scrambled transmissions from whatever I was in 2018…

By tdf, December 31, 2018

What is the value of false mirrors?

The problem with Eden, in a biblical sense, is that it suggested a garden, which could never go wrong…and earmarked the character who caused rotten fruit to appear on the branches of such perfect stems, as something EVIL…yet, without that character, lets play the game…without the devil…we would have known nothing but perfect seasons, of perfect growth, of perfect blossoming, of bountiful produce from our perfect endeavour, never anything to learn, never any need to grow beyond what we are, never anything but la di la holy holy holy perfection.

In that story, I instantly thank the author for the devil.

When people express themselves to me anywhere close to pure, and prone to chaos, and manic, and emotional, and wild, and as real as the Wind and the Tides, which to feel, moves me…I want to know them more. For we are of the Wind and Tides.And if they then share my values, my Sense of Right, then I want to be always close to them…

Our capacity to love, only rivalled by our capacity to hate, is what seems to stand us apart from other species. Give up on the hate and focus on the LOVE. Fight for nothing but this…with Fang and Claw and Fury.

I find so much belief in other-wordly, perhaps preternatural, possibly supernatural, in the stories passed down generation to generation, which were culled with the industrial revolution. Are we better off to consider what centuries of humans believed in as clearly, plain stupid and lacking the ‘knowledge’ we have now? Or have we become industrialised ourselves? More machine than human.

We can cure so many diseases, many of which came as part of our ‘progress’. We can see further into space than ever before, send probes to study Saturn’s beautiful rings, yet our studies of humanity and all creatures great and small seem to be now set as solely commercial. We do not even understand why and how we dream…And are herded to focus on Love as a reality TV show. When Love is all that can ever matter…it rarely makes any sense, in its most passionate form given to us by Nature, but it is the richest wine of life than can be supped.

I used to believe that Love begun and ended with charity, of truly, always wanting the very best for another…but I have come to understand that Love begins and ends with Trust. Of believing everything of another expressed is True. Honest as the Forest.

I sat in a troll hairdressers last week. Watching an old man near his grave sat next to me wipe the sweat from his brow, listening to a smug pug faced goon in The Chair speak to the Lady with the blades with a smile on his face which reminded me of the smile I saw on the face of my brother when he emerged from a brothel on his bucks night…I was 16 years old, and disgusted, beyond appalled; everything I had built of an image of the brother I never knew yet was so instinctively happy to behold was shattered…That same smile, smug…I suspected this chap having his hair cut didnt often get the chance to speak to women, and was making the most of a maternal figure cornered. Maybe he had some weird Oedipus inklings. Many do here…for they are raised on a totem as the Prince from infancy, when no infant earns such a title from merely birth, they earn this from how they progress, the man they become. I listened to the awkward exchange and the mentions of animals…

…what irked me the most was reason to chuckle when the conversation moved to the animal kingdom. This sickening egoism presenting as ME ME ME as the end of a production line of Nature of God.

I know moths more likely to inspire me than the vast majority of humans. I marvel at butterflies, the daylight cousin of the moths, with daily happiness, and I see perhaps 10 of their winged flock per week and probably 1000 humans. Its not the realm where I live, for the situation is the same back in the motherland.

People are forming and valuing relationships on facebook likes…or the lack of.

When they should be marvelling at butterflies.

My fangs have become long and now protrude ungainly even when I try to smile. Trapped to such a degree that I find parts of myself dancing in tune with those adhering to a life absent of feeling, out of habit, a life delineated by ignoble acts, a life taught, rinsed and repeated, door to door, face to face, mouth to mouth. My heart baulks with horror and pain, my lupine spirit howls, as I look left, right, up, down, and even to my surface, and find nothing of value, of meaning, of growth, of substance. I am finding nothing but an awkward acceptance of everything I hate become me.

Is this the habitat where I dwell, am marooned? To some degree the answer is YES, for the majority I collide with cause me to rage and fang and ponder whether they are brain dead, soul dead, or governed by overt direction to behave like a cunt to everyone but themselves.

