Vuvuzelas - annoying people since 1660!

Battery Beings

A battery is a layman term for an industrial business confinement system used primarily for egg-laying hens.The battery cage has generated hot, hot controversy among advocates for animal welfare and rights.

Puppy farms too, have received heated exposure.

Free range and organic values are a worthy cause, fought for by many.

But, the question begs for me : who is protesting the battery beings - those souls that are harnessed into an industrial business confinement system - and burned out, en mass,  by greedy organisations paying minimum wages? Or even those that are paid significant wages for the price of our intellectual freedom and happiness itself ?

What green peace fights and maintains the momentum for that suffrage ?

As greedy politicians and ersatz leaders plug us into this matrix, compliant battery beings forfeit their freedom in exchange for a financially unsustainable and ultimately unrealizable human security utopia of basic health care, education, housing, business, and retirement systems.

Being faced with this, one would think that there would be but one answer to the question, "If you knew you were in the Matrix, would you stay or go?"

For me, knowing the truth compels me to "unplug", but when watching the world around me, I see how many people would choose to stay "plugged in".

And, it is not difficult to see why.

All of the humans that are still enslaved in the pods and plugged into the system are positive that they can do no better. Almost self satisfied in their consumer fixes and retail drugs, designed to pacify and subdue the human population, while their bodies' heat and electrical activity are used as an energy source for the great bonfire of greed and the pursuit of self-serving omnipotence.The system has dictated that the only survival possible, is the semi-survival that the matrix offers - in return for your soul.

Going up the corporate ladder - I realised this : Ignorance IS truly bliss.

I can't go back now.

Once you know, you can't unknow.

The rebellion - no more than an underground movement in political exile.

The days blur into one another.

The outside is a funny place...it takes getting used to.

Survival is a day to day thing.

But, what the catepillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a hopeful monster......

The Tale of an Exorcism.

I had believed that I understood what it was like to be pushed to my limits.

I was wrong.

One Thursday morning, I woke up and instinctively knew - knew it was that time again.

I heard it in the rustling trees - I smelt it in the scent of the wind.

Flash the headlights, right into my eyes. One is never really ready for it.

I felt scared. 

I felt exhausted. 

I wasn't ready. I never am.I wanted to be held, protected.But exorcism, I am afraid, is a solitary business. 

You have to do it alone. 


When it descends on you, you know the time has come. There is no rain-check.  
I have been here before you, see. This right of passage. This initiation. This poignant,crude  and savage embrace.
It screams and grunts and taunts and spits and rages at you.
You can never say that you were not warned. The precursors have been sent. The invitations are always sent out long before this party.
Its' whispers are entangled in the very wind. 
But, somehow in the chaos of it all, these memos get stuck up on the fridge ; amongst the mundane  clutter : "Call plumber re leaking toilet" and "Get dog food asap".
Yes - the memos that caution were efficiently sent. They are attached instead to your soul with Emily Strange fridge magnets.
Reminders that you have started saying things that are against your values, you  are consorting with people that behave diabolically. 
Sometimes the advertising campaigns are low budget, but, this particular time, I confess, the universe spoon fed me. 
It made neon signs :
The brand new car pulled into the executive parking bay, personalised numberplate emblazoned with brash and brutal honesty : TEUFEL. 
"Teufel" translates as "devil".  I have mistranslated, you think to yourself, and shake your head.

But, it nags and it whimpers in the early hours of the morning.
It entwines itself in the very air you breathe.
You react by making excuses to justify your participation to yourself : comply in order to survive: "It's like this everywhere."

I am stronger than this you think.

It all eventually becomes so unbearable that you start choking on those vile, fetid energies. 

Then it happens...you succumb to the lust for reality. The lust for life itself.

You know that you cannot pretend, even for one more minute. 

GAME OVER

Suddenly, you start to kick furiously to the waters surface - your lungs aching and pounding and burning.


GASP.



"Congratulations and welcome to your exorcism."


