world was ending all right, He felt it. A condemned man sees small signs every where pointing towards an inescapable path. Maybe fate was the sum of small circumstances, but a dying mind sort out meaning, to the point where any circumstance brought meaning, a loose association of patterns formed by heightened awareness and tunnel perception. A fast food restaurant, No one is lining up just standing waiting for a line, the people in front of him look off, the lights above the booth He chooses flicker, the burger tastes different. On the way out part of the restaurant is quartered off, a mess of food behind the signage. The air a thick mist, the street lights hollow, the streets empty apart from a man sitting on a bench who has just given up trying to reconcile a crying women, He makes brief and terrible eye contact with the man. It all compiles to a gut feeling, except He can see each component as a whole and is aware of the very singular doom. He barely notices his friends are with him.

THE CLUB THING He didnt really take to dance clubs mainly because the music was impersonal unemotional uncreative the very patron of this environment, the people that frequented the clubs, were the moron and assholes that He spent most of his time attacking, people He could imagine as lobotomized corporates and future corperates attending business school, the sort of soulless fucks that sucked on whatever gimmick that got them in on the trend of the day like the dealers that sampled their own goods. They were saints selling fading spirituality written in invisible ink, they owned everything because every thing had become a product. They lived to climb for successes until they burnt out at thirty, destroyed and eaten by the next batch of profit conscious suit men. Those who were prone to senseless tenderization and devouring, taking huge unscrupulous bites out of each other, succeeding to serve their mutated Darwinist impulses, an itch that had taken every thing in this world, a merger on every thing, a taking of revenge on their hippie forefathers, it wasnt about growing but succeeding drowning in a sea of plastic and advertising ink, broken and old, rat race gadgetry choking, old wrappers for the same product rewrapped for the new consumer climate, a machine for happiness, cities knocked down a thousand times and rebuilt the same again and again something to take the heat off the true drudgery of their manufactured lives. Whole societies cutting horizontally pulling out each others intestines and feeding on some pre digested universal truth and they could not love or even have a shallow relationship based on sex with out buying into it. Expanding until it spilt the sides universe open and nothingness flew in, the perfect product, nothing. Sensory overload, hell of lights and smoke and repetition was mutilating Hes carefully self designed brain, sweating in starvation these places were designed do destroy gray matter as the brain folded in on its self. He could not be bothered with adventure that always glorified the negative experiences. He was not entangled in the ideology that negative experiences were valuable endearments to the human sprit because He felt there were too many good things to try during the short time most people existed. To go out of your way to try something nasty when you could be instead out looking for happiness was pure masochism. There wasnt enough time left for He to have a bad experience, He hated the fact that He had stumbled into this club, its bad music and consumerism because it set back thought He could have spent on topics He did like. This place was a guaranteed bad time. It hadnt made him understand more about himself or made him a better person, but only made him a soul sick. It was only a barrier to happiness. He was the Anti Hemingway and He was quite certain if Hemingway way was alive today hed be taking pills and listening to dance music. Sinking deeper into a thug of botheration, the idiocy He saw was all around him.

There was a desperate call for canal delight that hung in the air until it precipitated on people as in orgasmic frenzy zombie out their desires. It was some procedural irresponsibility. He went back to dwelling on what was missing within him; it pleased Him that what ever he was at least He hadnt turned into these losers, with their shady encounters with strangers underneath lasers and smoke machines. It was love without meaning. Where have all the thinkers gone but his words were swept away in the confusion consuming all reason, they had all packed their bags out of existence replaced by a new cool, exposing every superficial nature. It was laziness and He new that they could do better for themselves, why do this with such a gift as awareness. He wanted to know what had happened to the Guitar, for He That particular instrument was associated with everyman ideal that shifted the power bass away from the suits and back to the artist in a fit of noise and glory this very club had accommodated not five years ago disaffected youths slamming against each other to riffs that could melt your mind into a ball of gelatinous energy, throwing peaks and lulls into the surrounding air on a gradient between, aesthetic beauty and chaos with an emotional intensity that fed both the audience and the musicians in a communications loop that made each night a singular experience. It was a far alien cry from the preordained robotic concept of perfection around today, where the loops and crescendos were comprised of mathematical formula and repeated components. He knew what would happen before it did, it was like listening to fate, He could have stayed at home and still been able to predict each track, unlike the old days where the musicians them selves didn't know what was going to hit them. But when guitars became the it thing again it was if the whole thing lay slashed open, under belly exposed, flushed out of its niche the record companies. They had the last laugh, finally finding a way to destroy the final embers music's dark cancerous root, innovation, stamping it out with their foot, herding it down a path with money until it was dull trite again. It worked of course; as people hung up their hip hats and cut off their goatees what was special was now just a product like anything else, so finally the companies controlled the trends themselves. It created a brilliant new evil, retrospective nostalgia, people ready to digest any thing they feed them, even the old avant-graders had caught the hip bug and ether got reactionary, entrenched in what alternative was supposed to be (according to the status quo), this of course allowed the companies to define them out of existence. The rest clambered with everyone else to fit in. people left dead in their own suicidal cultural stagnation an apocalypse had already happened years ago every one was lost scrambling around not being able to find the next big thing so that they could dismiss it by the time it became popular. This left He feeling utterly alone, He the last artist in existence neutered from the thing He had used to create with.

However, He was still a threat He still had creativity, the true fuel in which He could use to foil Doctor Sulphurs stagnation agenda. The one positive aspect of his current surroundings was that the people around him wanted nothing to do with him, the darkness shrouded his face and He was no longer a public personally, not that He was a big deal anymore. Hes achievements no longer had an existing audience; they were al part of the destruction, the frivolous dead sons and daughters and their manufactured disorders. There was still some residual fame though, although by tomorrow that would fade into the infamy of his talk show appearance. Either way He had to deal with people He didn't like knowing him in forged intimacy, but a club could corrode away, people could only see how well He was dressed in the dim surroundings not who He was. It was just items of clothing hooking up in the dark. That business with the Gods, it seemed insane to him that He should venture here, into this den of what He was fighting to destroy. He realized He was ether insane because of what He had been through, or the situation was fictional and operated from within his own delusions. Either way He guessed he was insane, especially in this new world He had come back to, where even his most reversed, anti social and cynical friends were dancing unashamedly to bad music, investing in overpriced drinks and making plays at the local easy money. In this new aesthetic, He for the first time felt an alone and a bitter hate rise within him without any outlet. Now beginning to go out of his way to hate, even contradicting his self to hate, feeling sterilized and impotent. It was a hopeless desperation no valve to commit to irresponsibility and more reason than ever to do so. Meanwhile Jim was scoring himself some pills so that he could get his night started. It always seemed funny how the young of each generation had such a taste for unreality, excelling at substances that could change them. In searching for happiness or discontent the young had a task to reduce their forefathers to a string of What is the world coming to... catch phrases. To remind the old of their own pointless excesses in their own youth, something so distant and shameful they now denied existence of. It was tit for tat rebellion, a jigjig to progress, a uniform game of opposites. Jim thought the dealer was strangely over dressed for a club, but admired the gimmick, maybe Victorian dress was coming back into fashion, Jim was more than ready to pay for an arrow with which to shoot himself with. Sulphur randomly sewing out the bad seeds, fuelled by the irresponsibility hit he had recently acquired. Jim looked up from the floor which he had met with as the drugs began to take affect, dizzying him into gargled spittle, what he saw as his eyes dilated was reality shifting as objects and people spindled were torn and melted into

nothingness, he could feel it in his head. Time, space, feel, thought were all shifting backwards, Jim could feel He in the air his actions hung heavy in the air, a note sounding of He, there were lines of distortion emanating from his position. "What the hell is He Doing?" Jim passed out; the note rang on then abruptly ended. It was then was followed by a long succession of other notes the band followed suit and came in with a wave of sound. He was the only other one aware of the shift had blinked and missed everything changed, swept into the walls, He turned. "Why would a club play......wait that was a band behind me the surrounding are ......old Im in the past? But still the same age we all are." He was suddenly interrupted by john. "Jims in trouble he wont respond to anything and Hes not breathing to well. Hes gone all white and is puking up all over the show. Where is he? He said In an ambulance, Domino went with him lets go follow to the hospital. What the Hell is going on. We think Jims had a bad reaction to something he took. No the music, whats up with the band? What the fuck man, didnt you hear me, Jims in the hospital. Yeah but since when did they have live guitar music at a dance club. Shit youre self involved, who cares if youve got issues man, Jims in the Fucking Hospital. Lets go, but youre going to have to explain what just happened, one minute its dance music and then the next its back to rock and roll. Would you just shut up, do you seriously think I want to talk to you about the impact of this new rock and roll revival thing and retro music in general while my friend could be dying for all I know. Have you completely lost it? Im just a little confused thats all. Youre an asshole retard.

THE HOSPITAL A squeaking jolt of the wheels and Jim was conscious if that, ugly colours and lino textures danced in frames and flashes over his dazed retina, he felt like puke in the bed between the sheets he was trapped under, soaked in, dripping from the sides in a formless mess. Overhead lights scratched indents in his brain and the jumpy rattle of the hospital bed scattered thoughts. Jim could not scream with all the tubes he had in his throat, not that he knew they were there, or that it was a hospital bed, or that he was trying to scream, all Jim knew a cold sweaty steel panic. Beyond the animal drive of confusion there was nothing. Leather braces made imagined cuts in his arms. More of the same corridor, every corridor, riding up and down in the same lift, hole in the wall, plaster falling down, rough floor, shadow faces, black out. Im awake, so clear its dizzying, pain, panic. Geez Im sobbing now but my body cant move and the tube cuts into my throat if I try to. I cant stop the shaking, uh GOD kill me. The pain, the fuckers have ripped out my guts, oh Christ I can see whats happened to me Jesus what are they doing to my arms theyre sticking stuff in em urrgggghhh Black out Fuck am I dead, shit my whole bodies sore, just fucken end it, Im speaking but it just wont come out, just a moan and a shudder, it irritates my throat until I puke and the tube sucks it up through a machine. Then it pumps it back into my stomach through my chest, I can feel the blood down my face, my mouth is all messed up, I can feel them cut at my guts. blackout Aaaaarrgh my eye shit their right behind it in the socket and theyre pulling it out, tugging on it really hard. Uggh The sound track to Grease the musical, please Im awake, knock me out again, whats happened to me, stopit, stopit stopit please. Ahhh, no I can see but my eye is resting on my cheek, what the fuck, this is fucked. I can see the pale backs of legs hairy pushing against another set on a side table, shit the Doctors fucking a nurse in front of me, no Im awake geez I cant move Im so sore, he cant hear me, I can hear them, I can see them, the music, turn it off, my eye put it back, what kind of hospital is this, what have you done to me, what have you done to me... They pulled into the Hospital and Hinder sorted out were to park while the others went to the Emergency admittance. In the waiting room they saw Domino sullen and down faced. Domino brightened slightly at the sign of his friends, but still looked worn. The ambulance ride was a nightmare, I could hardly breathe and it smelt of puke

and disinfectant, Jim didnt look good at all, its like he ceased being human. What have they done with him? He asked Theyve taken him in but wouldnt let me follow; I had to wait here for you guys anyway. So we just have to wait here then. Yup They sat for an hour in stern chairs with uncomfortable plastic moulded arm rests, playing nod off with their heads supported by their elbows and folding slouches that sent them horizontal. The sterile environment further greyed by late night dulled senses. Sullen shadow faces crowded the waiting room. The lost faces of human-less lingerers, pushed by desperation into far away corners within themselves. These were not pleasant thoughts and they could not be read, these people were locked up, playing over tragedies looping them over in the hope on a new end to the one that got them here. This inward energy of the misplaced soaked into the carpets, the white walls and the plastic moulded chairs that were screwed into the ground. It formed an essence that feed in its own selfpromotion. This was the most horrid waste, the helpless waiters. Mendel got up and approached the admissions counter, he had been told to wait for someone who would see them and ask questions about Jim. The nurses hardened face blurred in late night over stimulus, bruised by harsh lights she played monstrous to Mendel. She seemed to be drawn together from departed eyes, age lines and hanging moles. Excuse me but its been an hour and Id like some information on my friend, someone was supposed to see us and ask questions but no one came. You mean a Doctor. I guess thats what theyd send. Let me see, his name was Jim Paisley, um male aged Yes I have it, thats strange he hasnt been assigned to an area. You mean you guys have lost him. Hang on a second sir claim down please, just because hes not filed doesnt mean hes disappeared off the face of the earth. He heard the last phrase clearly, the way it was intended. It had been coded for him, whether the nurse was a conscious agent for the message, He could not be sure. Horror stunned him and a spinal shiver nearly pushed him to show it but He dare not, they knew he had the message, but he pretended he didnt know want it meant. They didnt know how smart He was so dumbly he sat on, while they thought out their next move. They wanted him to know, they were toying with him. Either that or Hed become paranoid. Mendel returned He stood up to meet him and gave them all the secret eye, the eye that was capable of causing great trouble for anyone that didnt understand it. He was a God of something so didnt that mean he had some sort of sway with

the physical universe, did wasnt his rank a reflection of his ability. Couldnt He just re-manifest himself into his cosmic form and use his superhuman strength to break down the dead bolted door. Surely if He was a fundamental concept, then shouldnt He out power the idea of a door. He ran at the door with complete conviction screaming a nasal battle cry. He slammed into the door with a shoulder, nearly dislocating it. The door didnt give an inch. Pain shot up his arm and He mouthed a number of ouchs and mixed curses. He reasoned too late that an idea had no power if you did not know what it was. Either that or door breaking wasnt part of his cosmic portfolio. It hurt. He was kicking up such a fuss that the attending nurse sent security and another nurse to find out what the result of someone running into a steel reinforced door. Upon entering the admission area, they only succeeded in slamming the door back into Hes arm. He without an outlet fell back again on violence getting up and swinging his one good arm at the nearest target, it was far to late in life to take up fighting and expect to be any good at it. The guard caught the arm easy and twisted it into a submission hold, He flailed about drawing more guards and Hes friends to pacify him. Now both arms were sore and the wind was knocked out of Hes sails. But admission beyond the door was granted for He and his friends, He needed treatment to see weather or not his arm was broken and his friends were let in to look after him, lest he cause more harm to himself, the security guards had no problem with someone else getting kicked at for a change. They were currently handling the lions share of restraining demands, as He flared up kicking and punching at the sign of pain. A Nurse attended to his arm and referred him for a set of X-rays, with all pain He was displaying. His friends gladly pulled the arm in the directions indicated by the nurse. The more the Nurse was convinced the arm was broken the better less damaged it felt. But He played along. They were all pointed the direction to the Radiology department, with a vague set of aural directions attached. Down the hall and the arm was cured. Whoa time to let me go fellas Ive gotten us in, my arms all better, now I have a feeling Jims over this way. He said He gave a demonstration circling his arms about like a cartoon boxer. They still werent exactly convinced; He wasnt acting at all stable at the moment but He had already disappeared in the opposite direction. The old He would have found too many distractions; hiding the childrens wing toys, Doctor Impersonation, small theft, the Hospital was a playground for fun at everyone elses expense. The new He knew where to go, but didnt want to go there and find what was expected. He could smell that same old sulphur stink of the devil. The abandoned wing still to be demolished, that would be the place that particular Doctor would prepare some grand unnecessary gesture, except now

with Hes bag of party tricks to add to his own, some hideous new application devoid of any playfulness would be part of the plan. In that broken down isolation, they sat and waited laying out some redundant trap to prove a point. Destiny was coming to a head. They bounded in, each bashing their shoulders against the swing door, into the echoic footsteps of darkened ward. It had been decorated back when swamp green was a good institutional colour. The floor was all dirt and scrap paper, a sheet of plastic flapped down the corridor. There were walls missing and stripped, another corridor for He to walk down. There was a dark in each room and hospital objects held peripheral forms, sinister jungle images. What the hell He hes not in here. John spoke. Shhh, Listen, Im deadly serious this isnt a joke. It better not be Ill kill you. You can barely hear it, a radio, but this is some heavy shit, we are all in a lot of danger I cant explain so pipe down. Youve got to be kidding meyou cant fool us. Domino said He spun around and the face that shone in the dark showed them He was serious. Not a trace of that hidden smirk they were used to. They snuck along the hallways bends along a narrow distance, looking for the danger only He had an accurate grasp of. A ghost light was showing from around one of the corners, down the hall was a room with a light in it, music from a radio seemed to come from there as well. The image loomed from around the corner, body parts and machinery drew in the eye to their shock and dismay. What lay before them was not only a sickening tunnel focus of an atrocious act but also the weeping scraps of their dear friend. He let out a groan and tears stormed over him at the sight beyond belief before them; he gripped at the door way for support. Mendels eyes glazed distant and his face paled backing away from the scene. John was the one to rush to his friends bed side through a tangle of coloured wires and tubing. To clutch at the one hand left in the hope of any human response beneath this living human wreck. A doom sent from the gods. Beyond the sunny wash of radio song and static, lay the plastic wheeze of an artificial lung, the harsh light utterly unforgiving to the disfigured flesh stern with wires, sweat and sores. Whole machines were buried in gaping wounds, some held in place by fabric stapled to the skin. Wrapped mechanisms hung out of him and for some the only purpose seemed to be to scrape and spindle more pain out of him with metal skeleton claws. The body strained and wrought spasms at the touch of another human. Every moment carried an unbearable pain on what was once Jims mind, some animal reflex that knew nothing beyond an ache. This flicked over driving the poor creature on in forced beating rhythms, in organs terse movements from suspended jars strewn about the room like anything else. Further robbed any dignity there was nothing left to the face, features lay

