classic old street, the graveyard of a lost neighbourhood. it's nowhere near as big as you remember it, the streets seem smaller, the houses not as big, the pavement narrow and look at the corner shop, it's tiny yet you remember as a child walking into this treasure trove and looking at the counter display of lollies and sweets, a kingdom of colour and wonder.
memory itself shrinks, in time, things fade away, warp and shift like the landscape itself, nothing is exactly like it was. the things we think are fixed in memory change when we speak with others who were there, their perspective changes everything of your perspective and how can you trust theirs. where does that leave you?
'remember the time you did that?'
'no, i don't remember much at all, it just comes up to the surface and i record it, my memory is an ocean filled with memories swimming around, occasionally they are present and sometimes i need to submerge myself to find them, others are lost deep in the depths. but i know i remember everything, that's very clear. my ocean is clean and pollution free, memories swim around uncontaminated and polluted by plastic or bits of trash so i'm not to worried.'
'you confuse memory with recall?'
'nope, i just don't try to recall, things surface when they need to or i don't stress or panic. i trained my memory with a few mind hacks, i have it all sorted. in fact you worry more about my memory than i do.'
the ancient ones used interesting techniques for memory, buildings, elaborate palaces or cathedrals they could use as astral holding pens, mine just happens to be an ocean.
'what about the childhood memories, how things are smaller now your an adult?'
'light distorts in water, it's called refraction. you have to accept that memory is relative to time, the time it happened and the time you recall it. refraction is light, memory is just light from the past reaching us now because we want to receive it.'
the bar is packed, classic america mid western place in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by car or bike, it took wendy and i three hours walking and hitching in the twilight hours to get there but here we sit listening to some boogie guitar from z z top and drinking shots in the middle off a wet tee shirt competition as everyone shouted and cheered, 'skin, skin, skin, skin,' and i looked around me in my englishness and saw americana. i had been here before but never alone and as a teenager, i was filled with hormonal intellectual and spiritual thirsting, i wanted it all.
at the time amongst my peers it was incredibly unfashionable to have anything to do with the usa, in fact i was bullied a lot at my stupid skool because my family had taken me there many times. but then looking back i was completely isolated at skool, even the few friends i had were vicious nasty, backstabbing bullies who's envy had no bounds. although the girls seemed to possess a different idea about me, very protective.
so wendy and i are very drunk, the smell of sex hangs heavy and everyone is wandering around stoned on that beautiful weed or staggering around from to much beer. the wet shirt girls are all stunning and disinhibited, there's a lot of flesh.
i don't know how i met wendy, we just gravitated and she stuck close to me for a while. she was younger than me and i think bemused by my accent and choice of words, particularly 'brilliant' which i used to describe everything i liked.
she was typical new jersey, really cool. i liked her chilled out attitude and casual approach to everything and was not surprised when she mentioned she had booked a room in the bar so we could crash out overnight. i think around 3am the place seemed to close but we ended up retiring about 1am and even though the room was not huge i was surprised to find it included a tv.
i flicked through the channels while wendy rolled a joint.
in the time i had known wendy she was always listening to my description of the bands and music i liked, london punk, post punk she had never really heard off. i told her enthusiastically i liked the american bands, television, talking heads, patti smith but she was a springsteen girl. the only band we both seemed to have a great affection for was 'the stones.'
wendy was telling me about a new guy, a black dance act, she described him as a cross between james brown, hendrix and little richard, she said he was going to be the biggest star on the planet once people discovered him and his name was prince. i had never heard off him.
but that night, in pasqualie's bar in wisconsin i flicked through the old tv and stopped on a channel where i saw a grainy fussy picture of a guy singing a funky song and dancing with his band.