When will we learn. When will we appreciate that we have been given the most precious gift known to any creature? The gift of life.

Which isn’t a move towards spirituality. Or cosmic ponderings, yet I find purchase in both…It is a roar for everyone still living to appreciate their LIFE. Their chance to feel to think to express to learn to grow to adventure…

We are a long time dead. That is without contention. And yet, we focus so much on yesterday or tomorrow, when pondering the NOW that we reach towards this silence of eternity, this expiry of anything we can ever know as SELF. We discuss with ourselves time travel more than find total focus and presence in the NOW. This is due to fear, not logical reasoning. This is due to conditioning. This is due to intentional direction to make us focus on anything but the NOW.

I seek and need more humans,

more Other life,

which and who can see me for what I am,

not quite proud but okay with my awfulness,

probably more comfortable discussing this,

than any praise…

Could be a cockroach,

Could be a weasel,

Could be a wave when I am diving naked wild and free in the shallows on the day after the night of the fullest of moons…

I hold the smirnoff bottle high and lit up like Diogenes,

smile from the corner of my mouth at the lions in my den,

throw myself into the ocean when I can feel it reaching for the celestial realm with its everything,

and part of me senses,

it can take me along for the ride…

The many produce at best flashes in the pan,

Generally flatline of what we know and feel as soul,

They hide in the flocks of the wild or others seeking shelter from the glare of honest mirrors,

Yet remain plastic.

Remain with their facebook ‘activism’

They attend organised ‘protests’

With the police and businesses and council alerted,

They even pay for the permit…


I listen always for a pulse.

For a fire within which burns and yearns,

I try to set this alight when I suspect or hope for it,

Yet I get to the Ocean,

To you, with your Bethells deafening ferociousness, just the shallows,

But to me yes yes the ocean…

At least once per week,

I have dived in recently and whilst chilled to the femurs,

Ive emerged energised,

For the waves to flow through me even briefly,

Connects me with the natural rhythms of the everything.


I seek always what makes any part of me throng and throb and pulse…


Woman in her most nubile flames of a divinity which has no good or bad after the explosion,

Thunder and lightning striking on a maddened by the fullest of moons high tides,

The brutal honesty of humans who have known more dark than the light.


My intellect delves deep enough to realise I am too often in the shallows,

For the spirit,

The lupine howl,

Drives everything I am…


It’s a need to feel some connection to not just the brutality of the wilderness found on Earth,

But the rings of Saturn.

Because these are my tribe.


Those of Earth and Sky,

Not some hippy free love silliness,

Love aint free.

Only a fool would consider otherwise.


Happiness aint free.


Look at the world around us,

Its war and hostility everywhere but…

Nature is the same,

Its all war and hostility,

Yet that’s what makes the moments of respite from the horror,

All the more glittered with stardust,

And eden,

So we must seek them and grasp them,

Whilst first accepting,

Its easier,

Then understanding that we are designed by Nature for war and hostility…














I see a madman in the mirror.

Yet I find his glare reflected in those of staggering fierceness and wild howl.

For within me lies and rouses often a beast.

There is something of the wilderness which I cannot keep fully quiet.

Ever seeking the pulse and throng of vitality that I have found only ever in Nature,

and the Untamed.


Purposeful and real…

As are all non human animals.

Survival then adventure or solace.

Is all they ever seek.


The closest beyond my species I can find in myself is weasel,

or cockroach,

which to many would seem like self deprecation.

Though those who know me well would understand that I consider most humans below the cockroaches and weasels,

in my reckoning of all things.


Which makes me not quite a misanthrope or any other man made concoction,

just a man,

at least honest with himself,

who seeks to scurry and survive in the eye of the storm of Existence,

alongside those who have no choice in the matter…

They are forced to focus always on the movement of the moon in the sky,

the rise and fall of the tides,

the wind and the rain…

On all that matters most.



\ To express your SOUL…your feeling and instinctive core…is the hardest thing in life, and the most beautiful. What value can be appreciated by giving anything less?



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