scattered or sawn off and eyes sewn shut, but for one that was fed through the gap left by a missing nose. A machine perched from above the face made routine squirts to provide moisture. The eye looked on them without any means to emote, just a stark stare. All Jim could do to acknowledge them was to gurgle from one of the tubes stuck down his throat from an opening in one cheek, still it was all the communication needed to break any of the party before him. Mouth open and wired in place a permanent gummy broken tooth grimace. The top lip removed completely the other left to quiver and furrow. This gibbering half corpse scene was left to carry on and there was nothing to be done, nothing to do but lose some more from enduring it. It was a goddamned jab to the jaw, with nothing to stop it from continuing, ushering in a divide from the past that had them staring into its darkest depths unable to look away, a blue fold of bedspread behind a contorted frame, dreary colours for this whole dead scene. The nails of Jims shaking hand bit flesh on johns, this pinched squeeze was to be the last human thought purged from an alien body as reptilian impulses took over and the thing took over. The drive impulse wanting to be whole again the knowledge of this impossibility buried deep. Wanting to be like every one else was but never able to get there, each act from now would only take him further away until he forgot himself, wanting to be more. Desperate hope held by the hopeless can bend a man into a reckless abomination as he clambers spreading ruin to preserve its illusion. There was last act before the dark rushed in clouding fog and faced forward monster destruction, Jims hand reached up and pointed to the curtain to the back of John. The curtain drape wavered slightly in a short step scuffle that was all the warning they had. He knew what was being played out; He knew he could not afford to flaw in reality a thousand failings in dreams. There were no more safe awakenings to fall back on. A mass began to appear against the curtain until a slender knife hand fell through. He ran forward to the falling blade set against an exposed back. She was screaming irreproachable. The cutting edge came down but was a caught wrist short of her target; He couldnt fail another friend so soon. The curtain shaped fluttered clumsily as He grappled with its shifting figure, throwing his weight forward to drive the knife back, throwing punches at the woman behind the cloth. This went on in a tangle until wrapped up they both fell to the floor dragging the curtain with them, some mad floor scramble ensued until He had her pinned and panting, her eyes now leading a perfectly formed face of hate. There was little else to do than to punch her lights out, watch her slacken, still. He got up noticing the; strewn curtain, ruffled nurses costume and splayed legs with matched repugnance. There was nothing wholesome in the manner she had come to unconsciousness, did she dream of him dying. He scrapped himself together and scrambled backward scooping up a dazed John in his arms, half dragging him and the others out the door. It was a shamble of confusion, running was the best idea they collectively had, and not that most of them had the faintest idea of what was going on. Their friend was gone, they

couldnt help him and if they didnt help themselves it would be the same deal for them. Still it was a guilty flight knowing Jim was still alive back there, they shouldve at least pulled the plug. No one was going to act like a Boy Scout and suggest they go back; the thing was none of them could kid themselves and pretend they gave a damn beyond their own hides. Those that werent yet filled in could feel around them that something heavy was in the air, heavy beyond mere mutilation, torture and reconstitution of a dearly loved friend. No minor devastation carried by human hands. No this was something else and it did not bode well. The horizons presented by any pre-figuration werent at all attractive. He knew all about what lay ahead, how could he tell them, did he have the right not to, having dragged them into it? On the street outside it was all chills, some gumshoe creeper of vented smoke and blurred neons. The streets howled and crawled with shady faces running in animal packs. Life had begun to twist itself over to the new program. They all scuttled over down the road to Hinders car. In one corner of the street two groups of men were brawling, a mess of dull thuds and gut screams. Back in the hospital Jim the abomination began to stir though his eternity of pain, what was a little more. Life was being driven blindly forward by such things anyways. Except, in his case the points were pulled to their extremes, beyond human. The creature groaned and gurgled as it wrapped wires about itself and crawled into a wheelchair by its fingers, leaving a trail of visceral ooze. Each movement an agony, but in order to survive it had to move on and become more. It disrobed from any superfluous equipment and dragged along anything still needed, out into the hospital. They screamed and shuddered pities at him, they hoisted themselves up with empty empathies before him, but for this sin against him he had to grow. The first tender hand upon him was bit upon by gnashing automated teeth, loose wires became alive and struck veins of victims. Bones were stuffed into the mouth and redistributed in his mass with instant efficiency, sped along by implanted mechanisms. Winding clocks formed new mouths for unsuspecting offal. His appearance altered with each hit, some idea monster, feeding of theories and amalgamating them into his own form. It swept down floors of hospital beds gaining sickness upon sickness, every suffering and bitter end pushing him forward to shred his own guts into astringent knots of self loathing. Nothing could quench that thirst which had become greed. The very desire to go back to what he was pushing him further away from it to Jim was fully lost. Those that could escape fled his bulking mass in fear. Each new form of the moments between feeds left him clumsy. The abomination was to become a chief collection agent for Doctor Sulphur; it was a thing of moral chaos now. Meanwhile outside friends quarrelled over what was happening and what could be done. He stood silent, even when asked what he knew. They all were more than aware of the death screams emanating from the hospital behind them. Every one of them noticed the greyed air and the stalking animal shadow moments from the people in the street about them.

That now immense mass stumbled out into the car park after them, so that it could taste its former friends. Their taste dribbled about in his mouth, their destruction more than any other could reconcile him with his dead past. That they could live on without him was a spiting insult and beyond that He had a glow about him. It was a reverie scent that gnashed and howled inside his stomach. The doors to the hospital opened with fleeing screams of the few that had survived the fracas inside. They spilled out only to be swept by wired tendrils and mashed up against walls. Their blood sucked from weeping brick. From down the street the company of friends all head turned by this, stood in loosely composed fashion about the hood of the car. Framed by the shoulders of others in front of him, lay what had happened to his friend, the streets diagonal line of perspective all forming a chasm from which a shifting form stood and bayed monster sounds. There was enough to fingerprint him in the distance, but nothing more as the very outline of the creature burped and shivered with the shapes of others, it stared back with cold unthinking eyes with a caving unpredictability as it fed on the leftovers of the hospital. Their friend was gone, what was left was an untidy shell filling itself up with other people. The party gathered up the star-struck amongst them and edged for the car. He with this terror about them had the nerve to call out shotgun, although it was for noble reasons He needed the front seat to guide them. The creature spewed forward in a lunging bound at the first sign of escape. Hinder punched pedals hard and wheels screeched out smoke to gain traction, the car whipped around and sped from the clumsy beast. The gave up the chase for an easier meal after only a few bounds.

THE ABOMINATION Hinders driving was as steady as ever which took a lot of tension out of the fact that He and his friends were being chased directionless around the city by an entity that proclaimed it self a deity, wanted to assimilate He and had already mutilated one of his friends into the shape of another possible devastation. That boy Hinder knew his corners at least. He put on his head phones much to everyone elses dismay, the engine noise disappeared the road began to glide the tension eased back a bit. The guilt He felt fell back. only I can solve this for me and my friends and I need some down time so I can solve it, and if someone where to solve it while Im away in these headphones then whats the problem Ive done all I know for now He though to him self. He looked ahead or out the window so he didnt have to face the scowls of the other passengers some up front some hidden they were all pissed of at him for being hunted for being his friends. Twiggets and flutters of images flashed in front of his eyes drawn in by a snare hit guitar riff synth squelch or electronic click . Snippets of thought spiraled off into nothingness patterns danced beneath his eyeballs reinventing themselves as they were made it made He sad it wasnt that thoughts were badly conceived some of them were quite good, not that He could remember them. I cant even hold onto the thoughts that I like and each one I think and lose is a life I kill each thing I perceive and lose is a life I snuff out what a horrible world it is and it doesnt matter whether or not the thought deserves to live or not its whether its remembered by me or not Im committing thought genocide here I need to pick up a Dictaphone. He then went onto have an idea about a music video for one of his future singles. hey I like the way the drums are panned right for the bridge I must remember to use that in a mix some time and I can have a music video with me in a wrestling mask behind flames framed by a dollar bill . Hes ears were tired so he reluctantly removed his headphones and was a forced into the nervous atmosphere of the car. Theyd been driving about along blocks and over passes without course for twenty minutes. He was surprised that they hadnt just kicked him out, some spark-less stare into the distance and morbid look was all Hed been good for since theyd picked him up. Im sorry, its my entire fault. What are you talking about man? Domino said. All of this is because of who I am. Hey wait a minute, youre an asshole which youre probably feeling guilty about now but youre also deluded if you think you have the power to cause what ever the hell is happing here.

Domino terse lipped looked out the window at a row of shops being looted, in one window shot out a glimpse of a group of men pack raping a girl against the broken glass floor of a display window. Black smoke bellowed from up ahead and a riot spilled out of an alleyway two blocks down. Rioters and armed police clashes, slogans fists and guns. Hinder calmly turned out of the way, now used to this occurrence around them. No one from the streets outside had yet involved them; it was like they werent there. Domino watched on as he tried to gather his thoughts, men ripping each other to shreds and sliced throats writing symbols on walls with blood and viscera. Every indecency on display played out with gross apathy. Everything was unhinged and had become disconnected from everything else. There wasnt a hope to hold meaning to all this carnal objectivity about them. Maybe He was to blame this looked like his dark little mind; modernism shitting all over itself, social connection spindling itself into a hernia about to burst. He had made some crazy talk when he went on that TV show earlier that night was this what He warned of. Near and far automatic echoes, rubble, explosions and shock waves all around them. Tear gas formed a thick mist turning men to shadow. Uh guys apparently the universe is made up of ideas and stuff and everybody is just a representation of a principle within that universe and you live as long as you have a use and a meaning This isnt the time for hokey solipsism man; we need to come up with a plan and to do that we need to know what the hell is going on. Mendel snapped. Solipsism as absurd as it is, is how it works around here, this isnt supposition its fucken fact and better shut the hell up and listen to this stupid fucken hell Ive been through because I know whats what and I dont appreciate people telling me how ridiculous the world is because its not helping me survive this bullshit situation. Youve flipped Well you can go out and stand with all the sanity in out in the streets if you dont like what I have to say. Okay then whats happening in this idea world of yours. Its finite and its full, but time still goes on, but you cant make new time with old experiences so retro music is just a symptom of time looping back on itself... Are you still going on about that shit, fuck, have you seen Jim. John yelled Wait, its hard for me to put into wordsMatter is breaking apart and becoming disconnected from itself and spilling out into the void, furthering the process. So at this end everyone will soon be deconstructed into baser and baser parts and

thats whats happening in the streets. Everything is about to lose all meaning and apparently Im a principle somehow connected to the end. Things werent going well for He they still didnt believe him and catching himself talking all the conviction in his voice could just as easily be insanity. Why it is my fault is, Theres a group of beings that are fundamental ideas and therefore immortal. I apparently am one of those beings, although for the life of me I dont know what I represent Crack! John had punched him in the side on the face and was yelling him out as some sort of arrogant bastard. Hinder swerved the car buy a knock to the steering wheel cause by He jumping into the back seat swinging at all three of them back there, pounding at all of them as hard as He could. Wait guys stop look behind usHinder yelped He craned his neck up only to be punched by a cheap shot Mendel. He paid it no mind, the look on his face told the others to theyd better quit. A rough and rolling ball of metal was encroaching on them like an archeologically themed cultural reference. It changed course to avoid collision and roared past them, coming to a halt ahead of them. Stop the car He screamed. Hinder obliged in a manner that sent He forward into the front section. He got out of the car all a stumble, rolling from the car door onto his feet. In front of them the black hot metal sphere unfolded, back into flaps under the skin the abomination Jim. It stirred in cowboy stance; it had sprouted the guise of a wolves head. He reasoned a few of Doctor Sulphurs hounds had been sacrificed to optimize the creatures tracking skills. It looked fierce and pagan ancient, even though it was as new as the last moment it fed. He made to close the car door and lent in with it half ajar. Drive off and leave me, Im sick of running and Im sick of you fucks treating me like some punch line. He slammed the door in their faces, they couldnt leave him but none would exit the car to reconcile him unless they had to get out of their in a hurry. It was a lot safer in the car. Instead they watched he stride forward towards the beast, it seemed a lot more detached without the sound of those steps. For He this was that end that had sped up before him, no way out. Just a fight he was bound to lose. That didnt matter as long as He didnt go down begging that was enough for him. If his friends stayed to watch and realize he wasnt a joke all

the better, but theyd be dead soon as well. What did it matter? Those steps forward were the very echoes of eternity closing in. HHHHEEEEEE The creature chorused in a thousand voices merged ghastly. It spoke only one word now, in about as many different ways you could phrase it; question and imperative, yell and whisper, the sort of full range unison that buzzed about the skull. He edged to the point He was willing to go and squared off, eye to uncountable eyes. Tendrils whipped slightly poised behind the beast swaying pre-strike. Hey asshole Ive always hated your poetry. No much of an action one liner but it was the best He could come up with. The wires whipped forward and He raised his arms before his eyes summoning all his internal strength to block the first strike. He felt a sting in his left arm as wires lapped against skin. The brace slackened as the pain suddenly withdrew; He once again exposed his eyes to the sight in front of him. To his surprise the creature bayed in pain as burning ends sparked up the wire lines leaving them a smouldering cinder. The abomination entrenched its feet and whipped back and forth again, but instead of the mark the metal vine vines intended the bit empty air, cast off by some invisible aura. This furthered Hes resolve, the pious result had the creature step backwards a step. Thats right, youre still only a transient in this world and you forgot all about the pecking order, I hope you know your Greek, I hope you know the wraith Gods like me had on mortals that climbed a bit to high above your position. He leaped forward in a single glide, dust parted to avoid his path. His fist came up in a half blink to land square in the creatures solar plexus. The upper cut hit ran so fast that the universe lapsed buffer time to register; the abomination flew backward doubled over in some mid air cartoon gesture. He sprang forward again giving short chase before grabbing the beast by the neck and grating its wolves head against the ground as they both skimmed its surface. Such power was only encumbered by guessing its depths. Lost in a drunken rage of every superman fantasy held unachieved until now, He threw the creature through half a dozen buildings in front of him. This was not enough; He made for high in the air then crashed into the rubble after the beast, cracking near by windows on impact with the ground. He dug the ground below him in full frenzy until he found the wounded creature. The abomination was then held up by the scruff of the neck, face to face with He who now protruded fire and arced out lightning. He then let out a scream full of such furore that the beasts face burnt right off. It sobbed child like from melted flesh and frame. He panted, somewhat subdued by failure of any threat. The God then looked down at the wreck before him that was once his friend, and drew quiet and mournful. A voice hailed from aside the ruins.

You stupid idiot Frank Pontys head popped up from a smashed pillar sporting a loin cloth of rags and a cowboy hat. His thin framed lugged an axe, all protruding pot belly, black beard and flawed tooth grin. Frank was the image of imperfection. What the hell are you doing here? Saving you from yourself thats what. Im doing OK arent I? No youre burning up all your energy on a henchman, one that is currently no threat to you, because it is not powerful enough to absorb you just soften you up for its master. Shit, of course. This thing isnt a fundamental property just because it amalgamates a whole bunch of transience. You should worry about the Doctor himself, thats what you are fated to face. It was true, with the bloodlust gone He felt weak. It had been a long time without rest and Hed been through a lot. The burnt skulled bulk below him began to shift face towards something else, it no longer carried any menace in his hands. It was also shortly ago a friend. Im sorry Jim. He said The creature made a sudden stir knocking He back, it raged at the insult of pity. Frank leapt forward at it and drew it back down to the ground with a blunt end swing, then boot pin to chest, he drove at it with lofty hacks. Between lusty wheezes and flesh wrapped ribcages, Frank spoke with a sense unheard before by He. As the universe winds down, concepts are being drawn from it into the void. This simplification will lead to a dumbing down effect, just look at the whole superman routine you pulled out of the hat, all actions will soon loose meaning as the end races forward to a singularity of fate. Violence is a by product of this effect. You being here, it doesnt make much sense either, when you look at it. Hmmn, I suppose it doesnt. I hadnt asked myself that question. Frank paused, all blood specked and rested on the handle of his axe. Those eyes of his looked off into the distance, his actions reeking of meaning. The more this place buckles the more solid it becomes and from this it becomes wholly pernickety. Stuff just isnt going to make sense from here on in and even if theres an explanation maybe that too will have slipped from this world minutes before the question was raised. Nasty thought.

Seems coldly rational enough to be real though. Geeze look at us dwelling, while the world crumbles about us. He said Ha, yeah as if any combination of words could save us now. They were interrupted a little further from inspiration than where they started. Cold cattle clomps hit out from the rubble, gaudy fashion followed as two man powered chariots violated their line of vision. It was the Girl and the Doctor, reeking of celestial affluence, in poise and positioning. The Doctor sporting an antiquated pistol with which he took aim at the spectators that had ambled in full of the kind of stupid curiosity farmed from a life of observing the world through a reality TV world greatest accidents show. The kind that buys you a bullet for running towards the explosions, the stupid security blanket tube heads. He half expected a slow-mo replay edit the way the world was dimming out. Well fancy meeting you here... no wait that isnt nearing as witty slash ominous as I can usually come up with. The Doctor mused once in ear shot. The chariots pulled up in front of the three in the rubble, He more than noticed how comfortable she looked by the other mans side. Who the hell verbalizes a goddamn slash marks mid sentence? Frank piped up. The Doctor calmly reloaded his pistol; gunpowder, wad, shot and then took aim. Frank dashed forward axe in tow, perfect swing to deflect the bullet with the metal axe wedge. The near naked man then axed his way through the muscle bound chariot haulers. Blade blunted on sunken chest cavities, he fought on fists and elbows, pulling the bladed side with a slow suction squelch. Frank wheeled on another man-stallion with a blunt side spin that had Frank off balance, the mount collapsed in a heap skull-caved. The axe man ran up to the Doctor stanching straight armed with weapon above his own head. A buried abomination tentacle whipped up from beneath the rubble in a below board ankle tap. Frank stumbled forward in some clumsy undershot pounce, the axe shaft falling cleanly in the calm hand of chaos. The doctor all wry smiled stood up in his seat, axe and dangling Frank in tow. Now viewed upon as no more than exiting play, Frank knew his number was up, heck the world was ending anyways. More tentacles rose up from the ground and crept up around Franks thrashing arms and legs. The Doctor looked over at he with a mirror look and grabbed the axe from Franks hand, slicing his cleanly with the axe blade.

Say Mr beast, my pet, taste some of my blood, take some of my power and use it to feast on your former friend He. A tentacle gently wrapped around the Doctors hand and lapped at the wound, the beast took on a half guise of its meal, after a while he had to knock away the tentacle. It cowered and crept still hungry. Sulphur cast the axe aside and caressed it with his good hand, before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped a makeshift bandage for the bad one. He knew where this scene was going, so he edged away from it while Sulphur was distracted with himself. There was going to be no glory amongst this rubble, any heroic last stand would fall short of victory and maybe the future held greater hope. In any case horizons were diverging all around him, another friend was about to converge on zero and step beyond the vanishing point. This time not because of him but for He, one of Franks hands was ushering him away, but He hadnt caught on. Ha, Im Obi Wan you fuckers, you cant kill me, you dont even understand what Im saying. He took his last few retreating steps, to watch his old friend body struck by coils. Frank died helpless beyond a scream, with the blood drained right out of him, his limp body scattered to the dirt for the rest of the beast to devour. It nuzzled the carcass pushing it along the ground, pig like and vile. He didnt wait any further to make his escape, nor did He want to see anymore. Turning his back and bolting it back to the car.