'that's him,' wendy said, 'that's prince.'
it was 1980 and i was just discovering my own paths through travel, books, music and life. i shut my eyes and smoked my joint and listened to some song from 'controversy' and i liked the future. what struck me right between my eyes was the weird wild gregarious sexual outrageous in your face, the dirty funk. it was sexy man. it turned us on.
when i returned to the uk i told everyone, watch out for this groovy black american cat, man he's jimi hendrix, james brown, little richard. yeah yeah mission, they all said.
a few months later i met a guy called anthony robesbottom, a black american from oklahoma who was a prince nut. he had moved to london and i hung out with him listening to his prince tapes. he was impressed i knew prince and said, it would only be a matter of weeks before prince went global. he was right.
i always liked prince, yeah a few cheesy songs, some lyrics are questionable and some of his films are disposable but, and this is a big but, he was a fucking genius. he made it look so easy.
tony had some amazing twelve inch singles we would listen to, songs like, 'how come you don't call me no more' and 'erotic city' and 'god.'
the last time i saw tony was at my wedding, he turned up in a rolls and told me he was going back to the states. i never saw wendy again either, but when ever i hear prince those two people come back to me. wendy and her wicked ways, tony who was a great friend.
then when i lived in west berlin, and frequented the infamous jungle nightclub gabrielle and i would always dance to the song kiss which they would always play at midnight, i'd do my jungle stomp and gabrielle would just do here exotic sexy stuff.
prince is gone now. bowie is gone. they made a mark upon me. their music touched my spirit in some way, bowie especially but prince in another way. i guess it's sad but reassuring they have both left us a considerable sum of work to enjoy and the promise of unreleased songs we may get to listen to when the record companies need some cash. but one thing is sure, for me those two musicians are as much a part of my life as my family. not just for their music, but for the way they lived, integrity and commitment to their art. respect!
walking along the beach at twilight in autumn,the sunlight filters last rays through dramatic clouds and for some strange reason the normally quiet little beach town i have called home for the last few years, terrible beach is packed with hordes of musicians, troubadours and entertainers. crowds of people wander around, restaurants spill over onto the streets with queues and hungry crowds. the cafes pump out beer, coffee and cakes, even the lifeguards are out and it's nearly 1730, sunset.
i gaze out at the waves, almost perfect form. i could jump in now if i were not so sick. and if there were not so many sharks at this time of the evening.
it's the first time in a while i've been into town, it's beautiful.
while i was sick i watched the two series of 'orange is the new black' and fell in love with it, what great writing, it's a comedy set in a women's prison. it's got it's fair share of drama and sadness but the characters are all fascinating constructions and very real. i'm in awed by the ex junkie who fucks her way through her time. her sense of spirit is mesmerising. i also find the red neck meth born again christian freak an incredible actress. she is fucking brilliant. such a demanding role and convincing.
tv at the moment is where the writers are. it's good, about time we had tv that don't insult our intelligence. orange is definitely the new black.
old captain mission succumbs to some kind of illness, some awful days of feeling wretched as i drink lemon tea and honey, eat garlic and wait for it to pass. my weekend off fades away to watching a series on blu ray, 'the arrow' cheesy comic book rubbish. stupid plot lines but after a few episodes i must admit i'm hooked.
not only is the parallel story of how the arrow survived five years on an island a good story the way the lessons he learns comes into play in his return to his home very interesting. the people from the past catch up, the ghosts that haunt him, the love that thwarts him. in many ways this is what i loved about comic books as a kid, they were filled with crazy stories but there were also interesting lessons within the sub text. the last confrontation scene in season three is brilliantly executed and surprising.
i was never a green arrow fan as a kid, i loved the silver surfer, he was my man, norrin radd although i flirted with superman, spiderman and the fantastic four it was always the surfer for me, not only did he have a cosmic surf board, he had the best origin story ever. one day they will make a show or movie out of the silver surfer and if it's done with the correct attention to detail it will be incredible. it's the most spiritually moving story from marvel, jack kirby and stan lee had put a lot of thought into his journey.
and here's the thing, watching the arrow i realise how these comic stories are new mythologies, the hero updated to become a superhero.
i guess being sick entitles me to watch some trashy shows and kick back a bit and the arrow was a good distraction. three series, healing time, one weekend.
go down to ice man to score some deep freeze, outside it's hot and sticky, the scenery is melting, walking passed those nice homes that families live in behind collapsing walls just like old gods used their swirly distortion tool. once those walls were straight lines, now they kinda look like homes from a smurf kingdom. gardens stretched out like fractal frontiers, flowerbeds spiral out in curves a psychedelic pattern of colour and smell, look at that bee, it's the size of a yorkshire rat.
i get down to ice man, he's wearing his green suit and deerstalker hat, looking like a jaded time traveller from victorian times, he's slumped in his armchair reading the 'atlantian book of the dead', drinking from a china tea cup, 'ah mission, let me just make you some darjeeling old chap.'