Seldom do I manage these experiences with the finesse or dignity I might have preferred from myself. 
I am never as brave as I hoped I would be. 
And, whenever these unavoidable little daemonic possessions crop up in my life,  I take the first step insecurely. Awkward Auto-pilot. Of course, I use the word 'step' loosely:  It is never one step, really.  I think it is more accurately described as that one step beyond which there is  simply no return. 


It's more like a shove - clumsy and unpolished. The truth ? No other decision was actually possible for me.
Out of the matrix.

Cold. Shivering. Alone.

The cleansing commences without announcement : panic attacks,vomiting, anxiety, insomnia.


The questioning. 


WHO AM I NOW ? 


This is, in my experience, the worst part. The identity struggle . It can often cause  a type of paralysis : I completely forget myself – and with that – the meaning of possibility.

The ritual does not happen at once. It torments, it toys, it teases.


I have begged it for mercy…and at times thrashed against it wildly.

And, yet again I find myself at that bridge.


Again I see my life as if I stood apart from it.

Empowered and helpless.

Be under no delusion,  you preside over your exorcism.

The impact is electric.


There is aftershock.

The awakened senses…

I experience everything so intimately again – like with being with a lover - shock /sensation/connection - not unlike the pleasure and pain of passion.


All expression is exorcism. They are metaphoric, and they are spiritual differentiators.

Blessings, to rid yourself of negative thoughts and/or negative people with malevolent influence over you.  


Anyone who limits their vision to memories of yesterday is already dead, anyway.


The most important battle is the one in which you conquer yourself. 

Exorcism. We all need one once in a while.

Cheekbones like geometry, and eyes like sin.

I recently collaborated with a friend to produce a collection of photographs for my book, Hopeful Monster.

It was a magnificent experience – and the comments that we got back were predominantly recognition of what we had hoped to achieve – a set of photographs that captured essence, and dare we say – the spirit and soul of a hopeful monster.

Delighted that the mission had been accomplished – I would like to take a moment to reflect on some of the feedback which I did not want to evoke – but which cannot be left out due to the screaming relevance to the story I am trying to tell.

Descriptions and emotive responses like :

Salacious, 

Lascivious 

Oh, and let me not forget piquant.

This is a valuable reminder that a hopeful monster, by definition, is dissimilar. Its contradictory traits the very thing which gives it a better chance of survival.

How easy it is to forget this : that the very survival of a hopeful monster is still underpinned by successful camouflage ?

Oh I am not talking about affected manipulation - I am talking about the box you come in. 

Your kryptonite : Crypsis — allowing  an otherwise visible life form or object to remain indiscernible from the surrounding environment through disguise.

Its effectively a super-power. 

Camouflage helps one hide by blending in with their environment. Camouflage may also help avoid danger by fooling others into leaving us alone.It works for both sides in the battle for survival. Prey animals use it to avoid being found and eaten. Predators use it to keep from being seen by prey until it's too late. 

Crypsis intrigues me. People talk to me about the frustrations of their crypsis all the time. 

Sad really. The very packaging that protects you - can feel like it is betraying you at the same time.

Not so long ago my girlfriend was staring at me for what seemed like ages. Starting to feel a little self-conscious, I asked her what was up - and her reply was one that have me such  warm feeling inside. 

She said : " I love you so much that I forgot what you look like. I am just looking at the box you came in." 

Cheekbones like geometry, and eyes like sin - camouflage for the soul that lies within. 

Your crypsis envokes.
Those that can see , will not notice it.
As for the rest, that's all they will see.
The irony is not lost on me.
Nor is the gift.

Daddy's got a gun.

Daddy's got a gun Daddy's got a gun 

Her whole world's come undone.

What did her daddy do? 

He jacked the little bitty baby 

The man has got to be insane.

What did Daddy put us through

-AEROSMITH-

 

It was late Saturday afternoon.

Daddy had gone out to the pub - and when he came home, he beat mommy so badly that she has decided to leave us.

“I refuse to take this anymore", she said, more to herself than anyone else.