DRIVE TO EDGE TOWN Taking those echoic ghost steps back to the car played out a long murder for the amount of time He had to spare. Another defeat out of the way to roll about his head, not to mention the collective look on his friends faces from inside the vehicle, faces winding over and chewing through his recent actions. The streets had some dead heat on them, out in the rest of the city sitcom phrases and slasher-flick knife drives fought with TV movie drama and song and dance numbers. On scale, the whole human race was dissolving into a shady mimicked gesture of its own entertainment vices. Interaction and outlook swung between action movie one liners. Soon enough it would become all gun smoke and karate stances. He was fool enough to know that, in knowing this and making some superior-cynical two-step about it was just as bad. In the midst of this cultural chain explosion - where the dynamic were being filtered out by some bell curve mediocrity there lay eventual change: The End. He could not hope for better than this lazy mess, a sacrificial opulence. All seemed lost and how could He( a mere flicker on the circuit board) out measure a being before time. One that had a lot to do with mapping out the finer ends of this failed creation. It was his mess of flaws to play with not Hes. At this final stage life was becoming an unsubtle interplay of individuals carrying out themes as us and them vessels, merging into groups and marching onward to plotline horizons. He snatched the car door and leaned into his seat. We are taking me seriously now arent we? The only response a deadpan You kill him? from John Nope you cant kill anything that depraved; he was only a lure to weaken me before reeling me in, for the big merger, then everybody else. Doctor Sulphur is his name and he is chaos and he thinks merging with me will save the world. Im supposed to be gathering strength so I can beat him, but Im not doing very well. So He its defiantly a bad thing for you to merge with this chaos guy, even if it might mean saving the world. It feels wrong, I have to trust myself on this one, you saw what they did to Jim, do you want those individuals with that power, and do you trust them to save the world. Hinder youre a moron, Jim man. Said John Look Im just trying to piece it together thats all. He you must admit youre an unlikely hero. Said Domino. If everything means something and youre something big, then what are you? Asked Mendel. Thats the thing nobody knows. and us, what are we.

I dont know but they are after all of us, by association, I got you all involved, who ever said no man is an island, blame that guy, because these devils are after all of us because youre part of my picture. Gee thanks for the analogy; you know I think this deity stuff has gone to your head. Said Mendel. They spun back around and headed off amongst street fires and gestures of rape and ravage. Grey ape sulks of hunched abandon. The towers around them slowly thinned out over to suburb streets. It was get out of the city while you still can Good riddance to filthy concrete, the squid ink blot it had become, the face of collapse. So what are we going to do? Said Mendel I have no idea; I only just made it out of there. So not much time and no decision is that It? said Domino. If we make it over the ranges along the Saddle Valley pass, then we could go see my Dad Ken on the flats on the other side, he could help, hes a philosopher, I think we need a philosopher. Mendel said Youve got to be kidding. John said. Whats his work revolve around? Said He. I think it was about transcendental idealism. Hmn, I have no idea what that means, the mountains will do, getting out of populated areas is a good idea, at this stage we need to figure out a way through this and the destination doesnt matter as long as its away from himThe worst thing is Sulphurs taken part of me already, the trademark part, the famous part. Your art? Yeah the one thing I had to communicate to the world with, the thing the got me around an out from my own shell and now I fear I going to collapse inward with no outlet. Youre doing ok He, youll adapt. John Said Or Die, Im not even myself anymore, not even a whole being. How do you think we feel, youre still more than us? Mendel Said Youre wrong you are all thats left of my world, youre my friends, Im guessing thats important. By now the entropy had spread to the suburbs, which already fostered tendencies towards simplifications and epitome. Community watch dog lynch mobs had already formed door to door witch hunts for foreigners and deviants (if there was a separate classification for those two groups) the indicators for categorization shifted specification with condemning wide scope paranoia. The result: anyone who was not party to the mob invite was picked apart by assumed traits and mild physical nuisances (sometimes drawn on by marker pens) beyond the norm. The outcasts were then thrown out on their lawns tied to their couches and set alight with gasoline screaming. The more cognizant amongst us would point out that the gross over exaggeration of such acts played poor metaphor to modern events and the much explored topic of the nature of

suburbia, that this was an overblown attempt to show its tendency to construct terror from the very act of isolating it. The absence of fear breeds fear, and so on, and so on. This was all well known and not disputed by that solemn car load. They knew the world was ending and it was slipping towards obtuse times. Metaphor was the near summation of meaning left. Diminished traits only exaggerated by what complexities were missing. The events of the night ran along the road in a directional time line as if what they saw behind them was still there waiting to be lived again. After the purging those shrewd enough to survive held dinner parties, set back to their invisible game of shifting codes, shade gestures and hidden comments, meaning little aggressions on so many levels. A pathetic wounded stagger lashing out from the notion of self they carried, dragging each other down by their sores in some insecure little dance. Empty uninformed suggestion asserted self importance and supreme patroness generosity. They attempted to hoist themselves up-status whilst their souls hung in the mire. Stretched out faces wore thin smiles, mood lighting skulled up their faces. No one touched the food for some arm movement faux pas, let alone the correct ingestion etiquette; one had to make sure the stomach and bowl acted accordingly. Then there was the am I too fat? internal monologue to consider, the thing that ran along side the false laugh track for worn out dinner conversation anecdotes. The men excused themselves o use the bathroom helping them selves to underage Lolitas on the way back flicking digital penetration, dirty fingers against a wall, before a thirty second sojourn of clumsy grunts, a sweaty smother, welcome to the sophistication of adulthood kid. The girl an empty cup, pulling up her leg high shorts and her (insert girlish word over my still forming breasts) Tshirt. Reset, every time anew, for that play acted first. I get adulthood better than you think; I drink coffee and laugh at sitcoms stupid. The women simply finger their food, pushing it around the plate with a fork. Talking television drama that none of them are particularity interested in beyond the social glue it was useful for. Yes, the trademark bitter side swipes, self medication and landscaping fantasies were all there. If only they were still desirable. That same old played out routine was ever covered by social commentators and emulated in the big TV feedback loop, demented and boring, sick to the core. This format could ride out any doomsday; this lot werent particularly synergetic anyways. They could just drift on into extended impotence. A conversation about: (A) Work or, (B) Interior decorating or, (C) An important issue concerning us all that no one at the table was going to do a thing about. The party of five drove on through all this mostly imperious to the flux around them, the car interior held a quiet vigil, solemn and almost in-awed to the situation. They passed these lawn embers and x-ray view doll house skeletons with silent, superior loathing. All this wife swapping and bed hopping did not even

hold the honesty to just throw the keys in the bowl. No the occupants desires were fuelled by dishonesty to a point where suburbanites could detach their actions from their surface view; they could convincingly spin that moral lie about, pushing violent condemnations against everyone else playing the same game. That veil of hypocrisy that hung over the dinner table, the adult world above never spoke of what hands went underneath out of sight, in full view for the passing by gloomy vehicle. There was a composed contraction above and the mad scramble underneath. Both were seen by dissected view. Whether this was good or bad, what a world framed within the houses, livid. Orange safety cones had started to appear along the side of the road, reflective strips headlight beamed. These one-inch dashes mapped out ahead, like a submerged extension of the night sky. Ah guys I have a confession to make. He piped up. What is it? Hinder said, eager to predict any future hurdles on route. Well the thing is, Ive been playing dress ups a bit, wig and make up and I did a bit of campaigning in character here and there and well, it just so happens that Im the current mayor of this city, and as mayor Ive been instrumental in pushing city works in the direction its going in. What, so youre the bastard that has been hustling up useless bypasses, roundabouts and speed bumps all over town? Well its worse than that, the majority of council works around the place have been, time wasters, such as; dig then un dig a hole, or park up and pretend to do something. All this at random points around the city, changed at a whim. Its gotten a bit big for its own good, Im surprised we havent hadnt hit works sooner. You really are a fucken champion do you know that, do you at least have a map for the works. Hinder said. No map. The car crawled forward again, gravel on asphalt past diamond signs that reduced an individual to a black circle on a twig, over the boarder line between naked earth and its black carpet. The thing is that urge that made me jump into these sort of things, thats been vampired out of me by that bastard, well this being a product of that urge, it could mean were heading into enemy territory, I cant believe the thing that made me famous is gone, Im just another dead star now. Did someone say Death star. John said, waking up from a head nod in the back seat. Geeze, Chaos right, with the malice of forethought, not exactly a concept with promise, hey I thought you hated being famous. Mendel said We all know I got off on pretending to hate being famous. They all zoned out on the jarring sound of gravel on tire and the traction battle between them. Burly lummox with hair in all the wrong places watched the roadside with Donkey Kong leers, in idle mnage with half eaten egg sandwich,

full of lazy intent towards the carload, the only thing between them glass and inclination. Stop/Go signs flicked on and off unsystematically and as Hinder learnt, sometimes with inverse principles. Still they proceeded deeper into labyrinthine cone formations and unused equipment forcing narrow lanes. The works now crossed multiple suburbs. The cones now formed simple patterns mapping out caveman symbolism, the car was guide down a narrow gorge between curve and cone, all of a sudden the car thud-dropped to one side, about half a foot down in a shallow grave. Some dicks been playing around with the cones. On cue they were showered with half empty beer cans, a product of the sort of boredom privilege brought you. Young tough guy wannabes with backwards baseball caps and muscle Ts and paced, flexed and hollered in half English. From grass lawns they flashed car lights from tricked rides; these clown cars revved their performance engines as if money could improve their driving. Poorly EQed stereo thumps sleazed out rap music full of references to the parts of town these white fools could only be caught dead in. Cockadoodledoo! For Hinder it was a nostalgic time machine warm fuzzy and for the rest, a less favourable past filled with the sort of cunt that would try to fight you at a party. Still it was all smoke and rear-view mirrors, noise and posturing, nothing else. Hinder got them out of the gutter and onward beyond the territorial pissings of teen sprit. Those car kids would pass out after six beers or so and get some half gay shit done to them while incapacitated. Maybe theyd get lucky and take some chick into the bushes and half rape them. Meanwhile fuelled by that undeserved anger at the world, the sort of self importance a cocktail of hormones, warm beer and MTV could give a kid. That same unidirectional rage that struck out empty and at random, this aimless destruction of useless action was exactly the same thing He had never really grown out of, now He tut tutted himself in the mirrored glass, his own reflection ghost embossed by the car window over the outside world before him. He Mused a step from melancholy. At least I had the common decency to do it with some style. Soon, as the world diminished into the singular, this energy would sharpen to a focal point of guns and ideologies. Then these boys directionless passions would turn into passionless directions. Revolutions and reactions only borrowed furore, the sort of fealty it spawned was one of humanity emptied. Sure hearts would fire and mouths raged in endearing and imploring arguments. However, beliefs soon fall backward to slogans an unyielding compassionless rigidity. The acts of progression often solidified into yet another regression, sacrifice taken for more of the same unfairness and thuggary. This was what the world had in store, both fighting sides the same whole, except

on one side there only lay five against the remainder. He and his band were trying to not fall into that trap. Fundamentalism is a sort of cognitive distortion that wraps the world around and ideal, ignoring or disposing what does not fit with the prescribed narrow world view, reckless simplification. The car cleared the last cone marker and drove on, houses and street lights thinning. The countryside was a black mass beyond beam lit fence poles, spitting out hard turns after a long time on the straight line, a bridge, swollen river, dark underneath. It was probably raining higher up. A map of roadside fruit stalls with colourful signage every five minutes. Peaches, apples, lettuce, cherries clean toilets, try my daughter, etc. We should put up a sign that says hookers. Said Hinder. The whole car let that cheese dick attempt at comedy slide; they were all under a lot of pressure and needed to keep their mind off the sort of fate awaited by failure. Hinder was particularity eager to recover from the dead air of the last line. Nerves put people on bad rolls; forced humour was a self conscious nightmare. At least Hinder knew to he was throwing up stink bombs and had the self awareness to stop. You felt sorry for the guys that didnt, right up into the point where you wanted to throttle them quiet. Fuck, Im sick of being self aware, its overrated, its all a goddamned trap and useless, I keep catching myself looking for significance in miniscule actions. Whats worse is that all these certainties all this knowledge cant get us out of this death awaiting us. I look out the window and instead of life I see a dull collection of ideas. Said Mendel. He in response just sat back, in his seat with a brittle smile on his face, having been through it all and still to an extent still in it. Madness, clever madness, the kind that folded into itself in a post-modern jumble of Meta. The universe certainly thought it was being clever, self awareness was nothing more than a hideous injoke. Tragedy being the things that werent being picked up, the things neglected because they werent considered thematic enough. Its 7am by my watch, how come it isnt getting any lighter. Said Domino I dont think we will see another dawn. Try to get some sleep weve been going along time now, except for you hinder. Said He. Theyd all been going full steam all night, the horrors and the harsh under slept edges of an all-nighter were catching up on them. There was still no end in sight. The toll was being taken slowly, without notice. How long could they go on exhausted and spirit spent? This forever darkness played on their minds. He tried to take his own advice and drifted towards a restless sleep He went on to dream that he was a small girl trying to sleep, but every droop of

the eyes brought about a dream of a black stain, this inky image carried such a horror to it that she would strain against sleep and fight her eyes open to note the room the same as when she closed them. Again with the wilting eyelid came the stain that same attached doom and evil, spread wider about her, a near voice trying to communicate from its black mass, on waking the same familiar room. She, half asleep hushed her mind with rationalisations that all must be well. Still weary, still that lingering fear, instinctual, a childs fear. He so immersed in the dreams logic that being a little girl afraid and not himself was no great leap, certainly with given history if He were conscious of his self in all this, He would not be without empathetic impulse. The girl soon tired from her midnight vigil against the dark and closed her eyes again; the fear subsided from an absence of threat, indicator chemicals reabsorbed into the body, a small relaxed sigh for final breath. As soon as she sunk, that same black oil blot, rushed up against her, but this time the dream showed her in third person being swallowed in its tar. She could feel its presence on her skin through the dream, back in the real world. It spread out from her, a cold rush, leapt and bubbled in all its evil. The unspeakable communion grew stronger in her head, a mass of unintelligible screams bayed something was very wrong with the world, a malevolent doldrums, discontent with intent towards her and everyone elses young hearts. She tried to open her eyes, but could not; her body in the dream ran sluggish as if drugged. Her screams ran as horse voiced wheezes. The stain moved in a frenetic caldron as the dark vortex unfolded itself about her, an unhappy clamour of entropy. The girls screams and crying were soundless, but the rooms door still opened to the sight of her father. He stood panicked but resolute as to what he must wade into, the man barely showed falter against the darkness spewing out of his daughter. His movements however showed the slowed and blurred dream pace as he waded into the black muck. The man reached his daughter and shook and yelled for her to wake. The black crept its way around him, wrapping itself against his intervention, labouring his good deeds. His arms were pulled down away from her and he was dragged down and slowly enveloped. The eye white with fear, looking into his girls face, swallowed offering only a sound strangled scream. He jumped awake, kicking out against the dashboard before him, in an over alert cold sweat. That unfinished feeling after a nightmare, Hinder had an arm on his shoulder; everyone else was awake and starring. Aside from the adrenaline, He felt more drained than before. We dont know what just happened but something got at you. Hinder said Hes consciousness surged twice awake by the statement. Yeah some kind of thick black smoke started to wisp up around you... John said. And it carried a sort of a presence, like it wished you harm, it got pretty hectic in here before you woke up. Thats what I dreamt about too.

So was it you or them that made that stuff happen. Said hinder still on Hes arm. I dont know Im not discounting that it could have been me, I mean I may have manifested my fear of them into something. It could be that youre weaker without the ego boarder consciousness creates and more prone to attack when asleep. Mendel said. I did dream that I was someone else, a little girl so youre saying she could have been a construct to get me to drop your guardgod I hope she isnt real. Why? Asked John. Because she was in the same boat as me. I guess its best not to dwell on conjecture, unless it gets us out of the trouble were in, in the mean time we just cant risk sleep, Edge towns under an hour away isnt it, therell be coffee there. Said Mendel.

EDGE TOWN
They pulled into the town petrol station; the car was low on gas. Mendel considered a dig at Hinders performance vehicles apparent lack of economy but the mood didnt call for it... Hinder casually walked up to the pump with a cigarette in his mouth and squeezed the trigger, looking down deafly at the wheel with a lack of general interest. What the hell man youre smoking at the pump Domino said. With out changing expression or looking up Hinder replied. Yeah long drive ahead without a break and you guys dont want me having us hanging around while I smoke, and not even I smoke in my car. Domino worried about Hinders lack of emotion. It was clear Hinder wasnt coping with the situation, and furthermore it was unreasonable for him to. He swung open his door and lent on it for a second. It felt wrong to rest. The town lay silent it was late and only a few of the houses up the lower mountains had lights on. The whole place seemed misplaced in an eerie night shawl. Ill go in and pay He said He walked over to the service station shop in a jaunty walk of false defiance. Pure show for the people he had caught up in disaster. He felt he needed to look tough, to hold it together and to give them hope even though one of them lay mutilated in a hospital and He himself was a mess with elements of himself torn away and the rest in jumbles. He wasnt even one of them, so they where led by an unknown entity that did not know itself and was already half gone, Their friend was half gone and the rest left behind they no longer knew. He was the reason they were all haunted by cosmic beings that wanted to reshuffle them all out of existence, so at least He had to look like he knew what he was doing. Payment was always a clumsy process for He, patting down his pockets to find his wallet, squeezing the wallet out of the pocket, deciding on a method of payment based on what the contents looked like, fumbling around with loose change or a swipe card terminal. There were far to many incidental decisions in his life. He then had to fumble with the receipt, change or card and fit it back into his already bulging wallet. This always took more time than he wanted. He didnt like it when the spotlight was so directly on him, even when there was no queue behind him. Ill pay by credit Thanks

He pocketed the pen the attendant handed him without thinking. He didnt like the gaunt shadowy face in a shambled semblance of a uniform looking at him while he stove to complete a simple task. He could feel those bleeding red nightshift eyes on him. The eyes were on him A school bus filled with girls sat to one side of the station lot. Most of the girls sat there heads sleeping against the glass or with clothing or pillows to prop there heads against the windows. A group of girls drifted out from the black gap of the vehicle door where a stern chaperones face glowered disembodied in the dark. The girls made no recognition of this and, ambled causally up to the shop front where Mendel and Domino stood. They made the unorganized pack movements and contrived gestures that all teenage girls run on, talking with their hand over their mouth, the mutter and giggle and the awkward misplacement of their arms as if they are still learning how to use them. They were wearing some school P.E. uniform which consisted of ill fitting green shorts and tight white tops that accented their breasts, legs, tight bottoms and well proportioned curves. The sort of uniform a man couldnt question the suitability of without being side tracked by what the girls looked like with the uniform off. It was a confusing uniform, what was its purpose aside from excreting sexual tension, a sweaty heat as unpleasant and yet comfortably familiar as used gym socks. Could we scab a cigarette. One of the girls asked oozing a cute, girlish seduction from her eyes. What with your chaperone watching Domino replied. The charm disappeared from the girls face; she rolled her eyes and made a clicking sigh in disappointment and frustration. What sport do you girls play? Mendel asked still softened by the girls charm. Another girl replied. Softball. She said it sharply still sulking over the lack of cigarettes with which to smoke in the toilet with. Still not cool enough to walk over the losers who wouldnt give them cigarettes because it was the right this to do, she still answered the question unsure of whether to treat Mendel as an adult or just another boy. I hate softball. Mendel said The girl who was the obvious mouthpiece for the group scowled at him, unused to the lack of status others and the group expressed similar body language. Mendel an excellent social engineer had turned the table social authority in the conversation by attacking something they were into and paused a moment to read his surroundings before reeling them in.