'okay, thanks,' i look around nervously, 'i hope i didn't disturb you.'
'no, no, it's always good to see you, always a pleasure. now, do you take milk, and sugar? i can't quite remember.'
'no, no thanks, black and hot is fine.'
ice man returns and hands me a cup while he carries a huge purple alice in wonderland tea pot in his other hand. he then gestures to a chair, 'sit down and i will pour.'
i sit down into a fine leather armchair, my body eases in perfectly, it relaxes and sinks deep into the plush fabric.
i sip the tea, 'why, this is splendid tea.'
'yes, yes i have it sent to me from darjeeling directly, ever been?'
'no.'
'really, you have never been to india old chap?'
'no, i got to sri lanka but never india.'
'sri lanka hey, did you know that was called ceylon. a fine tea growing country. did you sample their virgin white tea, it's one of the most expensive tea in the world. it's sublime although acquired.'
'i've never heard of it, i usually drink a mint tea or ginger and lemon.'
ice man makes a face, so i quickly add, 'fresh ginger and mint.'
he's not impressed, i can tell he's a purest, 'well this is nice,' i say, taking a sip.
ice man and i share a moments silence, 'i suppose you want some deep freeze, i have some fresh stuff in the freezer if you're interested in quality.'
'sounds great.'
i buy a small pack.
i make small talk,'so, you enjoying that book?'
he picks it up and shows me the cover, 'this is the most incredible book mission, do you know about it?'
'yes i do, i wrote it with a friend.'
'what, you wrote it!'
'co wrote.'
'who...how..., my god mission, you are full of surprises.'
'ah yeah, i even surprise myself sometimes.'
i lean into the chair, the tall back is comfortable and i bring the cup to my nose and inhale the strange smell. my eyes feel heavy and close briefly.
'i had no idea you had such an interest in the occult.'
'yes, it's not something i advertise, that's why i published under a different name. people get the wrong idea about these matters.'
'yes, quite. well, i'm still reading your book, up to the part on sigils, very interesting, informative.'
'well i'm glad your enjoying it.'
'i say, can i show you something?'
'sure.'
ice man smiles and stands up, walks into another room and returns carrying something wrapped in a scarf or shawl. he places it upon my lap and sits back in his chair smiling, 'open it up.'
i unwrap it carefully. it's a black mirror.
'ahh it's in good condition, looks pretty new actually, how old is it?'
'it's new. i had it made but i don't know how to use it and i was wondering if you could show me, seeing as though it appears you are something of an expert.'
'well i can't claim to be an expert but i can show you how to use it. it's quite an ancient technique. it began with water. the surface of a dark pool was used, then stone usually obsidian. now i think mirror is the preferred technique.'
'i have never used it, do they work?'
'well i will need a stable base on which to place this.'
'ah yes come, let's go to my study.'
we return into the room from where the mirror came, it's not a huge space but it is enough to work in comfort and the desk makes a good platform. i position the mirror and draw the curtains. i ask ice man for a candle and he lights a small tea light.
i position ice man in front of the mirror and begin to talk him through a relaxation technique, part hypnotic but mostly creative visualisation.
in his mind he relaxes, his body follows suit and his breathing takes a nice rhythmic flow.
he must be looking into the mirror now as everything is silent, and a stillness unfolds within the apartment, even the gentle hum from the fridge fades away in the void. light from the single candle just flickers across our faces and for a moment it feels like we are in a giant floatation tank. i look into the mirror as well.
a tiny gasp, as dark clouds form somewhere behind the mirrors surface. does it even have a surface, it feels more like a depth.
the clouds move faster now, floating across the mirror in blackness. suddenly one big cloud appears and swirls around, slowly taking the shape of a face and then it fades away replaced by a unicorn in the distance galloping towards us, it gets closer until we see it's eye filling the mirror. it's gone, blackness remains. whatever vision we have been granted is over.
'did you see that?'