She crawled to the master bedroom – wailing like a wounded animal.

She managed to grasp a suitcase and start throwing her clothes inside.

I watched.

I listened.

He saw her start packing and his attitude became immediately changed - almost desperate.

He stumbled down the passage – once or twice correcting his near fall by balancing against the walls.

He poured himself another drink.

 I crept into my mom's room.

 She was sobbing uncontrollably.

 “Did you say we are leaving, mommy, ?" I asked

" I am leaving, Kathy."

" Aren't you taking us with you ?"

 "I promise I’ll come get you."

" No, mommy – you can't leave us alone with him."

" I’ll come back…I need to think straight."

 My 12 year old mind went ballistic.

 She can't leave us here….my mind screamed.

My dad had staggered his way back.

 He stood in the doorway.

 “Please don’t go, I am sorry.”he said in a hollow, broken voice.

“Fuck you,” she spat at him and took a long draw on her cigarette.

 "Please don’t go mommy….please," I begged – cornered by an instictive self preservation.

 "Go to your room Katherine."

 I left.

 I went to my sisters room – and we strained anxiously to hear what was happening between our parents.

 Lots of shouting.

 Banging.

 Eventually everything was quiet.

 That’s the time that I get most frightened.

 Daddy wants us to go into the lounge for a family meeting.

 Bobby, me and mommy sit on the couch huddled together - prepared for a soliloquy on his guilt and need for our forgiveness.

 Daddy told us to hang on – he was going to quickly get something.

He came back.

With grandpa's gun.

 I closed my eyes tightly.

 A shot rang.

I heard screams – but as though they were from a great distance.

My eyes were glued shut…and I had to open them.

 I had wet my panties.

 Eventually life kicked in again – I opened my eyes and spun around protectively.

Mommy and Bobby were both alive.

 There was a hole in the roof.

 Concrete dust showered down.

 I coughed.

Mommy went to go and get the vacuum cleaner.

 I went to change my panties.

Miffy disappeared for days.
Kathy disappeared for ever.

Daddy said if mommy ever left he would kill us all.


We missed Magnum PI that night.

An interview

The media often ask the interview question: 

“If you could have any super-hero-power for a day, what would it be?” 

For years I have been reading the same answers: 

“I would like to be invisible.” 

“I would like to read minds.” 

“I would like to fly.” 

My answer would be: 

“ The capacity to understand all the super-hero-powers that we have already got.”

The Age of Ethics

"And if the karma patrol
Take control
I'm gonna be in trouble
And if the moral police
Asks for receipts
I am gonna burst their bubble

Religion, smidgen
Money, shmoney

Who is your god?"

THE PARLOTONES, I'M ONLY HUMAN 

"When the last tree is cut, the last river poisoned, and the last fish dead, we will discover that we can't eat money..."


They say we are in a new age...The Age of Ethics. 

Before you smile remember this : Ethics is a personal position. For all it's tomfoolery as a noun....it really is a verb. 

It does not exist without action.


And, here is the delicious mystery which cloaks it : it has a magical sorting hat. 

No human has ever had control of this hat...it is the treasure of the holographic universe.

It is not susceptible to greed or lasciviousness and it operates according to nothing but it's creed :


You cannot sit on the fence. Your actions speak loudly - even stammering inertia is a chosen position.

You cannot defer your decision. Because it is your soul. 

You know your truth - and you alone. That is inescapable.

It's not something you can dress up, hide from, or choose not to reveal.  Your currency is your heart. Your wealth is your soul.  The abundance you seek IS you.

Yes...I hate to be the one to expose the covert propaganda...

But life. 

It's personal.

Integrity and ethics are hardwired to intentionality.

To know your motivation consciously & to wisely oversee it - is lonely magick – you are the only one that can truly see it, hold it & interpret it. 

You will be branded WITCH for it. 

In return for that smouldering stake –the invaluable gift of freedom and self-acceptance – understanding your destiny is entwined in you and the way.