I mean to say I love it but it infuriates me Mendel paused again to make sure he had the girls attention. I love the game and I love to watch the game, but I cant play it at all, I dont have the talent Mendel looked into the eyes of each of the girls, he knew deep down that these make up rebels really did enjoy the sport or else they wouldnt make the effort to play it and was playing with the egos of those who played it for the social rewards. Deep down theres always the indoctrination of school sprit. I envy anyone who can play that great game you should be proud. Mendel had the girls beaming with smiles and rolling their feet along the ground, swaying in coy shyness. Their arms once again did not know what to do with themselves. Mendel flicked a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held them against his legs giving them a slight tap with his index finger to alert the girls to their presence with out being obvious to the eyes that were on them. It was an incredibly slick move, Mendel considered it was the coolest movement his body had ever preformed and it was the coolest hed come of to people all his life. It seemed to flow so easy. The girls moved past them through the door sweeping the packet up with a brush of the arm that had the girls fingers graze Mendels leg like a petal running through cream. The girl made adult eyes at him, mismatched with the young face. Hey I didnt think you smoked. I dont but I always carry a pack around to help pick up women. Sheez I wouldnt call that lot women. What you picky now that our worlds ending, chances are soon well be cut out of existence like we never were, so all the dirty things Im planning when I follow them to the bathroom in two minutes will never have happened so its beyond moral judgment. I always thought youd be the sort to throw your morals out the window when things looked bleak. I dont blame you the way the universe looks like at the moment morals seem to be highly optional. Lets go in then. John was eyeing up the meat pies in the service station, soggy looking pastry in discoloured plastic bags. You had to be really hungry or too drunk to know better to eat service station food; it took a desperate trouble to be come interested in this food. When John was a kid he could get great shop made mince pies at a

tearoom for a dollar, but now days quality had become to big an obstacle against cost and quantity, whod blame any one in the pie business if they could sell a bad product at half the cost and three times the price, so the frugal majority consumer destroyed the tea rooms the families that ran them happy and replaced them with zombie kids who couldnt look you in the eye let alone strike up conversation and smile with a warmth that reminded you of your mothers house. Instead you got soggy pastry microwave sick shit mince pies from all the worst parts of a cow and you ate it because there was none better on the market. They could see him they had his scent, a dog barked in the distance and He looked up to see the lights go out up the hill to where the service station was the shop lights flashed blank. Shadows stirred and a greater dark set in. John, Mendel and domino rushed to his side by the till. The boy at the desk was gone. He grabbed a torch from a nearby shelf and flicked it on, the air became dead and dull and heavy. Objects visible through the dark became tainted by its dirge, the atmosphere itself indicated the world was slipping off a precipice and rushing to its bottom. The attendant left a gap in the blackness where something should have been, a lonely absence of presence as if no one had ever been there. The doomed party of friends stood shoulder to shoulder as He made sweeps with the lights beam scanning for change, hoping to find none. From all around they could sense it and deep down they all knew they couldnt be so lucky, this wasnt a natural occurrence. No one could move their necks to the windows, what waited lurking outside; its mere image would damn them beyond human experience, and forever cripple their brains. Phantom shadows clouded The beam began to dim until it sunk back into the bulb. It was time to make a move for both sides and he ran into the aisles. It felt like sinking, the room spun and his eyes could not focus, drunk, the dark took him something was in the shop with him but his reactions were dulled like an under water sleep and he was scared and weak away from his friends. Items spun over his eyes, the aisles seemed to shift poles sideways. A man grabbed him but he could not see more than a shadow, He kicked and punched wildly in all directions until he hit something focused on that direction until the hands let go, his punches felt slow and weak but they seem to have effect. Darkness was steaming off the man and his face seemed unnaturally shaded, his hollowed eyes burned with a white shadow in rage. He swung a good punch and cleared the hating face from him. He dove at the man low and picked him of the ground in a springing tackle. He threw him at the nearest shelf and it toppled backwards the man carried it on his arc to the floor. He stepped over it to get to the man; He was now furious and fearless with righteousness. The man got up as He approached with an animal growl and tried meekly to block the next punch. He punched him towards a wall and the man fell back again, but passed through the wall.

The wall just swallowed him up, He waited a moment for him to spring back through but then felt someone else at the end of the aisle. He turned; it was the Japanese Dwarf standing like a quick draw with a mean face. The jumping vision began again as He stepped forward to meet him but He shook it off and ran forward, the dwarf tried to turn but He caught him by his hair and lifted him up squealing and rammed his head into the aisle, skewering him through the eye on one of the blunt shelf hooks for hanging products jutting out. He left him there and the hook, unable to support the midgets weight bent down and he slide to the ground in jiggling spasms. He felt numb the world seemed different, what was the effect of killing the interconnected sense of world perception we all feel. He wasnt thinking about it that way, He was trying not to think about the fact he had just killed someone in a brutal fashion whilst trying to reconcile the thrill of enjoyment the anger towards the victim and the guilt towards himself. Whered you go you just faded out there yelled john His friends rushed to him by the look on Hes face they knew they didnt want to ask. He looked out through the window the wind was picking up like it was to sweep the surface of the planet clean, if indeed it was a planet they were on. So much was assumed of the world. The wind attacked trees shaking them into strange trans-static positions of mimicked fury with drawn in cartoon action lines. There was so much that had been taken for granted and fragile. The wind began to batter against the glass buckling its folds, wolf at the door. Not one of the people in the shop cared that the world was ending, it was the fact that it was ending for them, with the intent of malice, that left them utterly dejected and tide swept. Life just kept feeling more hopeless for them; they secretly cursed the tiny spark of self preservation keeping them alive. The girls said Mendel They went towards the bathroom; all they could hear was the wind. One of them teetered open the door to the girls toilets. Blood was everywhere, dark patches with a red tinge. They could hear the screaming, they could see what The Abomination was doing to the girls. It had become even more gruesomely perverted impression of human form. One arm cupped and bashed a girls head against a wall repeatedly while another scooped at her guts and fed them into her mouth. Another pair of hands held a girl up against the washbasin and shuffled over her exposed breast in violent grabs, it moved with a jerky fluid movement as if it were shifting form rather than moving its feet. It was raping the girl like an endless machine on heat. Her face debased to animal pleasure no longer aware that she lay in her friends blood that they lay unnaturally undead screaming in pleasure and pain and torture all around her. Her face and the others had been turned from an object of beauty to the monsters shadow. He flicked back compulsively to what Frank had said back at the hostel. The hideous circus frenzy of carnal acts continued. Until the line blurred between the monster

and the girls, and they all slipped into his core, assimilated into a greater form of deformation. They creature turned and gargled hisses at them with a thousand folding faces oozing, it went for them. As it did the ceiling caved in on it, from the sky, filled with shadow clouds black rocks came that emanated darkness. Crashing into the town, the night was in full fury. They ran from the collapsing store sickened by the sights, the rocks hit the ground around them with echoing thuds, then it stopped, it was silent. Mendel crouched down and threw up. The rest of them wished they could. The car was missing as if the forest line had crept over it. The bus full of teenagers had been emptied lying still in the dark. They all felt a crash in their skulls which saw a flash of omnipotence before the universe jolted forward again in an attempt to recover from a fundamental loss. Now there was no perception every communication would be read. There was now no side of the line to stand on in an argument, no angle of opinion. There only was what was and every one was seen naked without interpretation and soft colouring. The feeling of universal placement was gone. Things werent small when they were far away, and when you looked at something part of you became it, every thing was the image of its whole. It put terrible strain on the ego, it seemed that perceptions old language was all that held the world from merging into a continuum. Wheres hinder said john The sinking guts they all had cramped into a knot, their heads were over loaded and they might have lost another friend. The poor guy hadnt even been missed. He ran forward into the trees and a little ways in found the car an aged wreak he looked around in panic searching for his lost friend seeing nothing but an empty tree line. He went back to his friends downtrodden and met their faces with misunderstanding. From behind him something grabbed a shoulder hunching him up in a shuddering lurch. As He turned He saw his friend becoming relived then further confused when a wooden arm held at his throat strangled and shook him. His friend showed nothing with his face but a horrible strength ran though his arm willing him dead. The face wasnt there it was a blank with his friends features. There was no sign of sentience just death without source. He pleaded with the beast but simply faced a blank reply, a grey shadow that willed him to sleep. He grabbed at Hinder looking for a way to break the hold, grabbing at his clothes and striking him as best he could. Nothing stirred him or shook him off, He became desperate, afraid and enraged. He had felt this all his life. Life had kept him powerless, downed and shook asunder. Is this it, is this all life had to offer, cold death in the hands of a friend who has become a stranger. The resounding no shuddered though He, his eyes clouded over and instinct took over in a physical reinforcement of everything hed done to fight the way the world was.

The pen came from his pocket and landed in Hinders neck, and the strength was taken from him. Hinder eyes flickered over the truth, like his friend had always been himself. Hinder fell to the ground in a prolonged gurgle. It was no dignity. Hinder was gone, at the hands of the person trying to keep him alive. He couldnt give it any thought, He wasnt allowed time to care. His friends stared on and he couldnt look at them. Who would he directly or indirectly kill next. They couldnt trust him their friendship meant nothing in the face of his urge to survive. They couldnt trust their own actions or each others, could they all be puppeted into horrible deeds. Did will mean so little and did they have any control over what was happening. lets go. I He cut what he wanted to say short. He had just killed two people in a row. They walked on in a silent procession, in the opposite direction of the corpse of another friend, up through the town, up the mountain. Everything quiet and dark, it didnt offer much to a party of solemnity. Dawn was long due but the night had fallen hard and deep enough to eat into the day. It was hard to judge how far they had to go without any sense of measurement. The walked up the towns main street, everything was closed there was a soul around, but a glow was dawning unnoticed, not the sun itself for it might as well be dead until this doomed party was. They were not to see the sun again. It was only to be expected that the natural had become unnatural as this was the end of their world. There was no solace in the show that was being put on for their demise. The shops sprung out where-lights as if the sprits had suddenly felt a need for the material possession. In the half light figures danced in a slow zombie walk. Grey shapes in the fog. The townspeople sleep walked into opening up their little shops. There they sat in the dark and waited for a doom they had been called to and did not scream when the horrors came through the walls and drank on them. The town-sprit had been awakened and turned on them. John shuddered at the idea of a personified provincial ghost, surely the xeno would be the first to be pursed, stagnation coupled with forceful beautification, turning blind to the darkness underneath. This now drew them down. A march heralded by virulent Dixie music was seen creeping up the mountain like a flame. A deranged midnight madi-gra edged forward. Several gods shipped and shuffled to rhythms only they could understand, played but a ghost band. The centrepiece a great vintage fire engine, replicated to twice the size, the Doctor straddling the top of it, the Softball team from the service station in uniform working the hoses. They skipped, filled with a girlish spite capable of destruction without any botheration of comprehension. No one in the group could see what they were doing at first, but none liked the lack of attention they werent being paid. It was just like a super-entity to be side tracked on a whim. It gave Hes friends a chance, but this dawned on no one distracted by what they saw. The hoses were being fed into shop windows and houses glugged with an

oozy substance. Concrete filled up the shops and houses burying the townspeople within frozen in their daily duties, no one seemed to mind. The dance went on it crept to towards them and He and his friends saw why the world had ended for them. Carnal sights met their gaze and sorely tempted them to join in on this meandering death dance. The girls flounced and flirted showing bare lust mixed with casual killing as one by one they were downed by the monsters amongst them thrown against the concrete and set upon for their own delight. They sliced at each other necks and sniped at their own split intestines like dogs. Viscera made paint jabs on the street and one set to passers by with a flamethrower, fiery corpses walking on stupid. Smoke from the fire engines polished exhaust had begun to envelop the party, half seen horrors spinning in and out of view and focus. The chaos crowding in around the friends as they stood frozen. Then a series of barks and none among what seem the last small band humans doubted fleeing. The dogs had been called, the ones that have Hes scent and more than his flesh. They would come from the smog and take them, so they ran as fast as they could, through a side alley and along a street making a diagonal route up the mountain. There was no way they could make it over to the other side on foot but now they had no choice but to being driven up, herded just like sheep with dogs. Had humanity become unhinged everywhere else as well? Had the feted stench of entropy been allowed in from all the mindless gratification and self-indulgence of daily life? Routine decay, no wonder all that was left of the people in the small town was a gibbering weak, a heaving mass of pink flesh. Thats how people lived any way using every day of their lives to earn more so they could buy more bubble wrap to strangle them selves with. Live with an outstretched palm and all you see is a Childs view. Theyd cut them selves into the bush pushing away the night, and there brains rotted and became beasts twisted into shadow puppets at the atomic level. They were now and had been, sleeping monsters that rampaged unaware, given the world they forged it in their own reckless ignorance. Mindless and worthless they now willingly step onto a burning pile and writhe it out, a community living on through the flames as purely reactive as ever. Yes, it would be like this everywhere. The presence of man would become a sprit, thrashing about calling out for more in a long howl it knew no meaning of, or what it was that would make it complete. The scratching of paws against concrete was heard behind them, hot breath on their necks. There was no way to maintain pace uphill, and not up over the pass of the mountain. He screamed at his friends to run up on without him. None of them stayed back with him to make a heroic gesture of a last stand, few among them thought Hes presence offered more strife than safety. He wasnt going to sacrifice himself either; He as far as he was concerned had any mount of right to exist as the next person. It was his responsibility to fight to live. He changed direction and ran side ways towards the houses. He had to try to call up something of himself, whatever it was to combat this assault. If He was worth killing, what He represented worth acquiring at the cost of natural order. Then

maybe it could be used as a counter power. It however, remained latent and He apparently did not understand how there could be anything he didnt know about himself. Drawing on celestial power was like figuring how to use a phantom limb. He was busy calling out too himself wild with a bitter mix of frustration and desperation. A house with an open door popped into vision, panting heavy, He darted against direction again towards it. A shadowed hole to step through, it all seemed pretty bleak, running through a corridor with patchy summed wall paper, frozen in another era. They proceeded through doors, living rooms and out thought the back porch, and over a fence to long grass with a car hull rusting. The next house door open again, the corridors bends smashing up against his shoulder. This house dark again, same grunge, the odd hole in the wall in this one, fire stain, objects on the floor, trying out wrong doors, with the dogs still behind him. This house wasnt right; it kept going on and on. The passageways were becoming more and more complex almost labyrinthine. Then there was the physical discomfort, like He was tearing at something, on and on it went. Was this it the feeling of transcendence, no something snapped inside him and He nearly stopped? He was back in the corridor of existence itself, the one that held the doors to everything. Had He willed himself here, or were the dogs merely herding him for harvest. He ran on past a blur of doors, the dogs following him here. This went on until He sighted something ahead that was beyond belief. The end. It began to pull at him feet scuffing along the ground dragged. There was a picture there of an old house. Wooden houses with triangle eves, the windows were all drawn black. When He was pulled closer the Woman with black hair stood behind one of the windows under lit with ghost light and a witches stare full of the dark. Transfixed and taxed to exhaustion He was drawn on between the dogs and death. He knew that to meet with the wall would be to be ejected from the universe itself. Behind the wall was a kind of lost He couldnt bear to imagine, He shuddered at the thought of the kind of cold behind there. His eyes betrayed him the rest of his body slipped towards paralysis. He looked away managing to break the gaze. The pull was too strong, something in the eyes he couldnt read. Something unknown and ancient, He looked back at the dogs behind him, edging forward unsure like they were on the bank of a great body of water. They yelped and bayed unsure of what to do. Then the pull caught them too and they slipped into a growling panic and snapped about in mid air as the floated forward as he did. It was close now but He dared not look at its direction. The dogs already lay in a stupor, stared down out of existence. He quickly reached out for a door and turned it nearly yanked from it by the wordless presence behind him. He used his other hand to grasp at the door way, ground his feet and slipped through. Still temped to step back into the corridor, He watched the dogs spin past slowly. Then there was a light and blood splattered back up along the corridor walls. The room He occupied was cold there was ice build-up on the walls, it all looked dark and bare. The was a vehicle in one corner of the room, a plaque in front of it simply stated Neil Armstrong moon buggy, there were bullet

holes in the windows of the space vehicle. The room still reeked of the cool edge of the universe, this place a long forgotten gap, storage for some elapsed project, it had no more meaning. He pulled the door of the chamber to and with his next step and a feeling at the border of the rooms significance; He was at the edge of the town and the wild, where his friends sat waiting. It was comforting for him that they would slip into inaction without him. Remaining cryptic for he didnt know what exactly was going on He said. Come on what are you waiting for lets go. Then they stepped into the forest, and left the town to its own disintegration.