'indeed i did, it was intensely real.' ice man needs reassurance, he's suddenly become aware nothing is as it seems, 'was it real?'
'it's the same as the cat in the box, is it alive or dead. you saw something, therefore it's real.'
'let's go sit down again, i'll make another tea.'
we return to our seats in the lounge room, a lamp gets switched on. a few moments later we sip from our cups and begin deconstructing.
'it's a projection right?'
'i don't know, isn't everything?'
'mission, you are an obtuse bastard.'
'i don't think everything is accurate. our perceptions are just fractions. that horse...sorry unicorn seemed real to me, yet perhaps it was not a unicorn at all.'
'unicorn!'
'yes, that's what was in the mirror, a face that became a unicorn.'
ice man laughed. he sipped his tea and smiled.
'i saw a ship not a unicorn.'
'ah, well that proves my point.'
'it was a huge old clipper ship under a full moon. i seemed to fly over her, looking down passed the mast and rigging and then it faded away.'
'so we each saw completely different things, our mind must have projected them upon the surface.'
'then what was that face, we both saw a face and clouds.'
'yes, that's true, the face flashed there after the clouds passed away.'
'maybe the mirror has a face mission.'
'maybe. i didn't see much detail but enough to know it was a face.'
we sit in silence for a moment.
'the unicorn, it was white right?'
'yes, very white, with blue eyes.'
ice man gave a slight sigh, 'oh. oh my.'
'my grandchild, madaline, she died aged 6 in a car crash. i used to call her my unicorn. she had, big blue eyes. oh my.'
'jesus, i'm sorry man, i had no idea.'
'it must be her, it must be.'
'it just ran passed me, big and bold, right up close to me, big blue eye filling up the whole mirror. although it felt like the mirror was not even there anymore.'
'oh maddy, poor maddy.'
there's not much to say, what can i do. let the old man weep over his lost grand daughter. leave him in peace. i take my cup and saucer to the sink, prepare to leave.
as i walk out into the corridor ice man whispers, 'the black ship, it means something?'
'i don't know, don't upset yourself thinking about it, i should never have showed you how to use it. put it away, seal it up and get rid off it.'
'i saw the ship, it was a big black thing, and the moon shone down upon it. i saw them, the crew of the liberty, that's what the ship was called. i could see the name pained in white upon it's side. it flew two flags the white blank flag and the pyrate flag mission. it was your ship wasn't it? we must have seen each others visions.'
i leave him alone with his thoughts, and outside feel a cold wind upon my face, and it's whisper calling out.
once when i hit rock botton i landed a part time job with burroughs bug exterminator company, a nefarious business indeed.
burroughs was long past his use by date and couldn't leave home due to crippling agoraphobia so he trained me up in his underground basement, which resembled a mad scientists laboratory from a cheesy late fifties movie. burroughs chain smoked tiny joints he rolled with sweet smelling mexican hooch, he repeated the instructions in that strange dying android drawl as i followed them out,
'move from left to right, right from left, keep the nozzle downwards, about one inch from the ground, you're an exterminator now, bug killing terrorist, gotta spray those fucking bugs mission, cos a bug never forgets.'
'i thought it was an elephant that never forgets.'
'elephants never remember, bugs never forget mission, you got any wits?'
'wit's!'
'on your personage.'
'err...'
'mmm didn't think so boy, now focus your mind.'
occasionally he'd add a little element.
once he was teaching me how to get a nest, he'd set up a balloon and pinned it up from the ceiling and i was to hook onto it, carry it down and smoke the wasps unconscious and then drown them but it was all simulated, there were no wasps. i managed to hook the balloon and was about to bring it in when burroughs threw a dart into my leg.
i screamed, dropping the pole and the balloon.
'what the fuck man!'
i hopped around on one leg, the dart had entered all the way to the hilt, i pulled it out and a jet of blood spurt streamed out.
