2016 – Punch and Judy in Hades
2016, the chinese year of the pigdog, has been one of the worst of my close to 38 of existence. Not just for me personally, but also for the world as a whole…I will express my reckoning of the period, continue to scrape from my veins the echo of my essence, apply in virtual ink verbatim to the electronic papyrus——>>>
The most beautiful moments of this year now passing into the abyss have been found through heading for slumber with the soothing chorus of the waves caressing the land the only sound I can hear…
I have learned little other than to trust my senses more than my mind. And to seek out others, who like me, allow their instincts and feelings to direct their passage through life. Yet more than anything else of value unearthed has been the preternatural joy gleaned in my heart and soul through embracing the wilderness, through heading to a renovated cottage in the hills and knowing nothing but the wind, kangaroos, flickering flames of the fire, the trees, the mountain streams and the sparrows, the Moon as my night light and the Sun as my alarm clock…Deadened by humanity I am nourished by nature.
Yet during my travels out West, and moreso through the wilds of New Zealand, I have discovered that those whose lives include finding their hands in the soil regularly, are of value, of substance. Their outlook and steady sincerity at odds with the fiends found here in the citadel, where conceit is regarded as the norm, even considered ‘cool’ or ‘sick’ and any diversion from the script delivered from screens, conjured by the devils hand, is squealed at and condemned as opprobrium. We lie to each other, and ourselves, to gain an edge, to gain a dollar, whilst there is nothing to be gained by lying to the seedling when our survival is found in its growth and blossom…
I have been horrified, by insecure wenches long masquerading as familial sisters, I have been sickened, by good hearts connected to absent, empty minds, and with my spirit punch drunk, I finally found chance to flee…and it was my time in New Zealand of late, when the worm turned. Maybe it was the fierce waves crashing down upon me, maybe it was lying on my back, my limbs extended, weightlessness became me, as I found such beautiful solace in the pool of a waterfall that I roared with joy, maybe it was the feisty Luna goat, maybe it was lush, pristine forests, or the black unspoiled sands…I cannot be sure, but a collection of those experiences blew welcome wind into the sails of my flagging life raft. My spirit injected with vigour. Steel replaced broken branches, and my fangs once again sharpened, my howl gained volume…
We are living in an open asylum, the world is aflame and we are supplying the matches, and the sheeple have become puppets, carefully engineered to react as directed, not from the heart, not from instinct, instead, seek direction from their screens. Question NOTHING…which is the most worrying aspect, for even the regularly self proclaimed Lefties have generally no idea how brainwashed their mantra appears when removed from the realm where they ‘fight’ their ‘moral crusade’. Yes yes! We are living in mindless times. The scattered few who can still think, beyond their sense of self worth being affected by the amount of Fuckbook ‘Likes’ they receive, are found here and there, keeping quiet mainly, seeking solidarity and refuge. Becoming ever harder to find, for they are the fox hunted by the unwitting hounds who project manufactured righteousness with pride…unaware that they are suckling the devil teat.
My eagerness to react and rage against the mongs, admonish those involved in schoolyard skirmishes, has given way to an apathy…I look upon them without feeling, without interest and begin to plot my path towards the trees. Flickers of hope are retained, but in a realm wholly absent of passion, true grit, HONESTY, there is nothing for me to learn, nothing to be gained through showing myself, for what can I learn from a people with no knowledge of self?
To accept my Lot is to prostrate myself to Mong Gods. I refuse. I am capable and intended by Jupiter and Venus for more. A fox cub morphing into the wolf. Hellbent on pursuing a life which means something, to me first and foremost, and then to those I love and respect. Which means writing with an aim to carve this hologram of Existence apart, to dive into the holes I create and drag others with me, to stir in the essence of humanity the same zeal which caused the slaves to rise up against the Mayan priests…Its the only righteous cause. Other than True Romance. Or leaving the citadel for greener pastures and finding Oneness with the Earth.
My conclusions of this year soon to end are…that Balzac was right in his general outline of humanity as greedy, spiteful cowards, with the few decent souls prone to a life of suffering and condemnation from the cackle of spastic geese which comprises Society and its evil overseers. And that Hamsun was right, in his depiction of the eccentrics proving the wildcards, the inspirational, the lunatics are the only sane souls in the asylum…yet more importantly, perhaps connected, was his moral focus on the move away from a life lived in harmony with nature, every step of which peeled away a layer of decency and honesty, revealing an ugly caricature of the once noble and proud Human Spirit. Our roots remain in the soil, not the political speculum; a mechanism for the audience to ponder and assume themselves a part of as they watch the Punch and Judy show conjured in HAdes…
So let this be an end to my wailing, and the watershed of my move towards affirmative action. By quill, fang or claw…
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