ASCENT Mud streaks lay at their feet; the autumn showers had washed their way though the tracks the group clambered up. Water still trickled down the rough plank steps cut into the mud. The air was cold up in the mountains, and rain still drizzled spat into faces by a wind that slammed against the mountainside. Most of them were not dressed for such conditions, all shaking teeth griped behind numb flesh. At least they were relatively fit from walking the city and Domino secretly had shelled out for a gym membership and accounted his health to his astounding metabolism. They trod on hoping their eyes would adjust to the night forest. The trees swirled at them from each side of the track and they to conserve energy buried themselves in each step, there was little to say without a sob. What was there to say that wouldnt sound as cheap as the base factors that were snubbing them out of existence? The world was ending all around them, and they had to walk hard to dodge it. There was nowhere to rest that would shelter them and nothing much to rest for. They drove themselves on, perhaps into oblivion. Trudge by sodden step and what for at this stage. Not even a hope of a hot drink and warm bed. Thick wilderness engulfed the moonlight and they were captured by a quiet dark, all but for the sludgy scrape of their shoes in unison. Distant drolls more than thunder, meant the city went up below them collapsing into its own tensions with a black heat. They turned and ran up into a clearing in the trees overlooking the below. They saw flashes and clashing colours merging into smoke. Waves of light ran out over them out into infinity, beams sprang out in dancing sweeps of great scale beyond human perception (if it were still a factor in existence beyond a memory) Now it was only as big or as small as an individual wanted. Or exactly as big or as small as it all was. What exactly was perception anyways, and why was it considered universal. Maybe it still existed, in midget form, on some shadow plane, motionless in a pile of its own blood. Maybe without perspective this was the way the world looked anyways, if anything maybe the shallow material crust was all that was left. Too many maybes, maybe. Strange Hulks stalked the land, impossibility big and full of meanness appropriated to their size. The skyline went up in one big cosmic flash, beyond nuclear. A bystander could feel the dimensions shred open, twist and ripple in an instant. Light swirled into a black singularity; beyond it matter would soon be reconciled with an unfathomable nothing. Not something that permits an observer. Mendel looked down the valley bellow him echoes of dogs and light danced below the sight had an eerie quality it felt detached from the reality of the situation. People who could pretty much do anything they wished were hunting him for sport, he didnt even matter but was still to be hunted down and tortured

on a Gods whim. It felt like they didnt even need to give chase but did so as part of the torture; a falsehood of hope. Theyd reduced him down to an unimportant transient of the universe no one could live well knowing this; its hard enough to suspect your life doesnt matter. One of the lights held steady in its spot as if it knew it were looked on for a time and then a shudder rippled up the valley through the trees. Mendel froze with a horror as the fabric of reality shifted around him. They all felt it. It was a presence iniquitous and capricious that bore down on the brain. It was two shades darker all of a sudden and the trees seemed to be closing in. Things stared to appear just beyond vision. They were all suppressing screams. The unseen hostile presence built as if the Gods were throwing all their ill will towards them bashing at their souls with unseen hands, unwholesome noises appeared around them, twigs breaking, children crying out in unknown languages murderous sobs and screams and moans and sounds that could not so easily be attached. It was evil felt in the legs and gut, an immitigable sense of terror and dread that swallowed them. It was a physical attendance the world itself was rejecting their existence. So old and wise and wicked, the world had an acumen bent on destroying them. This place would crush them unduly into nothing, but it felt as if it was planning worse. The forest licked its lips and wiped a streak of drool from its chin; it would twist and chew of them before the end. Beyond that voices made internal assaults on each and every one of them, telling them to give up, or telling them of their eventual ill fate, coercing them with a hissing inside their skulls, it knew them it knew how to itch in the corners of the brain. They stood there held to the spot as the lights began to appear around them flicking between the trees and formless shapes darted between them. They could not draw focus as if they werent yet all there. Sill shadows watching, drawing form. He made a half step forward with taunt arms and clenched fists; they looked into his face it was stretched into a horrible beaten outline of what it once was. Through his teeth He yelled, his usually disguised foreign accent shilling thought his speech. Those lights in the trees are just Television sets hung by wire, with speakers playing the sounds from recordings. The shapes between the trees are just mice holding up blankets with their teeth. There is nothing to fear, their pranks are nothing against mine. They hadnt seen him so strong before, theyd only seen him as a shell thinned by an urge to dismiss everything that lay before it, rather than taking life in He had condemned it and wanted no part in it as if his actions could absolve him from it, when He struck out it was never so head on as He was now. He looked

taller and held presence the enemy had attacked his very being and pushed so hard that now the being had broken loose of anything holding it back and was yelling berserker into the storm. The storm was bending to Hes assertion of will. He was making his own destiny rather than accepting the doom everyone took for granted. It took fight, men usually broke themselves against their fates, but He had made enough ground to shield his friends for now. Maybe He had enough will to change their fate, but something about him remained undefined. The lights below were snuffed out, as if they hadnt been. Does any one want to borrow my walkman; we can take turns if you want. He said. The other three stoically declined, some unity gesture, even if the bonds connecting them could break at any moment in death or self interest. They moved up towards a ridgeline, though a steep meadow clearing wet grass up to the waist. Wet upon wet, a deadweight riptide on weary flesh, that up hill green drag sucked on them further haggard. Up above them the shadow line forest return was broken by hard lines of something unnatural. They approached with deserved reservation; the cut and the gib yielded a hut shelter, one that contained the simplicity needed to become appealing. The stone stacked structure and time warped glass, contained in compounded proportions rendered homely, a home fort, against the cold, wet and terror outside. He stepped up to the door, bursting through with mimicked kung fu, clownish and redundant beyond the lack of threat awaiting him on the other side. They made no time in making fire of the pot stove available to them. Of course some innate in dark fumbling was made searching for cabin matches, John having forgotten the lighter in his pocket. They stripped to their underpants, spaying fabric and offering hands to the cosy red warmth of the stove to shiver against. They all tried to avert their eyes from the black glass windows to the outside, in case some phantom form presented itself from the blackness. Wow this is gay you guys want to make out or something. He said Ha, Im glad you havent lost that brilliant homophobic wit of yours, but arent you tempting fate a bit given the conditions. Said Mendel Nah, I doubt even you guys are up to the kissing stage of desperation and I dont see how making out will save the world do you? I doubt youd kiss another man if it meant saving the world. Said John Well it would make me a huge fag and Id never live it down, I mean just because the God system is ancient Greek Doesnt... Is it cool that weve stopped like this. Said Domino, keen to halt another prejudicial rant. Well we needed it and considering the Gods have limited themselves in order to enjoy the hunt and we needed the rest and warmth to prevent us falling over, I think its a good idea. What makes you think the Gods are limiting themselves? Said John Well they probably wouldnt bother walking over a mountain in the sense were

trying to, I dont consider movement to be all that comparatively cumbersome when youre a cosmic identity. Mendel rummaged about the hut in a shiver, after anything that would make him better about his situation. A map of the area and some instant coffee was good for starters. What are the odds, four coats are hanging up on this wall over here. Mendel said. Well that does it we must be in a video game, everybody start picking up seemingly useless objects and theyll help with the puzzles latter. He said. Yeah Mendel could you hunt back there for the blue key while youre at it. Said John. They sat around drinking instant coffee, wearing the coats for further warmth and making their bearings on the map Mendel had found. Not one of them wanted to orate the shared sentiment that, this was the best darn instant coffee they ever tasted. Just in case this was all one big coffee commercial. It was true that brands had become an inescapable part of modern language; you couldnt get through a day without inadvertently selling something. Well before the world startled to end, now all brands probably hung as cultural flotsam before the vortex. The others were all dead on their feet, pale souls weakened by the storm, flattened by a dull lack of sleep. But He, they noted was all the more animated by it all, his eyes shone like a flicked switch. Something had triggered from within and was purring from within. He looked like he used to when wrapped up in what he called his art works. While the others felt marginalised by the circumstances, He was enlivened by it, he fed on opposition as if it justified his existence and it vindicated his self-importance. So be it if the limits of evil howled all about him, what if the world walls were being torn down all about him. If his doom were so pressing so boundless then it would be for this glory that He would outlast all else. For all his was done for him. The danger in the situation had faded by the fire, they lingered in the warmth when they knew they shouldnt, it was that familiar impulse against stepping out from comfort into the storm. Geeze its all just one big new age metaphor after another today. He said. The others didnt understand the comment but were forced to attribute it to some other plane genius; the other option was that they were being lead along by an idiot. Mendel lent towards the later, wasnt it his idea to go see his dad the philosopher anyways. They all clothed themselves, stepping sheepishly into the restless world. The cold bite on the cheek hit out against anticipation. It immediately sunk into flesh to

erase any memory of warmth. This washout was complete, stinging satiated authority over all that met it. This squall was more melee than pressure disturbance. It was mud thick and heavy, soul shabby and bowed down to the universal core they waned and were worn upon. Against the map of squares, they drove themselves on. The masters whip cracked lightening, the experience so crudely covered by the attitude lines on the map. Behind them things stirred at the other edge of the clearing, grey shapes and more ghost lights. The forest closed over them again as they strove upward without path. Along stream banks and stone fall, strangled roots and mud. The funeral procession crept on upward the wilderness was thinning out now, a marker for altitude. More moss stones, tundra and shrubs. The wind took the breath out of their second stride; there hearts were still back in the hut. It flattened them and every thing else against the mountain. A loud howl at their backs and kept their heads low as the coat hoods they wore flapped at their faces. The ground was uneven, mud replaced with rocky shingle. They werent even to look up ahead to see where they were going. Their world had shrunk to watching themselves walk over treacherous stones, until they finally made the ridgeline. Before them lay the last valley in all its majesty, around it lay snow capped peaks and steep ground. At the top of the valley lay a huge glacial mass, a milky river roared along its floor, further fed by side streams. There were few places to go without climbing equipment and the training needed to use it, but there was the saddle ridge, which lay further up the valley along the other side. The saddle ridge was a huge act of erosion that had smoothed out a gap between two mountains. It was the best crossing for miles and it was the narrowest point in the range, lesser mountains, foothills and finally plains on the other side. It was a better opinion than the tunnel, too far at the other end of the valley that the road took and there was little point to roads at this end between the erosion and flooding. So this was the path they were to take, the last hurdle to climb. Mendel pulled out the map and tried to hold control of it in the wind as he pointed between it and the view. The map somehow giving authority to the vague lines between his fingers and the mountains they were pointing at. It didnt take a map to see the route that had to be taken. He was the only one to look back into the wind, to see the city and all else being sucked into the vortex slowly, seeing explosions as large objects were sucked into a process of infinite de-constitution, first in halves and then into increasingly un-viewable fragments. The only consolation for individuals caught in the pull was that there was no awareness for them by this stage; they would just be playacting matter. This destruction of form was no more than emblematic after the destruction of function that had occurred hours before. This was all him all around, the power of a single formless component introduced to a system so dependant on structure. It shifted form as a matter of course but was so fragile. If He were to die tonight it would be for the lack of a name.

They rock hopped and slid part of the way to the valley floor; there was no path across with the river that wild running along the bottom, as it stood the best path was to zigzag navigate the obstacles up and down this side of the valley and make the crossing atop the glacier. Some of the streams ahead had become so engorged with flooding that they would pose serious problems for fording. The ripped down the bare valley, they walked an uneven step upon the slant of the valley. He found he found himself emptied again and low, no one looked to each others faces anymore, fearful of what little left was contained in them. This valley formed a natural crucible that would have them rendered to dust. The internal erosion within He was immeasurable; he could feel his guts collapsing, disappearing in a deadened blur, soul dull and sick. There was serious question from within surrounding his myth. Could it be that He wasnt as strong as the world, wasnt as strong as He thought? There was an air of less within him, a suffocating feeling that the cold emanated from within rather than from without. The loss could be weighed measured and compared to memories of the brighter past. The circumstances of reflection were clearer than the situation of the present. A now alien narrator recalling a dim future in reverse, it was inevitable that his past would call questions on his current worth. Such an imbalance was not good for what He had been called upon to do, each step up felt less steady. Yet He gathered himself, a lacklustre affectation in the face of such an affront to his sense of self. Having little hope for return or gain. The whole group was brow beaten: by rain, wind and general catastrophe. None of them enjoyed having real problems to worry about. Not just some whim they could throw around until it bored them. This cold would have been sent westward with a shrug, but for Hes insistence that he feel it as the others did, that it provided an impatience that needed to be there. Just as the dangerous direction they held by was no more for He than a signifying parallel for some internal search. They came to a fording bridge swept over and engulfed by murk more than water. It was no more than a log with nailed in posts offering hand support by way of connecting rope sags. The base log was obscured by the torrential surge; it was a marvel that it held against the violent push sucking upon it. The bridge was a dubious prospect even in the absence of other opinions. It was unclear whether it was a fordable possibility, would the bridge hold, could the user hold on to the bridge with such a drag on their feet. He went first, the most likely to survive a fall into this water. Over griping the rope, He stepped onto the roaring breach tenderly with strong steps. The cold and the drag had a sapping effect; any thoughts existed down river, swept away in the howl. The rope bent He out over the water as he lent on it for support, He could feel the posts flex under his weight, too uneasy, floating step by step in oblivion. The others crossed and He watched grimly from the shore as their faces shed through terror. Little in Hes face offered support. They each edged through the same feelings along those same steps, but for Domino who froze midway

unmoving, his face a wail lost in the roar. The others looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and disregard. In order for the expectation of danger to be realised one of them was expected not survive. This would happen at the edge of safety, for greatest effect. A hand and half a water swallowed head in a bobbing wave carried into the distance, not before the victims eyes were burnt into the brain. It would be like it was with Jim or Hinder. His name was Domino, if the world were the way He had explained it, that name sealed his fate, he was bound to fall, then the others would all fall. He cursed out loud only seeing a person that failed to engage the courage the rest of them had shared. This wasnt a good time for weakness and it was too rare an opportunity for morale, for one of them to break it. He also had to risk going back out on that thing. All things considered, He may have been a bit rough during Dominos retrieval. He grabbed him by the scruff and threw him at the ground once he had dragged him there. They exchanged a look of varied meaning that remained unread. He broke from it walking onward in a staggered pace, the others watched him stumble onward, with his back turned they could see the exhaustion in each step. They viewed their own helplessness in his actions; up the valley another sheet chunk of dislodged itself sending a surge of water up the valley. Everything was being played out in a scale beyond their reasoning, yet they were forced to stumble on without insight or hope. The wind and the rain had begun to subside, but this change only carried some new threat to grip on to. A threat that played on the still on the sound of carried water. He took the opportunity to call out to the others. Look see that ridgeline on the other side thats it, thats all we have to make then we can see the other side. To have his friends lose impetus at this point was heavy to bear, if He joined them in their sentiment it would be all over. There werent thoughts of elsewhere to occupy him now. There was only the immediacy of each step and the cold. His hands hurt and he tried to swathe them in soggy pockets. In this cold to stop was to die. The others soon picked them selves up, knowing if they entertained any selfish failures they would be left behind. None of them had the resources to even question this, there was to be no agonising over how ethics changed in survival situations, because all mental faculties had been rerouted towards making it over that ridgeline on the other side of the valley. The call was to move forward as they maundered rocky outcrops. They were pushed by obstacle down to the rivers edge where they could feel the waters course and eventually back up the slope of the valley to a feeling of open ends. They finally made the ice wall of the glacier; dwarfed by its awesome presence, it emitted a greater cold. An older cold that sat deep but felt more like a communion than an intrusion, it reenergised tire flesh.

The glacier had an overwhelming scope of time and size that had captured blue hues and made a black wall that rose up. Theyd come to the flaw in their plan. There was no way to navigate a way onto the top of the glacier. Erosion hadnt had time to soften the slopes of this end of the valley. An ice carved curve bowl of bare rock that didnt have the equipment to climb, or the vertical ice itself. They hadnt the function left in their numb hands; they were up against the wall. The ghost lights had begun to burn further down the valley; in another context it would have been beautiful. The whitish orbs shimmered and floated in scattershot. Shit. Said Mendel, someone had to say it. He couldnt bear it to see faces and shoulders slump when they were this close, but there was nothing they could do but sit in frustration, having herded themselves into their own demise. He resolved himself not to give up and ran his dead hands along the ice surface trying to code break its jagged groves. His entire mind reached out for Eurekas that werent at hand. His mind stretched out to the heart of the glacial mass, trying to bask in the ancient hulk for the hope of wisdom. The cold had a colour to it, but no sentience, just the illusionary impulse to attribute a ghost will to its enormity. So He lanced inward trying to make out a mirror face in the muddy ice, he closed his eyes. It was the same in there, some ghost signal that offered nothing. The only thing it told him was that he wasnt what everybody thought he was; there was nothing divine or ancient-wise about him. It was like a shotgun crack, the end rushing up forward, there was a solution but his mind couldnt work fast enough. He let out a low moan no one could hear in panic, his hands caressed the ice and he could not feel them. His nails scratched at the ice but were set to break before the ice did. It rose up like a wave of hurried thought, clutching the underside of ideas, the further into rage he slipped the more at peace he felt. Warmth, satiated his body, his breath bore mist in the night air. That warmth carried his spirit beyond its usual means into glass calm. It stretched out past his hands and penetrated the ice, it groaned, cracked and fissured steam. A yellow glow burst out from within the ice at fractal intervals, ice mush and water collected at his feet. The spot where the ice had met his hand was now thin air, a corridor of ice was forming as the glacier sunk into itself wherever the light touched. A quick stream now collected at his feet. They were all warmed and replenished by that glow. Once the steam cleared and the glow had died, they found that a staircase had been etched from the ice, water still trickled from each step tinkling like hit crystals. When did this become a fantasy novel? Said Mendel Do you think that employing romantic irony is the best idea right now, I mean its tempting fate a little isnt it Said John

Im starting to think self awareness isnt as clever as wed like it to be, for instance look at what I can achieve from a position of ignorance. Said He. Wait you mean youve just been pretending to know whats going on, dragging us up a mountain for nothing. Said Domino. Its not where we are going thats important but where Im going, that feeling I got now it allowed me to do that with the ice, it isnt a conscious thing, its an intuition and it needs time to develop so I can save you guys. Hey If this were a fantasy novel thered be some foreshadowing prophesy in the form of an abstraction like the glass door will be opened at the end of the world by the one with the golden heart. Otherwise people reading the thing wouldnt be able to suspend belief and the whole melting a staircase out of ice thing would seem like the writer clumsily took a cheap out around an obstacle. The foreshadowing at least creates the premise of forethought. Said Mendel. It doesnt matter either way, it doesnt change our situation, we dont have time for this, its dangerous to put a literary filter over everything you know. Said He They made there way onto the ice via the staircase.

