I looked directly into the skull … those sockets so dark and penetrating. I lay there for hours, hardly blinking and just staring into those orbs of darkness … then it happened. I knew it would happen. Somehow I had a premonition and now it was fulfilled. In those dark spaces, I began to see a light. Lights in both orbs. And there at that moment everything changed.

a vague and unspoken dread

We live in times of empty vacuums of nauseous ennui … a vague and unspoken dread that lurks in the growing fungus of youthful depressions and the poison of antidotes for reflexive piety! God is in the detail; the Devil in the universe … there is phantom gravity as two plus two is always “Five” and the saints wear slogans for MacDonald’s …

Arturo Ui dances with Fred Astaire and sings with Mother Theresa. The adoring fans lynch the refugee while Anne Frank hides in the cover of some Isis Koran. The uniformed Pacifists goose-step to the tune while philosophers undergo liposuction to remove layers of doubt and enlarge their egos … as if the egos were never large enough to begin with … But WHO IS THIS DEMAGOGUE who sings and dances with the Angel of Death?

The moustached one is a mere parody of the Beelzebub comedian who enticed the heavenly creatures into the womb of mother earth; that same laughing stock who feeds the children dope in order to pacify their godliness and sprite!

Neanderthal ghosts

Yes Comrades! Egoists and Criminals share group houses in small theatres hired from laughing clowns and retired fools downsizing with negatively geared intelligence artificially inseminated from the remains of Neanderthal ghosts who poked fun at Mullas and Bishops; those same Neanderthal spirit machines gunned to oblivion for their daring to paint on the sacred walls of Lascaux ...

You get the picture? The absurd canvas of art and living is copied from the tips of ice-burgers cooked with loving denial. And we gather soon to piece together the shells of Brecht’s imagination; our own lost and homeless mind reaching up to some decadent certainty disintegrating into the normality of or our parents’ forgetfulness and personal sloth.

And yet here we are … YES … disentangling the cluttered and competing modes for strangling our creative selves … splitting our personalities from the hold of the demagogue within … step on to the rocking horse of merry-go-round journeys and still try to break the bonds of tail chasing magnetism.

… staring directly into my soul was the death mask… a skull …

After 40 days and 40 nights, I awoke in a desert. I opened my eyes and there before me, there staring directly into my soul was the death mask… a skull … a human skull that lived and struck terror into my heart. I closed my eyes to remove the sand from my eyelids and to wipe my face from the preceding dust storm.

I imagined I was delirious or dreaming whilst awake … I dared myself to open my eyes. And when I did, I looked directly into the skull … those sockets so dark and penetrating. I lay there for hours, hardly blinking and just staring into those orbs of darkness … then it happened. I knew it would happen. Somehow I had a premonition and now it was fulfilled.

It spoke to me directly into my brain

In those dark spaces, I began to see a light. Lights in both orbs. And there at that moment everything changed. Those lights were like lasers penetrating deep into my brain. I sat up and took the skull reverently into my hands kept peering into the lights from within the skull. It spoke to me directly into my brain. And I knew what I had to do. I knew my mission. I knew my life’s work was now ahead of me. I was touched to write down my direct communication with the light of the world … that same light of the universe that all great prophets and seers have known. I would return to the civilizations that bred me. I would be saviour of the world.

LOUD CHEERING FROM THE RALLIES … THE GUN FIRE OF PROSPECTIVE WARS. THE DEAFENING SOUND OF USERPTION BY MADMEN AND INSPIRED FASCISTS. HE PUTS ON THE MASKS. WHITE ANGELS ARE NOW FRANTIC AND SLOWLY FOLLOW OUT THE MASKED DEMAGOGUE AS HE LEAVES. THE SOUNDS ARE NOW DEAFENING.

… and the music  is “Burning of the Forest” written and recorded by Tom Woodward …

COMING SOON “PHANTOM GRAVITY”