'wise man take a sting below the belt from a rouge than crack a nest and take the heat from a swarm.'
in some ways it was like the i ching, the more i listened the more i'd discover i had no idea what he was talking about, yet although it was elusive and eluding his words contained some sort of hidden painful truth.
and every time i felt i was getting better at this stupid job he'd teach me i knew nothing.
so onwards i trained, days passed into weeks and then months and we worked our ways from ants, roaches, spiders and hornets and wasps, snakes and reptiles, rats, possums, skunks and finally the exotic beasts burroughs seemed to hold in high regard, centipedes, snails and beetles.
i have to be honest, these things didn't come easy. i'm no killer, even of bugs.
but burroughs, he was hardcore, a lethal ruthless assassin and even though we only learnt theory i knew burroughs was an expert. not just in bug killing, but in everything, he had knowledge of stuff that was ridiculous, he knew who killed jfk, he knew what aliens species the government knew about, he had encyclopaedic knowledge about drugs and derivatives, he also knew a hell of a lot about weapons and late one tuesday afternoon, he showed me his vault.
knives. he picked one up, it was a black dagger, with a ribbed edge, it looked like something from the future. the handle was pure black onyx yet it was light to hold and it fit perfectly into my hands. he gave me a belt to keep it with and a black leather sheath.
'it's a olmenic soul killing dagger mission, mans gotta have something to protect himself with.'
there were guns in there but we never got to look at those. burroughs didn't even show me the rest of the blades, he just gave me this weapon and that was it.
i saw some oriental weapons on the walls, 'what's that?'
it's persian, a war machine, very dangerous for humans.'
'mmm, okay,' i'd lost interest in his weapons and burroughs didn't really seem to enthusiastic now, 'that's your weapon, guns don't stop bugs without a world of collateral damage, plus they are heavy to carry, use the dagger, it's exactly what you need for your first mission mission.'
'what kinda bugs do you kill with a dagger.'
'the large kind mission, the large kind.'
we went back to the basement and i ate some soup while burroughs shot up on some black powder.
he passed me a piece of paper, it was wafer thing and rolled up like a toothpick, i uncurled it and saw an address written in his awful scrawl. there was a telephone number under the address.
he threw me the phone.
'independence day mission, go out there, kill some bugs.' he threw me the car key, it was attached to a keychain with a big plastic cockroach.
the car was indeed a black truck, beaten up and somewhat antiquated, i wondered how long it had left before it fell apart. the engine turned over with a crunch and i kicked it into gear. the machine moved awkwardly forwards lurching like some rusty derelict fairground ride and despite my reservations got me to my destination.
i pulled up outside a huge old federation mansion.
the door was unmarked, it could use a layer of paint, i studied the house, it was falling apart, the best possible thing would be to pull it down and start again. whatever bugs were inside would be entrenched.
it was a young lady that opened the door, she wore an apron and some oven gloves, 'apologies, i was just baking some muffins.'
'no problem, i'm the exterminator. i believe you have a problem with some bugs.'
'ah mr. burroughs must have sent you, i was hoping he would return, i enjoyed his company for an old man he certainly had lots of vitality.'
'well i wouldn't know about that but he did indeed send me, i'm mission, his new assistant, apprentice actually. i'm still learning. he sent me but he didn't provide me with much information about the nature of your problem. i may need to talk with you before i start.'
she smiled, 'sure, why don't you come inside, those muffins will be ready soon. i'm mrs. vandermoon but you can call me shirley.'
the interior was darker than most homes, furniture was from another time but it looked stylish in relation to the interior decor and gradually i could make an impression.
this was old money, a family home for decades, maybe centuries. the design was timeless, old desks and paintings, rugs and tables, high ceilings with dusty crystal chandeliers, the curtains were heavy and dark, wooden floors covered in dust creaking in the breeze. the staircase was the wide style with that particular curl as you ascend. i looked around taking it all in, first impressions are important in this line of work burroughs said to me once. especially the smell of a place, and it was this strange pungent stink of something ancient and rotting that i could perceive underneath the disguise of fresh muffins.
we sat in the kitchen at the big work bench shirley pulled out a tray of perfect muffins, steam rose from the lush looking raspberry domes and as she put the kettle on the stove i asked her as few questions.
'so what is the nature of your problem?'
'pardon mr mission?'
'well, do you have an infestation problem?'
'oh no. i wouldn't call it infestation, after all that would imply many. i think the bug we have is just a single one. a lone insect, thankfully.'
'well that makes it simple and hard, how will i locate one single bug in this big house?'