Earthquake on Ice
They walked atop of the ice the warm had faded and they were back in the cold, it rose up like a heavy wall through their shoes. They danced on what made winter, slopes and ridges of ice stretched out labyrinthine before them, to each side of the finger lines lay blue chasms and melded scars that shone out darkly. It stretched out over an eternity of ice; they watched the ground for cracks lines and kept to the middle of a ridge, none of them wanted that particular death in the bottom of those holes. Paths were hard to find and they had to double back often, not able to risk a jump between folds. The smooth lines fell into a craggy jumble in the distance and there was the suspicion for some of that there was no path to the other side. Still they trudged on weary of hope, into a monotony of ice. Domino couldnt shake the end game he was playing with himself; hed convinced himself that it was his purpose to die. It itched at him. He looked down each split in the ice and waited to hear the ground give way beneath him. Domino pleaded with himself and pleaded to the fates that he could somehow live. Domino did not want this to be his function, but did everything else hed done up to now matter. Sure he new how to party, he knew how to be liked by others but soon none of that mattered, he tried to reconcile this wasted life feeling but it stuck. If Id done more with my life than learn how to show up to work hung over, Id probably be pissy if Id worked too hard anyways, it tends to cut both ways when youre about to die and that was your purpose in life, to die at the least advantageous moment for your friends in a manner that would drag them down with you. When faced with the prospect of not just dying but never having existed, gloomy deliberation could be forgiven, but to jump into fateful conviction on the basis of a loose interpretation of your name, it seemed a little less justified. Domino reasoned at least he wasnt called Judas and further battled with his silly prognosis, although labelling his fears ignorant did not dispel them as fully as hed hoped. John noticed Domino hanging back from the others and went over to check up on him. Are you ok mate? Said john Yeah Im fine considering the situation. You know taking stock on whether or not your life meant anything. Said Mendel Yeah tell me about it, I keep catching myself stock taking CDs in my head and worrying about odds and ends around the shop, but then I figure the shop isnt there anymore and I keep trying to fill by head with the top 50 records of all time

just to keep from thinking of whats happened to Shelly, I mean its a situation where I hope shes dead rather than something we saw people were turning into back in the city. Shit man your girlfriend, I didnt even think and our Jim, Hinder mums, dads and everyone gone one way or another and I was up till now only thinking of us. I dont blame you; if this is existence its probably better to be dead. Maybe, but I still have some faith in He even if its obvious hes just winging it. Well if theyre after him that bad then he must have some sort of power to fix things, I mean that guy he spoke of doesnt want to kill him but absorb him. Perhaps death or never having existed is preferable to what He faces, imagine being turned something that you despise. Like Jim or Hinder. Said john Domino fell silent, the topic was too close to his concerns and he darent speak to him unless they come to life on his breath. Nothing was shown to john but a pathetic smile, which was enough for John to pat him on the back and join the others. Perhaps it would have sounded silly if spoken, but Domino seemed content to hide away while desperately lonely and in fear of his own end. Still this eternal night dragged on but for the cold flame of the vortex that now stood over them, the moon was in the process of unravelling into it like spilt milk, the stars had begun to shrink inward, in between cloud vistas the raced towards the black core. The lights in the valley stood hanging where they were waiting, the human survivors had made good progress despite the treacherous landscape they had to navigate, they were half way across and already looking for a way down at the other side. A rumble sounded in the valley down below and grew louder as the ground beneath them began to shake. This was a bad place to be in an earthquake. He managed to yell out instructions as the ice beneath them began to give way as slabs of the glacier crashed into each other and split into grating troughs, they were all thrown of balance and clutched at the hard ground. He got up onto his knees and palmed the ice, a ring of golden light encircled them and the ground within it became stable. All around them was the squeaking of ice and a tumbling sound of rock fall. Hes face showed considerable strain and sweat collected on his forehead. Then the movement around them stopped. He fell onto his back and the glow dissipated. That was clever they waited for point where we were in a vunerable position then slammed us. They looked through the dark at what they could make of the new landscape, He panted and looked drained, Mendel had to help him to his feet. The glacier had been split in two and a huge crack ran down its center metres from where they were, theyd have to jump to make it to the other side. It looked to be just over 2

metres across, which seemed jumpable. The question was would any of them try it. As if to force n answer the lights of the valley rushed forward let loose from their invisible leaches, crawling up onto the glacier. He weak as he was broke forward and was the first to jump, landing in clumsy roll heap on the other side. The others made similar over blown skids along the ice as they tasted the acid build up in their joints and clutched their stomachs in a big whoop on the way over the divide. Once again Domino was the last to cross, an oversight none of them had thought of in the haste of the moment, he hesitated, this was it for him. The other obstacle was a warning but this was fate calling in to collect. His name was Domino and this was the turning point to doom, his sole reason for existence was to sign post the end. This was the end. Domino bounded forward bent his knees to jump but faltered in a loss of nerve, he barely manage to adjust his weight to keep him from flying of the edge. The action brought him face to face with what abyss would carry him away and seal the world in darkness. A shiver rose up his spine and he could not hear the calls from the other side urging him on. Domino did not share the others sense of urgency in the situation. The lights had begun to trawl the ice slowly with flashlight beams back at the point they had mounted the glacier. I can do this, I can make this jump, this is stupid I cant let this stupid idea I have in by head determine my reality, this ice this valley could be al thats left for all I know, in this environment whats one meaning over another, only a fool would try assume fate in this situation. Domino backed up a few paces and drew in a breath of calm. His mind was clear of doom, his legs sprung forward without conscious decision. Shivers of warmth transfixed his core; he leapt the divide hope aglow. A easily cleared the margin of thin air standing tall and ear to ear on the other side. His friends looked at him with faces of marvelled humour and gestured for him to hurry up. This happy moment turned with a crack as the ice at Dominos feet gave way and slid as a sheet back into the abyss. His friends watched Dominos face fall into dread as he rushed down beyond the lip of sight. He without sense rushed to the edge only to see his friend slide into a glacial river, with his hand in the air and his eyes in terror. The river pushed him out of sight dragging him underground into the ice. He collapsed onto the ice, drained and heart broken. There was nothing left for him to call upon when so much had been taken from him. None of them could move in the rush of what they had just seen, used to supernatural death they were awe struck by an accident of nature. The lights behind them swung their beams straight at them and swarmed forward capturing the three that were left in a circle. Their friend was gone and they were ensnared, a cast of Gods led by Sulphur materialized before them in some flashy parlour trick. An assembly of degradation well covered with unsavoury figures of hateful deformity. Dogs bayed circled the perimeter sulking low upon their haunches, so that their shoulder

blades were shown through stretched skin. The orbs flickered with the stability of a flash bulb after image; up close they seemed to hold a more mechanical origin. The Doctor and Control stood out marred in perfection against their surroundings, both savouring their superiority. The smug faced Doctor lifted his arms in conjuring gestures, the ground rumbled again and the ice gave way to expose bare rock. The black rock shot upward in a great pillar tracing the circle formed by the orbs of light. It carried them high up into the stratosphere, they saw past the light halos of the orbs the sky had become black and starless, back on earth the horizon had begun to shrink in a cascade of black. The Doctor paced wordlessly glowering at He and his two companions. All hope appeared to be lost. He did not bother to get up or show any response to the clamour around him. His two friends gather about him and put him on his feet. He stared through the Doctor his eyes full of defeat. The Doctor summoned up a lectern out of the rock and began to speak.

SERMON ON THE MOUNT All these doctors of their various fields sniff and sift thru information whether it be action or something that didnt happen, process or initial factor. They take it and form knowledge reorganizing it in their disciplines image. From this they have their understandings. These things they understand however are coloured by the systems they use to measure and induce thought from experience or reason. Furthermore specialization reduces the view of insight encouraging multiple truths and then the words themselves are shaken out by silver tongues and forever rearranged to meet unintended contexts and Ego agendas. They do not deal in truth but their truth. The between ego truth, the heart truth, the larynx truth, and so on truths. There lays an unnamed body, reduced by the sum of its parts. These thinkers do not deal in the reality of form but the reality of the idea of form. It is from this unbalanced reasoning that maps ruined lie and vistas holding mismatched shadow objects drawn on thin shells are placed. This is not where reality is held. Lying alongside us as a thought contained. Detached from the event they describe full of description that portrays the resultant idea as the material reality itself. Lost in a wave of humanity, like trained monkeys, we spend all our time mimicking, as we should. We act out of our own conception. Deconstruction destabilizes us and we are all forged truths, to rest out on balancing factors, we rise up and on, exponential, sick and blind. Life laid bare on the table, they dig their various knifes in carving out ourselves in removal, the same meat is taken twice, and meat is made up from the ether or left as an undefined gap. Broken down beasts, and woe! Doctors become butchering dogs fighting over scraps of meat, or officers pushing thoughts over the breach at gunpoint, in academic trenches. Soldier words proliferate in combat come back cross-bread and sewn from the dead. Rebuilt again as ash and viscera. Devils and Angels manmade hoot and swarm. Locust clouds of shifting knowledge, mutated upon common sense, lazy journalism and company agendas, they make knowledge. Now there is no Law but the one on the page and the power that controls it is a mirrored infinity of self diagnosis. Behind glass eyes lie eye sockets pink. History is made from hidden daggers forged from narrow power bands. Hand shaking strategies, to-fro bureaucratic rubber branding. To grow, to function, the world becomes shaped sand sliding thru our fingers in a fever dream, the Clean-cut robot frenzy, jerking back and forth in a B-movie spin. We free wheel thru the function of a day while remaking yesterday and dream of flight. Then a dreamologyst on breakfast television tells us its just a subconscious reflection of a nocturnal errection. Edict addiction, advice is thrown out scattershot and responsibility is thrown about like mud. Short term fuzzy thinking spits us forward as mechanisations of gratification and we no longer recognise the causal relationships for the others we harm in our intrinsic hedonism. We mask our sins in a culture of sports anedotes.

Such Modernists become fundamentally upset when someone invites traditionalists to the party. The everything they encompass does not include the single mindedness of the past. The multiplicity of relativism turns out a generic story and the very kitchen sink idealism it stands for only strikes grey paint on us all. Post modernism is employed now not as variation of method it should have been but an uncoordinated step of every method employed at once, striking out in conflicting directions. A mere construct of anarchy is exhumed and every piece of culture ruled over by the same self reference, no more that a cheap soliloquy aimed at a dull crowd. You cannot tell a story without letting everybody know you are telling it and you cannot expect to be heard over the racket of interpretation, so much that the story tells you and then that becomes the story to be told. A feedback loop of self worship, with the self acted out by another and another in a degrading cycle of Meta. The cast and crew are exposed as actors and absorbed into the story. Ideas coveted and bent against product. Economies see units of movement and make celebrity panel scores for chuckles; dated models for entertainment television, even the protests against this have been incorporated into the great world show, achieving nothing but to scratch at that moral itch without change. Even a protester outrage has been absorbed as entertainment, once defined by stereotype they are cast down a narrow track that leads them out of the picture. Again it is a narrow function that we cannot break from. Why are we not good enough to have achieved a utopic response by now, why are we fundamentally unhappy, deprived of our silver jump suit Eden? Is there some sort of map we have not yet made? Should we start again because we got the order of events wrong? There is something flawed with we have made of ourselves to date. I wish I knew what it was. To fire the neutrons in my brain a different way to what Ive been raised. Ive spat on the last corpse shell of what I was only to have to start over again. If function is all we have then maybe there is a course set out but our natures that we must follow or forever sin. The only path is the one that leads us by our own desires an entropy death of weakening bonds. Detach every connection a man has with himself. The only response mapped is irresponsible. Science for the masses has become roadside candy, a point of visual interest but something that cannot be digested according to taste. It makes flies from meat. What if the truth is unreasonable? It has gone beyond query and become theory. The scraps that dont fit get thrown and only mapped connections recognized. A creature of fact can easily be destroyed by the power of the fictions they down play. The fictions that the masses hold, the ones that appeal to the untrained mind and fester alongside the human sprit, held hostage by the very idea of ourselves. Desperate mercy misplaced by comedic levity the ideas seek to outlive us, rising up in stature to finger at the stars, but with the same notion they strangle and shrink, in psychobabble and syndrome. Celebrity now holds the cup of knowledge, casting us backward towards entrail readings and crystal worship. It is all a comedy of menace. We are wiping ourselves out. You He are wiping us out.

I dont ask for the end of diversity and a stagnation of design, I dont want my face etched into the cosmos. What I want is a uniformity of thought, each part interconnected with the other; optimum functionally comes from knowledge of purpose. What good is the ego that you hang on to in the face supreme utility? The doctor stood etched to the self-manifested podium that had risen up from the mountainside, white knuckles griped the organic stand. A face full of hate and under lit stared them down, yellowy hate eyes with skull hoods that pierced and unfixed them, the last three un-captured by the by the sprit of the times. Masked shadows danced in torch flame. Dogs bayed in the distance for bloodletting. Alone in front of them a cankerous individual. Pointing at He with a bony finger, more than a man, less than enlightened. The Doctors body coursed with a corrupting pre-eminence, his lips felt numb and spat drool as he barked out crimes, guilts and dooms. He heard some of himself in the words, twisted into new horrors in application. There was now nothing but black outside the pillars circle. Can you not see it He, with us as one I could rebuild the world anew, Look. The Doctor gestured to the void and the ghost image of the world as it was imposed itself against the darkness, he leant on his preachers pedestal flashing a toothy grin before stepping into another rambling diatribe. This world is now like a ball time wrapped around in a string, weve pushed the new too long in a system of limited capacity, we stand in an infinity against itself. Every diagnosis has been set against itself; we now stare out at an infinity of ullage, every piece of the world thrown in the scrap heap in the search for meaning. This world has found its singular purpose its guiding arrow, now contained into a perfect circle, the end to which power changes hands in divine interpolation. Imagine a world beyond what we had without the useless complexity of trans-static ideas. Imagine a pure one, beyond any other number, pure in that unlike others could not added or taken from. One idea thats all it needed. What this world that fell in front of our eyes needed was completion. But there were too many hands divided against themselves, no one could decide what quality perfection had. Now all I need do is extend the circle and the world will be anew, fresh and young. Instead of that shambles of complexity we had we will have the purity of the circle only names will change hands not meaning. It will be a whole manned as one. As if Sulphurs statements forged meaning upon the world the orbs shot outwards to beyond the peripheral cup of the horizon. The dark in the circle merged with the dark of nothing, this was the flickering of the wick. The height of the shade, the underside of a mans hand. Sulphur was to be all that was. He grew pale in his presence, his arms ached and his eyes could hardly stay

open his core was unravelling before him and he was parting ways with himself. Enveloped by the shade, He was now a faint form. The Doctors face flashed yellow and ash, He could see his own worst impulses in front of him as he slipped away. The bitter urge to crush the world, that omnidirectional hatred and cool superiority, in seeing it He wanted it away from him, it was so ugly. Hes friends noticed the power shift in favour of the God of: Chaos, morality, irresponsibility and now whatever else. John could not bear another friend gone before him, it looked to be the end and the only option now was to choose how it happened. None may matter in the face of oblivion, but perhaps the only mark left to be made was on the cheek of the God who destroyed him. John wished there was something sharp to scar a face with, some parting quip that would out live him in poetic myth. All John had with him was a tight fist to grace the Doctors face with, it was hardly suitable but he had to protect his friend. Even if that protection was little more than a distraction, a foolish one, a fist fight with a cosmic being, john liked the idea, it took the sort of balls he liked to think he had. The audacity beyond any other, Hes champion stepped forward breaking eye contact between He and Sulphur. Both parties involved were bemused by this; John met the Gods gaze head on, and quickly piped up before he lost his nerve. Oi, cunt fuck off, Im not going to just be some fad. (It wasnt the best line of his life but at least it would be easy for a bard to rhyme with.) John raised his hands into a guard and hopes held aloft, He squared off against a God. Time slowed as synapses fired and juggled information. It felt good to extend his arm and strike at a foe with righteous fury, to reach to satiate his desires upon anothers face. Bravery and honour, freed from reason. A martyrs final moment of piety, a graceless shuffle of feet and a point of focus clear cut. John lent backwards slightly to bring further momentum with his strike; a swinging cross. However the Doctor adjusted his position by inches and the punch met air, his hands shifted up clasping the fist by the wrist and set it onward extending john beyond his centre of gravity. John fell in the mud of the mountainside superimposed beneath the darkness. The Doctor extended a cane from his coat arm and spun around in golf swing impact with johns skull, death by parlour trick. Several more unnecessary swings coincided with the bloody lump of broken bone, serving only to humiliate Johns corpse and invade the memory of his life with the impression of his bloody end. The Doctors face flashed Spittle trough teeth, his constitution unhinged from his manner. His face hollowed out with further sunken evil, his face shook with rage. The fire and brimstone malice and madness that shone through his eyes was enough for Mendel to drop He in panic. The grip of abandon about him dropped of his face cued by the action; he turned to face Mendel with a look of malignant whimsy, the slight of a smile. Mendel did not share the doctors detached engagement with him. Having the knowledge that fate had affixed his eyes upon him, manifested in the being before him. For all the terrible power at his behest,

the doctor had struck down his last with a dull plainness. All of Hell was at his summons, yet in anger hed gone for something as un-flashy as blunt trauma. Mendel did not expect the same easy end; perhaps the Doctor had saved the best for last. This was a chance for the Doctor to stretch the dark capacity of his soul against the restraint of the faade. Mendel backed away in slow startled steps before turning to bolt. Running into the dark of nothing was preferable to the torture his mind and body would soon conceive. The Doctor calmly patted himself down coat pocket by coat pocket, with an absent-minded frown. The slightest twitch in his eyebrows heralded the issue of a glass cylinder from the top left inside pocket. Inside the cylinder danced two lights similar to glow-beetles; he gave the vial a small shake to ensure agitation. The lights responded in flair, bashing their forms against the glass. Sulphur then released the stopper from the top of the container and the orbs spilt out. They fluttered in the open air for a moment before shooting of after Mendel in an aurora burst. A photo reaction in the periphery alerted Mendel to the presence of threat behind, he twisted his body to look back in a running stumble. The whites of his eyes flashed as they strained sideways to see the orbs approach him, he began to scream and shot forward at double pace. However, no matter his speed these orbs made gain on his position, as they drew close the ground muddied up and began to sweep at his leg. The liquid swirled and clawed about him rising up in tendrils to bind him. The lights took pause before him, perhaps sizing him up, perhaps half blind and sensing him. Mendel screamed again which served as cue for the orbs to enter his chest, lighting up a map of blood vessels through his skin. His face and scream conveyed the subtitle shift from terror to torture. The orbs had begun to chew upon his flesh. The mud stretched its grip about him in a cold caress, the lights danced amounts his ribcage, leaving a trail of deficit behind them. The mud wrapped Mendel whole filling in the skeletal void and passing about the mouth and face. He sunk in heart and body as the mass behind the mud collapsed back into nothing. Mendel was no more and the lights returned to their masters vial. All Hes friends were gone, almost by his own hand, or by the being he was soon to become, all that was left of them was a memorial spark in the retina, a handful memories holding out against the vision of their collected ends. By this stage the Doctor showed little interest in his prey, as meek an image He was there was no surprise in him being paid no mind. The Doctor seemed too caught up in the moment to be in any rush to finalize it. He was caught up as well, his weakness, his failures, were rattling about in his skull. This thing He was supposed to be yet unable to be grasped, at the price of his friends. He had failed to protect them, in the dirt staring at his own hand, wishing it some potency.

Sulphur knew what to do with his, another magic show, he raised his hands in orchestration then there was a flash where the horizon point once was. The world collapsed outward in a burst of folding being. It was a world as it was but this world was crisp and new waiting to be imprinted upon. He was all that was left to sweep under the rug and it was clear now that Sulphur contained the power to do so. He had made a career out of the indirect way he engaged the world, playing the aggrieved victim, a dissembling brat but all that been taken away from him and now hed bore some real punches. Not some minor annoyances to zone in and fester on, his friends were dead; the world really was on the cusp of becoming a horrible place to live, without the objective eye of observation to even experience it. Some grey eternal handshake. There was no outlet for any of this injustice and frustration, none save blind rage. The only thing left to do was to confront the being that had killed all of his friends.

BATTLE Bastard. One word boiled up beneath him, under his skin rushing up from beneath his chest, from the flipside of voiceless frustration. There brewed a perfect fury. He had gotten up on his feet and stood stable in a long drawn cowboy stare, with eyes at the Doctor. Righteous anger swirled in the air about him, He could no longer feel his corporeal form just the energy collected about it. The doctor spun around in attempted mockery to squash what he sensed behind him, but when brought eye to eye his face faltered. It turned to an equally humourless stare. Words were now useless measures to bridge the conflict between these two. Action was now the only course that did not ring empty. Their Horizon lines had rushed forward to collide with a singular focal point. Their forms twitched, Sulphur held back waiting to see if He would burn himself out again, they sized each other up both looking for an edge, both trying to gauge the others ability. The doctor struck first pushing forward in a blink to bridge the distance between them, his fist was met and blocked by He, who countered by grabbing the Doctor by the throat and slamming him around into the dirt. The force of the collision sent his body bouncing upward, which He used to plant a kick into his middle sending him upwards. He gave chase, swiping the Doctor out of the air, sending him hurling back to the new earth, a cartoon dust cloud below. He touched down back on the tower of rock, amongst the other Gods, they were all too quick to dematerialize back to what ever realm they had sprung from, all except her and the abomination. That beast rushed forward at He, only to be swept aside and cast beyond the horizon by Hes mere gaze. She, she only winked and blew a kiss at He, then floated upwards to gain a safe vantage point. This was all ludicrous, it was unclear to He whether the world had been fixed or whether Hed just circum to its logic like everyone else, all the physical signs of collapse had subsided, but it still felt off under the surface, perhaps all that had changed in the situation was that He was more wholly infected by it. Then there was the ease in which Sulphur had corrected it, how much of this situation was of his manufacture, if the Doctor had cause to provoke such advantageous action? He should not have given himself luxury in his doubts, for the pause cost him as He lowered his guard to focus. The tower He was on collapsed beneath him, deconstructed by the power that blinded it and He did not know how to fly. Perhaps the situation parodied a comic book serial in its base terms and titan powers, He could be forgiven for an inability to accept it all. But it was not at all helpful for him do so. Survival did not ask of him why in all this, it only commanded do. In a downward tumble amongst the rubble He considered it would be best to gift his doubts to the Doctor, in between strains of the mind to will his body to fly or teleport himself out of this celestial fall. The ground hit hard, the fact that it hit at all was a blessing of awareness He

could not entertain. It was the kind of hard that only a God could feel, dazed He did not have time to get out of the way of the rock shower of the collapsed tower that buried him. The Doctor got up from his position and rearranged his torn and sullied clothing at a molecular level. In the process deciding a change of cut and color was in order. The boy had knocked him off his feet, this was a novelty, but for him nothing more that a trifle to draw upon his ancient experience. Youth was always such a clumsy squall and for something such as a cosmic battle more deistic grace was needed, some said you werent a God without age. This statement obviously held no logic given the diverse conditions that met this description in this world. Still it bore light on the sort of preferential conditions that were required for a God to be successful. It disappointed the Doctor that there was no sign of life from beneath the rubble, it seem that the kid had been dispatched with too easily, perhaps the power he sought from He was not all it promised to be. Or, perhaps it could be that the boys youth left it largely unwieldy. The Doctor paused to consider why he questioned himself; perhaps the fall had dented his ego. The doctor decided to raise the rubble from afar just in case He was playing quiet to draw him in. The mass of rock was cast up into the sky, but there was no body beneath it, He happened to be standing atop of a rock float in mid air, but the Doctor only hand time to register a flash above him. Sulphur managed to parry the first blow sending waves of energy that split the valley walls around them. The next two hits sent his legs backward in a stubborn stagger; the fourth flattened him on his back. He did not stop there; the Doctor was scooped up and slammed along the side of the valley, his face was pushed into the mountain by He as they skidded along, the forces involved troughed through rock and rumbled throughout the valley. Sulphur managed to get his hands up against the mountain and create drag slowing his rocky burrow. His hands began to push upward against He who was riding his back. The Doctor managed to get his legs against the mountain allowing him to plough himself and He into the other side of the valley. The wall of the valley crumbled around them as they rolled and wrestled in the dirt, vying for an angle to punch each other from. He rolled sulphur onto his back and squatted over him using his full weight to drop in punches against his face. Sulphurs head sunk into the mountainside with each blow, there was no respite for Hes foe as a rally of punches worked him over, as the earth beneath him collapsed in a great fissure, dragging them both into the darkness. They tussled and tore at each other on they way down. The Doctor was quick brake from the dust shuffle at the bottom of the pit that had formed; he retreated to a nearby outcrop of rock to crouch on and surveyed the night sky above that shone through the crack above. He scrambled to his feet panting heavily, crouched and scanning the darkness for any sign or signal. The

Doctor did not share Hes disability in the dark, sitting back and observing, savouring the advantage. It seems like you were trying to send me back to hell back there. Sulphur Said He only continued to pant with the note of a growl in his breath, the Doctor wondered if there was any ego left within He, or whether he was fighting the animal shell of residual power. Sulphur raised his hand and motioned the crack to close above them wrapping them both in darkness. They both sat in the dark, wishing upon a vile prayer, that this death womb would be the others grave. For He it was not a solitary dark, menaced by Sulphurs evil about him, the black was coloured by so many deaths. There was no comfort to be had from there unresolved hopes carried in Hes memory; his heart was sealed against the world. It had lent up against him and tried to take everything from him, but He was still here, smiling at its confirming gloom. It had all been amassed against him and He was still here, as proof of lasting will. What He thought was a hand brushed past him in the dark; the Doctor Sulphur had decided to make attempts at withering his ego with such indirect attacks. Thats all Sulphur could summon against a one such as He, that is all this had achieved, a empty terror game that showed He his own un-mutability. It did not matter what was taken from him, or what would be left at the end, his own idea failed to matter all that was left was his survival in any form. Light coursed all around him, if Sulphur wished to dwell in the dark then let him be blinded by the light. It was the antediluvian swell He had searched for inside himself; that fresco hand reaching out to Godhood. It wasnt for his friends or himself that it existed. It was rage itself. He had become the hand against itself that lashed out with righteous disgust, the great world sweeper, the flattener of Man. Nothing was left worth saving only worth hating. The light was the white only to be read about, the sort of pure light the poor lost souls that stand on street corners and bay about. The light that was said could heal the world was here to stand against it. Sulphur questioned the wisdom of locking himself in a cave with such a being, but at the same time could not help but lust after it, this was the sign of the power he had been looking for, only contained within another. All that was required was that he held out against it in order to mine Hes soul, from behind shielding arm sulphur looked over the quality before him with covetous eyes. The light surged forth knocking the Doctor back a pace, when his every impulse was to step forward and satiate himself in it. With every blow against he was reenergized by a base need to capture this light. After all these years of boredom, there was finally something new to grasp at.

The cave around them shattered, as light beams scattered across its surface. The fiery halo about He twitched slightly in surprise when he realized he had been moved. They were now in open space, floating amongst the rock shards of the former cave. Doctor Sulphur immediately registered Hes surprise. Well you didnt want us destroying the world we were fighting over did you, any further escalation of this little scuffle weve been having would have destroyed the planet we were on. Do you think I care for that place, youve destroyed everything of value that was there and youve probably taken my ability to even appreciate what was once there too? All I want to do now is hate you, without limits and I dont care what I destroy in the process, theres nothing left anyways. I see you that you are falling back onto your old ape instincts, just a monkey that stumbled across an influence you dont understand. I well you soon shall care even less, for you will cease to exist; you havent seen my cosmic manifestation yet. Cosmic- this is ridiculous. It is fact. Well Im about ready for the cosmic candid cameras to roll out clown shoes. Hes light stirred at he ready as the doctors form blurred and stretched. It ran outward on a scale that was, well cosmic. It was a burp and bubble of dark shapes on a black canvas. A wall of deformity rose up demon, dwarfing Hes flame. It held a thousand crooked faces and phantom limbs of presence. There was a swirling maelstrom of mashed and merged creation before He. At the heads helm lay a replica of the statued head of David, crudely attached at the neck. Probably thrown into insult Hes sense of aesthetics. It couldnt be said that this mass had any one form or substance, more a field of reappraising entropy. The Doctor sent forward writhing tentacles of molar bound together with shopping trolleys and chewing gum, he sent forth-oily globules of boneless mammals wrapped in black shadows and glad wrap, an army of dizzying tortured forms en mass at He. Countless malformed hands under every representation the banner concept would allow, a viral leak of spawning teeth. All were sent to eclipse Hes heat. They wrapped around the lights boundary seeking to encircle and snuff it out. They flexed and stirred and shrunk back at the touch, black chutes of matter sprawled about him in near shroud, but He flexed his light it arced out in a plasma burst pushing the creature back through the cosmos. He then summoned the great light across to the doctors position across the stars and issued a blast

with the power of a mini singularity against him, a new galaxy nexus appeared where the beast once was. He did not notice that the stars behind him had all gone out, instead floating as a mock celestial body, with the sort of modest grin a vanquisher of an interstellar evil could obtain. The stars around him began to swirl and dimensional lines cracked out sounds of cosmic thunderbolts as planes of existence collided and merged and back on earth countless lives had something unexpected to them before breakfast. Then it hit him knocking the light out from around him, He was swallowed by a black vortex spinning him onward through intersecting planes of existence. Though a jumble of uncaused events all set up against him. A horde of unorganized signals and meaningless gesture looming up upon him on mass, trying to clutch at his being and unravel it, creatures against themselves, born to dissolve. There was a texture-less press heaving up against the self, a breath of nothing. Heaving against a clamped chest, He was spilt into pale agents of self-playing out the battle with sulphur by scenario. His form was stretched out against possible worlds, using ends as reflections of the heavenly conflict at hand. Keegan walked into the bar, it wasnt the most aesthetic of joints but the bar staff looked like they could wet a glass. That was all he was after and all he was due to expect in a place like this. If he were in here for the experience, it would be served under tacky neons, in a dishcloth smeared glass. Keegan took a second nature scan of the bar, the kind of procedural reaction that unconsciously made out the drink he wanted to order and the company he was to drink it with. He made his way up to the barkeep, the kind of man to have the idealism to open up his own business and none of the wherewithal to whether out the reality of that impulse. You could see the years of not quite success not quite failure on his face. He was curt and obviously not made of manners; over fond of a bar rag and he shuddered at the naming of another drink. Maybe hed been bitten himself or was sick of seeing it get a hold on others. Maybe a lifetime of seeing others be the life of the party through sober lenses was too much, a life of watching everybody else have all the fun and having to mop up when they have too much. Or perhaps there was something in watching people riding that fleeting line between high times and soul sick darkness that had him asking in the point of being. One drink was the difference between heavens heights and the devils low and here Keegan was in need of one drink. How many times had the barkeep poured that death taste and how many times had Keegan had that one drink poured. In any case no small talk was going to stoke out the chill of this bar, empty men flocked and the bar tender was like a phony lighthouse to walking shipwrecks, a siren singing out from the polishing of a dirty glass. The Bar suffered itself, like hedging you bets to confirm your worldview. It made Keegan weary of his presence here. It made his wonder why he pushed the talk out of the keep despite his better judgment.

whatidawant I wanted ice, I said ice. Said Keegan Shit, and here I was thinking you wanted a drink and werent to quibble a bout his fucken conditions fucken containing to that fucken drink Keegan wasnt one to rise up to wit, not one that used the word fuck like an exclamation mark, Keegan was more one to choke on a sentence then swing an arm. He wasnt about to change a habit for the filthy shell before him; the guy was lucky to be graced with his knuckles. That guy took the punch like a sucker who was green for the business of drunks, or deep down he wanted it. But the guy took it like it was loose change and jumped the bar like there was still spring in this chicken, leading with an all too ready jab cross. Trust Keegan to pick the well-worn prize-fighter. On the way down he didnt have time to question his motivations considering hed made the guy three paces into the place. Still looking up at his face Keegan saw an echo of something he didnt reckon on, it was better to look at the neglected floor or the whirl of old men taking a grin to a beaten man, the horrible bastards were delighted by the hard luck in others. Keegan heard a shuffle of floorboards and there wasnt time to comment on the gaps where the broom never went in between the barstools. Keegan rolled to the left and sprang up on his knees with enough momentum to dive for in a tackle to the knees. A stool came crashing out to the barkeeps hand as he got laid out on his back, Keegan climbed his way up him horizontally until he was pinned down and wailed on by indiscriminate blows, his face was squished beneath fists like dough on a breadboard. A bulky arm shuffle, a mince meat beat, playing out hate on this guys face. The twitch went beyond some bread and butter punch up; this was no skirmish of daily gravy. This was heat; this was old stone, an ineffable pull to act, this guy didnt deserve this but it was happening. This scene was played all over in every channel of the universe, in soap cliffhangers and noble heights; it chimed in every bell in every tower, acted out with the poetry of a single mother fighting the common cold. An urge impulse strong even when fractioned and from all this division He had to pull himself back up into a discernable whole. Into a fusion core of others deeds, into whatever it was the made him, him. The thing that was implicit and on the tip of the tongue, as yet unnamed, when all this was done it landed him back against that monster, Sulphur. Sulphur had taken the guise of a chessboard knight piece with tentacles at the base, at the same scale as a chessboard knight piece. He laughed despite himself, it was inevitable seeing as that the Doctor had stolen a large chunk of Hes sense of humour. It hissed at him in burps, He couldnt tell what it was on about. It had one thing going for it, it was a good size to stamp it out of existence, all He had to do was summon more of that feeling up in greater amounts, and He knew how to feel it out. He reached in a giant hand drag throughout the dimensions out to his cosmic form and became it.

Hes cosmic form was not very impressive; he was exactly the same except slightly bigger and better dressed. He shrugged, size didnt make him more anymore significant and he felt the same as always. It wasnt the euphoric oneness He had been expecting. A bit of a non event really, it wasnt even sensational enough to call disappointing. Still maybe it would prove impressive when tested for capability. The doctor was pincered between thumb and forefinger, the marble horses head cracked under the pressure; He flung it up in the air before him and sent a thousand stars collapsing on his knights head with the force of a singularity. From the dust and flashes of that cradle of destruction the light shone out anew as a new miroverse was born. From within the horses head cracked into chalk dust. He was tired out from all this exertion, everything had its natural limits and maybe he should have to join a cosmic gym because his cosmic beer gut was showing. At least He was making progress in destroying Sulphur. Fire burned all around He it was a shunting hunger of goose flesh, the desire to eradicate the person who had wiped every connection He had with the world out of existence, He no longer had anyone to call him by his name and none knew it. There was no resolution of why, it seemed like Sulphur had faked the threat of the ending world. It seemed like He was no more to him that a piece of clothing to put in his wardrobe. He noticed with horror that the flame about him was arching toward the point where the tenticled husk Doctor Sulphur was, from the broken bust grew an image. This image was a mirror of his own face; it was another violation He had failed to stop more of himself being lost. The wrath boiled up within him, he was wild enough to boil the universe at the core but every attempt to smite him with rallied energy sent more energy towards the new host. The Doctor was latched on as a black hole of self. He was now in death rattle. Every act against me I take for myself, your every struggle exposes your strength to me, and now the you in me has reached the tipping point, the identity in your body yearns to join back with itself in mine. It wasnt enough to die; He had to be killed by an individual mocking him in his own voice. If everything He did to save himself doomed him then He was running out of options, there was only one chance to teleport across dimensions before it was Sulphurs ability but it was another trick that only came to him out of reflex, luckily the conditions were right to perform that reflex, light brighter than anything collapsed into dark and then there was nothing.

AM I HOME? WHERE HAVE MY FRIENDS GONE Was this home, no it wasnt! It was empty, everything was there it was just devoid of attachment, like its memories werent his any more. There was no place like home, this was a material shell, just a bunch of stuff and this was no place to loss in. He found himself at an odd angle in his living room staring at a wall lie he could see through it, a half sipped coffee cup sat on his coffee table and the there was some white carpet clear obscuring a stain from the party from before. This wasnt his house; it was familiar, but unobtainable. Something was missing, something left incomplete. He moved to put the coffee cup in the sink, but then changed his mind, let the owner do that, He was just a guest here. A party, the occupant had once had friends, but they had left him one by one, they had failed him as hed failed himself. A home is a collection of memories and He couldnt retrieve them any more, they were either to painful or had been lost. No amount of cohesion could summon them. It was worse than nothing; there was something in front of him that didnt mean anything to him and no one He could share it with. This was the end, someone elses photo album. Hed once wrapped himself in this stuff, but it only bore cold comfort, a stockpile of worthlessness. His head hurt, it was dull and sodden. Something clattered behind him; it made him jump more than it should have. He spun clumsily off balance and slow. Shit on me its my Cat. He scooped it up repeating what it was as if He solidified it with each naming; it purred and rolled into the grove of his arms. My cat, my cat. Fuck my mates Ive got my cat, you missed him ya cunt, me and kitty are invincible. It was like that book He had read a wizards soul and power were retained in their cat, meanwhile He had become a little more self conscious at yelling at the walls plus He was probably scaring his cat, its claws thought so. He gave it one last pat and shunted it back down to the floor. Coffee. Hed have to make himself some then hed be much better, Hed think something up then, the cat danced about his feet. The coffee as always spilt all over the bench, the same hand gathered it up and dusted it into the mug. The water had boiled He was about to drink it when he realised it was instant coffee, He never drank instant. There was a thumping of padded feet down his driveway. It was

time to go outside. It was dawn, the new day had finally come, the suns rays touched everything with speckled shadow, all against the back drop of pink and red tainted cumulous. It was a Gods sky, one of the few unforgotten sunrises to have had, the sky was a perfect awe, not to be taken for all those countless other days. It had been laid out before him novel, sharp and strong. A red hue played with nature while the world rose anew. This was a truly perfect dawn. Down the driveway a young man stared down a monster that had perched itself on his roof, bloated and beast like. It seemed disinterested in immediate attack but instead it waited for a weak moment, it was far to swollen to move at and speed and looked as if its had its fill, with no desire for more. It mildly resembled a dog in amongst its confusion of abnormities. There were a few weeds that had wormed their way up through the cracks in the driveway concrete that sorely needed seeing to. The young man whirled they shared the same face; he chuckled at the others hateful face, but did not begrudge it after all it was his house. It would be fun to fully assume this young mans identity, he had such a lively personality to add to his own, but there would be no more instant coffee and another thing he loathed cats. Doctor Sulphur picked the cat at his feet by the scruff of the neck and threw it into the jaws of the beast; it made sad circles with its flailing pours and screeched in mid air, now it lay lifeless in a thrashing jaw. The young man face crumpled at this act, He was ripe for dying, its line whine was to be shared with his. That was it He had found his last straw of hope broken off in the abominations mouth. The hate had been sucked out of him, now there was only despair and defeat, a fear of the end. That man had been in his house as him, fingering his things; he had taken on his jaunt, but more importantly. My cat It was a pathetic whimper. His legs gave away; He was a crumbled heap on his knees on concrete even the fear was slipping away to inevitability. A choked hushed a gulped out and gone dry mouth, the terror rising upward into limitless doom. It could only be expressed by repetition of a word that was not enough. Why He was staring up at his own face, the face of his killer. Well I suppose I owe you that, if youre worried that your life had no meaning your wrong, your life had a point and it was just my point thats all.