'well i can't know, i'm just a housewife, you are the exterminator.'
'yes, that's true. okay well have you seen it?'
she poured the tea into a china tea cup and offered me it black but pointed to a bowl of sugar.
'help yourself to sugar mr. mission. yes, i did see it once but it's difficult to speak about, it was quite revolting.' she leaned in, whispering, 'it's huge, as big as i am, blacker than black just horrible. covered in legs like a centipede but fatter and with a head.'
i ate the muffin and sipped the tea. she was insane, deranged, some genetic defect, possibly from the inbreeding in her family line. old money means old karma. i continued with the charade, 'can you tell me where you last saw it.'
'the study.'
'and you want me to exterminate it?'
'obviously mr. mission.'
i bit down into the hot cake, a raspberry and white chocolate heat melting upon my tongue in an erotic moment of pleasure and sensation,
'these are great muffins mrs vandermoon, lovely.'
'help yourself, really. i can't eat them all.'
'i'll be fine with this one but i will need that bowl of sugar if that's okay.'
'certainly. i'm going to have to pop out for a while anyway and do some shopping so start whenever you wish. can i ask how long this will take?'
'shouldn't be more than an hour providing this insect takes the bait. if i have to use the spray i'll call you. you won't be able to enter the house for at least 2 hours.'
there was an awkward moment then she said, 'i'll just leave you to it.'
i'd never trained for big bugs, burroughs had suggested they get big on rare occasions but never mentioned them being human sized. i just assumed when he said big bugs he meant, the size of a walnut or something. there must be a mistake, insects are small and very rarely are they lone preferring a swarm, or family.
i returned to the van and took out my kit, a belt bag i affixed next to my knife. some spray (just in case) and my zap powdered moon gun which was set to a sonic setting at a frequency insects would detect and be repelled.
room by room i swept with sound, methodically and with diligence finding nothing of mention until i came to the study.
the entry was a big double door which mrs. vandermoon had left unlocked for me. i positioned myself carefully before it and slipped through silently, shutting the door behind.
i checked the settings on my zap gun and raised it to begin my sweep.
'don't please, i am reading.'
the weapon fell from my hand.
the bug was certainly man sized and it spoke in a very educated english.
a deep silence hung in the book filled room, broken only by a car starting up outside in the distance.
'that would be mrs vandermoon, sweet lady indeed. and i see you have brought me a bowl of sugar, fabulous.'
still frozen i realised i was clutching the plastic bag into which i had poured the sugar intending to use it as bait.
i was uncertain quite what to say so i placed the bowl down and pushed it towards where it sat.
without batting an eyelid the bug shot out a long tendril like tongue, frog fast it snatched the bowl and drew it towards the it's lap with great precision, not a granule of sugar spilled. it put aside the book and a long slimy snout seemed to emerge from within it's mouth. a secondary mouth, this one had a sucker type tube at it's end and it was into this tube the sugar seemed to disappear. it was not quite snorting, but it was very efficient way of ingesting nutrients.
'please excuse my eating habits, these are quite different from yours. my body is designed to excrete certain acids that dissolve food and digest it externally which i then suck back into my body as nutrient. it must look strange to you?'
'it's repulsive.'
'now, now, it's basic insect biology. no need to be so rude.' after all it's far more efficient than consuming raw product and spending five hours walking around in your skinbag digesting your meals.'
the thing made a slapping slurping sound and sighed, 'there, all done. now state your business so i can return to my book.'
'i'm the exterminator, i've come to kill you.'
the thing made clicking sounds i assumed was some form of laughter, 'i think you are mistaken, killing me is quite impossible. my defences are very sophisticated and i could dispatch you in a matter of seconds.'
the beast turned to look at me, it's face was quite distasteful, alien and ugly but it seemed to smile now, it's strange purple crystalline features displayed some sort of malevolent intelligence. 'my weaponry systems are far superior to your primal ideas of defence and attack.'
smugly i quipped back, 'is that so. you just digested a fast acting chemical poison i laced the sugar with.'