Endless boredom. Eh? Endless perfection, any imperfect form is doomed to implode against its own nature, this new world will be great beyond or imagining. He wondered why hed thought to strike up conversation, there wasnt anything to get out of talking to this man, he never listened to any of your ideas and he only took them. He always ended up less for it, compared with all the wealth of conversation hed had, this was a low point to go out on. He tried to think up some witty last words but couldnt think of any. My cat. The Doctor stole the words out of his mouth as He was about to speak them. She had appeared to witness the end; it was always her that was the signpost to doom. Wasnt it her to kill him, He was sure he couldnt die except by her hand. But if she was control, then every hand against him was hers, He realised He hated her. She did her best to collect in a spot with flattering light, was she even paying attention. He realised that he should kill her if he could. He hated her over and over, he hated her. Bitch. The hate was gone. The doctor calmly clasped Hes neck as if he was about to choke the remaining life up out of him. She watched without expression, she was wearing a dress. He had to be careful there was a way out of his He knew it, but in thinking it He could give his own plan away, then it clicked, He was about to think it and then stopped himself, He left the thought uncompleted, but continued as the feeling that was the resolution of that thought. The Doctor loosed his grip, she looked confused and interest perked something new for her. Sulphur looked befuddled unsure of his own hands, something was ticking over behind his eyes. I dont want He to die, I need He to live. Thats what He had felt, that was the way out. If everything He did was absorbed and turned against him, then the solution was to have the taker take Hes will to survive. This was no perfect solution; He walked off down the driveway and onto the street amid the confusion. She stormed up the drive but the doctor put out his arm to restrain her, such a look upon his face. What is it, what was He? What does He represent? Stupid woman, cant you see, it doesnt matter, and thats the point. A switch clicked, and the Doctors walking cane fell in two, in his hand the knife hilt. He spun her around in a craning embrace and splayed her throat without music. The grace of his movements at that moment split away from hers as she

slid from his arms in full animal gurgle, his poised slow refrain and her a crumbled heap of stacked meat played at mismatched time speeds. It appeared that even Gods carried that same sad stare of nothing as any other creature, the death wound captured in sad and flabby still eyes. She had dropped to the earth, in an ungracious end, common as the rest of us. He knew this was going on from behind his shoulder, but he didnt care. There lay the fools curse, in order to save himself He had given up the will to live. It was a flawed plan, now there was no survival urge, there were only the sad events to line up and stack, there was only all the things He was aware hed lost. The Doctor lined up a shot will that ancient pistol of his, but suddenly he was a bad shot, He didnt even flinch, instead he just walked on. Onward through these emptied streets that the sun was new to touch. The doctor chased after him with bullets that missed, it was a slow walk on stuffed shot and gunpowder. Thats how they walked, out and on through the empty streets in the new dawn.

Beach Front. A Nothing of no one, a montage of dead faces that that werent anything to He anymore, nothing to mourn. Their outlines had been marked by another. Leaves lay in the gutter, it was rubbish day. He was intolerably lonely, and dismissed his own survival. Another shot rang out in a confused echo amongst the houses. Nominal fate had brought him as witness to the end, trapped by a great isolation in sunshine and street signs. Soon everyone would be up for work. What good were dead friends; the fond memories werent even his to own they were what he was. This existence was no good, it wouldnt end. Friends were no good anyways they only needed you when it suited them, they only complicated life with quarrels, they were phantoms, monsters, beasts never any good. They just sat there and haunted and took. They lived off him as memories, asked of him and confirmed him when all he wanted to do was dream. But being alone was no good either; He walked on aimlessly in a direction that had not yet availed its purpose. There was another gunshot. It missed. The stupid thing He had done was to give up the one thing that had kept him alive through it all and without it he had let go. The direction took him around the corner. A shot grazed the post where the street sign lay. The only person that could save He now, the only person with any interest of doing so was Doctor Sulphur. Unfortunately he was the one with the gun; luckily something was getting in the way of his aim. There was something being missed another was present; the problem was if there was to be a solution to his problem it would come at the end of the equation. Before then we would all have to wait, He was trying to solve himself one-way, the Doctor another. One after the other they crossed the footpath and over the wooden barricade onto the dune grass. It was scene counted in slow steps; the urgency of the moment just wasnt there. The grand scale had faded out to a walk onto the beachfront, the conflict impotent. He had begun to hum out a theme from a cowboy theme to give it impetus and yet if there was a viewer to this scene and if they got past the absurdity of missed shots and indifference, there was a silent power of something not being said. Sunken steps in the sand had marked the line, this is how He would die, a gunshot exclamation mark march into the ocean. Each decaying burst matched by seven steps. The rollers capped and crashed in a sucking shush against each gunshot. There was an empty horizon just a green sea. He stepped over the tide line. There was a crack He did not hear; his body planted itself in the sand along the boarder of dry sand. The Doctor when faced with suicide and a saving gunshot had finally decided not to miss, he calmly looked over the body, it was unclear whether it was dead, he grabbed a foot and begun dragging it back over the dune.

He was in the peculiar position to watch all this, it was a strange sight to watch, someone who had taken your image carrying your body off over a dune, He watched on nether neither shocked nor amused. He kicked sand; he still had physical form. Irreductable and irrepressible eh buddy. He said to himself. He decided to go for the ocean anyways; something was telling him the story needed playing out. He walked on out into the untidy edges of waves, straight on, into the ocean.

DEATH IN THE BLUE OCEAN There is one thing I cannot get past, my mind is now empty of itself, and all Ive found along the way is gone. I see it alien it means nothing. Detached from myself my memories lose cohesion and become something else. They become a sense of loss, obscure, I dont even know what Ive lost because the I is lost, and maybe its me I miss, images without perspective. This is it; this is what the end will be like for everyone else it all starts now, the revelation of man, a halfcocked punch line. The end is being forced to live on after the end. Cut off from ourselves we are only allowed to be aware that we are not aware. We search for what we cannot remember of our world and ourselves. The world is in every aspect the same but we cannot see it any more and that is all we know. We are left with despair and without its passion. Shadows hazed in the dark of day, cut, lessened, we are beasts beaten, and cowering from the hand and the hand is ourselves. It wants retribution for its strangulation in our denial. We gave the hand its strength through the self we gave away to be of the world as other see us. The self we lost became a sweaty clamp over our eyes. Even my sorrow had been eaten up and there was nothing left for me in this world. My head and shoulders were braced by a wave and I was under, I did not swim. I felt strangely warm as if I descended toward a primordial womb, the strangest home. I was transcended in an instant, quick and easy. Sucked below down through the blue appearance to the murky green below, my hair danced, the water permeated my core and dissolved into unutterable entropy. I swayed and bobbed in the dark depths. My eyes were open but I could not see much through the green haze. I spent a time kidding myself that I had drowned or was lying dead and shot on the beach or absorbed into that madmans head. It was not in line with what I felt. This was not a feeling rooted in some ideology, belief or hunch but simply what I felt, was or is and belief and know had become intangibly intertwined and unalterable. One could suggest delusion, this is the conclusion most would jump to when someone suggests they are infallible. Having not experienced this feeling thats all I can hope others to assume I do not care, the flow in me is unwavering. It is not just some assertion of ego or esteem it is not some false prop or crutch to lean on and it is not a false assumption. I know myself when I see it. Infallible is the wrong word to describe it there is nothing where I am comparatively fallible to base that on. I am more in essence intrinsic. I was my surroundings, I was the flame in the desert and when I say I am reality, Im not making some sad citation on twentieth century thought. I am reality the physical world is now me, literally. At the same time I was not of the physical world, and to clear up another point this place I am in and of, was not the physical world it was its opposite. I was not dead or lessened by

committing myself to the depths, but reborn. Wait, the whole death and rebirth framework is too rigid and has a lack of detail its a lazy and unoriginal notion. Besides Im no Jesus Christ, Nope Im more like God of the underworld now, because Im under the ocean, or Neptune or something. But I am neither, I am what I was before and at the same time forever changed in each measurement of an instant. Whether an instant was measured long or short I was nothing or nothingness, this is an impossible term to fathom because it transcends the human condition, not that I ever was human we all were stuck with the language, hell we were even supposed to act like our own concepts. None of those fit here even awareness is alien. Forms moved obscured, there was a shifting in the water, and I had an army in the darkness, abstracted arms and legs, faces pale and bloated, eyes staring into space with out a glimmer. Out of the darks new sharks circled their new prey like fear itself. Occasionally they would take bites out of my army, the bodies squirmed and trashed at the notion of being eaten: the part that was eaten was the idea of their creation revisited in effect on the surface. These were the fallen navigators and shapers of the world and all its crude ideas. The original thinkers the ones that revolutionized thought and then left, this was in part their graveyard: sailors as shark bait. Itll be okay the sharks wont bite unless you imagine yourself as a sea lion. I said to them A nearby person screamed as another bite was placed in him and slowly grew back. I cant take this its all I can think about now. My friends were all Here as well, all of them. I was overjoyed to see them again, to see all the damage Id blamed myself for was undone. It hauled the last sorrow from my heart, instant redemption. They smiled as if no wrong had felled them. This place was the negative mirror every abstracted impact we left be hind on the surface was mirrored here in our true selves. Here was where everything that no longer existed or never existed is material. We werent some imagined creatures existing in thought, we were all that hadnt been thought of. We werent played on puppets we were ourselves beyond even causality, everything was true past the negative, positive or hypocritical. I knew my core and watched as my dressings changed to suit my will shifting in the fine silt nothings of this place. There was no conflict everyone got what they wanted in over lapping dimensions of reality generated by individuals and groups, everyones ideal happened simultaneously at once. It was a utopic juggernaut with exquisite pillars, arches, overhangs and nodal points. If it could have been drawn its lines would have painted the canvas blank by all its workings. An indecipherable monolith of thought and experience those above the surface would not even taste. We are Anti-Man, this is the closest descriptor I can pull. It is clumsy but when you striped of all attachments you neednt serve them any more. The self stands out alone, without perspective

it is clear, an arrow firing forward. The army shines in a phosphoresant flush down from the depths, the glow from down low of the Un-Idea self, the self that simply is. This is the place beyond the frayed edges of the quilt, the drunken flashes of memory fragments, the moment where you can hear the alarm clock radio through the dream and dream on. There are no dry moments here just me and my meat army of cadavers rotting on into eternity pollinating each others sores of mutant thought. Here there is no forced wedding between being alive and the clumsy ideas fussed to life, shaping it into a clumsy stagger. There is nothing to need here our forms are eternal and map-less, we are freed from thoughts towards survival and mortality. Need is a function now determined by entertainment stimulus (I concede that currently some here may base entertainment on previous biological tendencies.) Growth without evolution, not some survival development but growth based on any emotional whim, change and continuity running on taste. Thinking in human terms in this place is repugnant; it is like a tailbone or appendix. Even the metaphors and ideas I use to describe this place of mine to you leave me with a bitter taste I cannot shake. There is no Ocean. No detail or whole or angle shows true to what this world is. All human tendencies would have to be purged to use this environment to its full potential, but at the same time doing this is to know and embrace the human sprit. Here there is no direction to anything going and against something is to give in to its pull. I watch myself hiding under the covers in a nightmare and laugh aware that I am dreaming of myself, still ego rapt and spent. There is nothing to fear because there is no end. If you keep chasing infinity youll end up older than you are now and it only empowers the many tailors of the world to wrap you up and build meaning in towers. It is better in the sea, because you can become infinity and that word is what ever you want it to be. Being of the surface world means taking from others, it means casting down and building up people to serve ones own goals. Life seems to be losing passion. Joy, sorrow, fighting and fucking its all the same, flooded and sunken. The silent pressures from the deep crashing with boredom, its all been done and seen before in every previous day. Thought becomes stretched against the user. A lifetime of entertainment is now born everyday. Catch phases and silent themes run through in secret currencies, like heavy metals in the brain, solid and assurgent. Theres no room for our selves and we wonder why there is so little original thought. We are lazy flies that break ourselves carelessly against a wall of our own terms and demands. Debased and reduced into bold themes with broad strokes, we revolve around categories of self-knowledge ticking and crossing boxes, aligning our actions to them. We lie ruined and wrecked on what we should be by our own or others definition. Busied bending our shape to presets and melded into simple rhythms this is the gap we make of ourselves. We are set between the blunt image we understand and enforce and the greater one we can never hope to touch upon, blurred and hazed. Like a mirage on the ocean floor clean and pure. The rest are projections of a phantom hull by others

etched and eroded, forcing us to dance with alien muscles to repetitive music, crucified on a puppets wire, lines running in contortions blown over by distortions. I am not a walking manifesto. The wind that stirs before a gunfight, unbleached hills impossible sights with yet communicated feelings attached. The sea washes up along the cliffs and onward through the forests it touches the earth and changes it. The physical world will forever be the same cogs and cranks that moan at unknown intervals with no meaning but what it chooses to assume, to justify every click and turn. Even this is just another facet of automation. Real and hard. Cold to the touch. Beyond everything that is, are the things lost or forgotten or the things that never were trapped/free in non-existence, a whisper in a dream of a blue ocean like nowhere throwing salt rust at the gears. Even in the gray patterning of lists and categories lies the thirst for the next turn, and this is where the bastard self-comparison becomes weak to the subtle corrosion of the ineffable whole. A message from us below where there are no idea-concepts to ruin our stories with whittle-etched caricatures that revolve clumsy around themes that draw them out into shallow abstractions walking around in fragmented steps with motion lines. A man need not represent himself all a man needs to do is exist. In order to do this one must become nothing, not even a mirror or a blank canvas for others to draw on. A true human must also be an island. What new concept was I to be in order to change the world? I was De-Personification; the act of being pushed into a narrow confine that did not reflect my true nature. When any form is constructed it is doomed to implode against its own nature. It will stretch against its own selfimage in order to maintain it; it will stretch and bend to try to find the gap between the self and the construct. He is an exchange system for ideas as varied as the relationships between individuals or a group of individuals. No He is. Definition is redundant. One could argue that this is just another word for stereotype or schema and it is but the intent of the person or collective doing the pushing is to make someone become something that they are against and never were. I was to be battered into an intrinsic caricature of the universe itself. Another way to explain this is that I was the end of the world I was death. Because according to the universe every one is a concept or personification. What if them not being themselves, or the opposite of themselves were an inseparable part of whom they were. Well things that argue with themselves this way often disintegrate. I am not that or any concept anymore because of this and I suppose everything that does not exist in some ways does exist by this principle. I do not want to cover the apparent MetaRomantic Irony I have just noticed is present. It too is a worn down dead idea finger banged by grubby teenage hands. Letting out a choked orgasm, taken by pop philosophy swingers until it becomes a worn flower, if you cannot become something beyond an expression of a greater theme then become your best misrepresentation of it. The thinkers drive new pressures in the depths, it takes them further from the surface and closer to drowning. Its absurd to think that out of the endless cooling

and solidifying of the world came life by accident within a random occurrence on a compressed sphere or solar dirt or a star that didnt make it. Life defies the universe because awareness gives it implication. The world is material and meaningless, yet we try to rearrange and shuffle it towards our demands and justify our existence. This thinking never satisfies because we ourselves dont want to know the answer because it is insolvable. No we want the search, more and faster racing forward into extinction. We kid ourselves that we are not deluded and obscene but noble and holy. We dont even need to look anymore because we can understand and control enough of the world and ourselves. It is continuous comfort that we truly seek, not solutions. We just assume we want the truth because we desire to shroud ourselves in significance that fits more comfortably to form. Consciousness is just another evolutionary function. I am not drowning but swimming, floating and drifting. There is no bottom only more or less structure. And Her, the girl she lives on because she cannot die while we are alive. A man cannot kill control if they are controlled by what they are to kill control; any action in the real world is a by-product of function. It is called determinism, a crushing whore everyone is a slave to. Even chaos and the nothing I filled him up with. I love her, she is intangible, a spectre. Most men find it easy to love a girl broken into body parts but the her that I know is formless, it is not her definition in the world but what she is without it. She isnt there; I am in love with something I cannot conceive. I cannot remember her face. There is no substance but something that borrows, if it needs to fill itself with attractive features. This means I will never have her and she may even not want me. She is separate from herself for me. I close my eyes for a second and smile. I see a glimpse of her standing over me with a blade an unreadable expression on her face. Its no wonder my dream girl is just a dream. If I had her for a second I would lose her forever. I dont love what she is but what Ive made her in my head beyond awareness, the negative space Ive fused to her caprice, an amalgam striking out in sweeping angles out of focus. Echoes that in material form, stick to your flesh. I dont love her I love myself. I dont love but I think maybe its a good idea. She still wants to kill me in my dreams. I hope to see her again, but only in lonliness I can see her. The floating Bodies assemble and don straw hats and canes. A tacky cardboard cut out back ground of the ocean bottom appears. The water disappears and becomes air with fluttering blue cellophane in it. Cue lights, sweeping cameras, cameras on dollies. We tap dance in perfect time. Cue sound FX, lasers smoke machines, send in the CGI clowns. We Dance on and I sing. (cue 808 electro beat) (Vocoder.)MY NAME IS CALEB AND I LIKE TO DANCE MY NAME IS CALEB AND I LIKE TO DANCE. (repeat.)