'my chemical digestive systems are intelligent enough to know what's what. they rearrange compositions at a micro level, like nano technology only biological and far more sophisticated. everything about me is much more advanced than your civilization can throw at me. i'm a highly evolved bug and you won't be exterminating me today.'
my hand finds its way towards the knife at my belt, it's instinctive as if i have crossed a threshold and defaulted to stupid violence over reason. but before my hand can grip it a wave of pain hits me, an intense head ache and mind numbing wave of sound like a knife between my ears. i fall to the fall on my knees clutching my skull.
it stops as quickly as it begun. 'now, i don't wish to prove my point to the extreme but you should accept defeat and open a more constructive means of communication to surrender.'
my head clears slowly, my breathing calms down and i wipe away the tears in my eyes.
what would burroughs do i think, what the hell would he expect me to do.
'what are you reading?'
'ah finally an intelligent line of inquiry. it's the third volume of dr. william reich's 'emotional trouble of mankind' otherwise known as 'people in trouble' are you familiar with it?'
'no, i'm not although i have read 'function of the orgasm' so i know of his work and i like the song orgone accumulator which was by hawkwind.'
'ah yes i do like hawkwind particularly their early stuff. bob calvert was a magnificent writer.'
'yeah i agree, did you ever hear 'amazing sounds amazing music?'
yes, when mrs vandermoon had wifi i was able to stream it, along with various other elements of your culture i find appealing and somewhat addictive.'
i swear the creature winked at me.
'do mean porn?'
'research.' human sexuality is of great interest to me.'
'why?'
'i am here undercover, from my hive. they sent me here amongst you to learn if it were possible to cross pollinate so to speak.'
'what the fuck, are you kidding?'
'no, mrs vandermoon would make a suitable subject, she has the perfect hips and her organs are ripe for plundering.'
'that's insane. i can't let you do that, that's monstrous.'
'it's to late exterminator. far to late.'
revulsion overwhelmed me, how could this awful thing have impregnated poor mrs vandermoon?'
'how did you do it? how did you convince her?'
the creature stood up, it was tall and quite skinny, standing upon two strange long legs it brought it's claws up towards it's eyes, 'look, look, look mission. don't you know who i am fool?' and with that it ripped apart it's face and tore away the shell exposing burroughs.
'you failed your exams mission, never make a bug exterminator out of you. mush for brains, weak willed, no imagination, no gumption. just another cog in the machine mission.'
'but, but, but did you, how?'
'i fucked her alright, she was grateful for the attention, liked a bit of rough tradesman, ha ha ha! you think i really go around killing my own kind, you dope. you are the bugs. bugs upon this planet, you and your kind, eating it to death, plundering it's resources worse than a plague of locusts, more destructive than any ant colony, more sting in the tail than any wasp, more webs than any bug. people like riech and calvert pop up once in a blue moon to make your species appear worthwhile but what do you do, you lock em in institutions and call them insane. mission face it you are the bugs.'
'but why breed with us if that's how you feel about us.'
'we hold no moral claims over sex, we do what we want. to become stronger, faster, smarter, we push evolutions envelope by being diverse and unbounded by human morality, we are the colour and light in life, we are sound and vision while your human society is just a black hole in the great patterns of existence. you came from the monkey and you behave worse than primates. you develop culture a meaningless pursuit of no value to anyone but yourselves. you mate with one another and continue to produce the same entity. do you not think our agents are not out there attempting procreation with other species, we are everywhere. it's a reproductive war mission, war.'
burroughs marched towards me leaving a strange skin laying in a crumpled heap. he appeared human except i could make out his fingernails were black sharp claws and his eyes were big oval fly eyes, he wore his suit but the closer he got the more his human persona seemed to fall away.
he stood face to face with me, a wide grin upon his face as i was frozen and could not think of any conceivable action that i may take, then suddenly his face just began to throb and pulse, it changed shape slightly and a tear opened up like an over ripe plum. something crawled out from a rip in his head and within seconds the room was filled with thousands of flying creatures, they swarmed around the library like a tornado. i stood in the centre as it swirled around me. a deafening sound of millions of burroughs laughing and talking, then the black cloud seemed to implode, that is the centrifugal force reversed and in one solid whoosh the swarm came together in one solid form, burroughs again. he stood before me.
'you failed mission, you're a lousy apprentice and now it's my turn to exterminate you. let's face it, evolution is for those prepared to engage with it. the universe is indifferent to life's morality, it is only concerned with adaptation, diversity and survival.'
it was my turn to laugh, 'burroughs you crazy bug man, what exactly do you think i failed, a stupid test, an exam in pest control?'
'your whole species have failed, this is a war for the planet. we will destroy the males of your species and breed with the females, it's time for our kind.'
the dagger was in my hands and i threw it up in there air, burroughs watched it and using the distraction i shed my skin.
burroughs recoiled, 'what the fuck!'
exposed my skin gleamed in the soft light, purples and deep shades of blues reflected off my sheen.
'what the fuck is this mission?'
'it's the other side bug man.'
'what side? i don't understand. what are you?'
my tentacles wrapped around his face and body lifting him from the floor, his legs dangling and mouth hanging open as a jet of ink hit him hard in the face sending neurotoxins through his skin pores, paralyzing his body and mind. the thousands of tiny suckers independently gripping onto his body as he instantly succumbed to shock and the realisation he was not the only creature masquerading as a human. my tentacles squashed him to an unrecognisable pulp, black blood and guts shooting out across the room, his eyeballs falling slowly down the walls and a bit of brain hanging from the chandelier. i slid along the wet floor, undistracted by the visceral mess, my tentacles stretching out in all directions, searching for the rest of the muffin mrs. vandermoon had given me. such lovely raspberry and white chocolate, mmm, these humans may be fucked up when it comes to planetary consciousness but they do make exceedingly good cakes.
back in london at my parents home we are preparing for a visit from my grandmother and some aunts and uncles, they are in transit from wimbledon. i am helping my mother prepare some food and my brother is playing with my son who is a baby. it's strange how time works in dreams, it seems to apply to different laws.
at the back of my mind there's an anxiety eating away at me and while i go through the motions i feel it surge through my blood to a crescendo. i put down my vegetables, the big blade, tae off my apron, wash my hands, grab my car keys and sone and slip away. i gotta do this i whisper to jake who lays in the back seat wondering what;s going on as we head into the evening weaving through traffic. parts of london are day and other areas are night, the suburbs look familiar and yet unfamiliar as through i've been asleep for decades and just woken up, or have i been away. as we progress towards greater london i find myself surrounded by black cabs and police cars. i know i don't want the police to pull me over as i'm smoking a joint so i steer the car through some back streets and around a small roundabout.
eventually i park and wander through a strange indoor mall. only it's not a mall it's more of a market, people crowd inside, there's so many people, a woman pushing a pram forces her way through the crowds and we follow in her trail, jake staring out at the faces and passing mass of shoppers. i notice some of the shops closing up. it's a mixture of people, black, brown white, asian, different ages and somewhere deep down i remember this is what i liked about london. cockney voices shout out, and i find myself in a baby shop with a bunch of girls who are looking through bargin bins and baby accessories, the shop is huge, i can't find an exit but eventually escape back into the maze where i turn a corner and suddenly reach the courtyard outside where a huge crowd gathers.
a woman speaks. she talks about all the wonderful things he did for the community that no one ever knew about until now. she is sincere and her black face wet with tears. i can hear her but although i am far away her white teeth flash out like a beacon as i move towards her.
i get as close as i can, this is what i came here for.
it's over fast, the crowds disperse and i walk back to the direction of the car, this time around the outside of the complex. a man, my age grabs my arm, 'what did you think, good speech?'
yes i say, yes it was. i'm glad i came. i just had to be here.
'i didn't cry, but i feel sad,' he says.
tears are falling down my cheeks. i suddenly become aware they have been there for a while, 'it got me, you know, it got me deep.'
but he's gone, lost in the crowd and i have to return. i call my brother and ask if my family are there, he tells me they are pissed off i have left. my grandmother wants to see jake. she's travelled a long way to see both of us. all the family are shocked i just split.
i head home, i'll make it. i'm glad i went. i had to be there. i just had to and so did you i whisper to the sleeping baby, so did you.
when i wake up i know it's bowie. i can't sleep and wander down to write my report. maybe we all attended some ceremony in our private dream world, some individual temple constructed from fragments of songs, a mixture of his world and ours. maybe that's how we say goodbye.
