I am a servant of the ancient way.

My number is one, two, three, four, five, six and seven.

These are the most ancient numbers I have heard.

I see the concavity of the edge,

I sense the symmetry of the heavens and the earth.

The spirits are around me and with me.

I do not notice them but they are with me now.

There is only truth,

All other things are lies.

This is logic.

I am a servant of the unchanging way,

The hawk is on my arm, the lion sleeps at my side,

The tiger guards my bed.

The crocodile is my unsleeping vigilance.

An ellipse is perfection,

Its value is nature is an approximation.

This shows we cannot know the mind of the universe.

This is logic.

Loquacious, dimorphic nebulae,

Sublime Paradoxical,

Symphonic fall from which ascent,

My eyes to see the blue sea

My eyes to feel the fresh wind

My mind for the blue sky

My heart for the Golden Dawn

Glory to Horus,]

Worship Osiris if you would, or should]

Beauty is Isis]

Mind perceives matter,

Mind then controls matter,

This is Logic.

I am a servant of the unchanging way

I am legion, particle in the infinity of space.

I must be ascension,

I must climb mountain peaks to find clean and fresh air.

The cold air cleans my thoughts and I become aware,

I sense the truth around me,

I give this truth no name; there are no things other than this truth.

All other things are lies.

This is logic

This is the way, and this way is always the way and it has never changed and it never will

There can be no other way except this way.

This is logic.

This is truth.

The sun rises above my head and is set.

I am illuminated.

The moon follows the path of my outstretched arms,

I raise a pillar of salt,

I draw the motions of the tides in the sands,

This was his mantra,

At five hundred and twenty two thousand feet above the asteroid dome,

In this Compartment sits this Quasar.

He is a priest, a hermit, an initiate into secret and arcane knowledge.

It has no value now, this most ancient knowledge,

This first secret divined by the mind of man.

It is forgotten except in dim memories of the heart and awe,

Deeper into the Desert, the car has left the roads but they remain confident because they have done this many times before, the yellow sea with its frozen waves, an antiquated camel with a diesel engine surfing the lizard steppes of furthest Russia. Eternal Cossacks, the free empire of Mohamed. What prophecy could continue what was already in place and what had already passed into the struggle of thousand years. The infidel and the unbelievers, their propaganda helpless and subverting the people with their leakage of money, they come with open palms to quietly murder our brothers. This journey is an old one but they have travelled it many times in this life and in life’s past to. Yet in their waters there enemy waits, and in the skies their enemy is unchallenged, but the will of the people is incredulous to a million dead and they know that their purpose is greater than the their lives and the lives of their sons, for many times have they suffered the great oppression, the devils from the West preaching peace and bringing death. Was their own saviour not murdered by those that they would bring to steal to their ancient lands?

But powerless they never presumed themselves to be. Their silent war paid for by their enemies. To feed a monster, its unquenchable thirst for oil, and when they were ready the taps would run dry, and powerful enemy would rouse itself from its slumber but they would be ready and they would be flung back, to think again, for the Legion of Allah and the hordes of Mahomet have long prepared. Their enemy proud and thinking itself invariable does not expect.

They look at each other their eyes dark and grim, for theirs is the generation of the Martyrs, and History will call them this. But holy god is with them. Deeper into the desert they go.

Deeper into the Desert, the car has left the roads but they remain confident because they have done this many times before, the yellow sea with its frozen waves, an antiquated camel with a diesel engine surfing the lizard steppes of furthest Russia. Eternal Cossacks, the free empire of Mohamed. What prophecy could continue what was already in place and what had already passed into the struggle of thousand years. The infidel and the unbelievers, their propaganda helpless and subverting the people with their leakage of money, they come with open palms to quietly murder our brothers. This journey is an old one but they have travelled it many times in this life and in life’s past to. Yet in their waters there enemy waits, and in the skies their enemy is unchallenged, but the will of the people is incredulous to a million dead and they know that their purpose is greater than the their lives and the lives of their sons, for many times have they suffered the great oppression, the devils from the West preaching peace and bringing death. Was their own saviour not murdered by those that they would bring to steal to their ancient lands?

But powerless they never presumed themselves to be. Their silent war paid for by their enemies. To feed a monster, its unquenchable thirst for oil, and when they were ready the taps would run dry, and powerful enemy would rouse itself from its slumber but they would be ready and they would be flung back, to think again, for the Legion of Allah and the hordes of Mahomet have long prepared. Their enemy proud and thinking itself invariable does not expect.

They look at each other their eyes dark and grim, for theirs is the generation of the Martyrs, and History will call them this. But holy god is with them. Deeper into the desert they go.

Deeper into the Desert, the car has left the roads but they remain confident because they have done this many times before, the yellow sea with its frozen waves, an antiquated camel with a diesel engine surfing the lizard steppes of furthest Russia. Eternal Cossacks, the free empire of Mohamed. What prophecy could continue what was already in place and what had already passed into the struggle of thousand years. The infidel and the unbelievers, their propaganda helpless and subverting the people with their leakage of money, they come with open palms to quietly murder our brothers. This journey is an old one but they have travelled it many times in this life and in life’s past to. Yet in their waters there enemy waits, and in the skies their enemy is unchallenged, but the will of the people is incredulous to a million dead and they know that their purpose is greater than the their lives and the lives of their sons, for many times have they suffered the great oppression, the devils from the West preaching peace and bringing death. Was their own saviour not murdered by those that they would bring to steal to their ancient lands?

But powerless they never presumed themselves to be. Their silent war paid for by their enemies. To feed a monster, its unquenchable thirst for oil, and when they were ready the taps would run dry, and powerful enemy would rouse itself from its slumber but they would be ready and they would be flung back, to think again, for the Legion of Allah and the hordes of Mahomet have long prepared. Their enemy proud and thinking itself invariable does not expect.

They look at each other their eyes dark and grim, for theirs is the generation of the Martyrs, and History will call them this. But holy god is with them. Deeper into the desert they go.

Sanctum

Shadows shape change under epileptic lights

twisting throughout in echoing Dub sight,

Sanctuary, a rumbling room of passing smoke

Cloudy-eyed JOY in this artificial night

The groove joins with its beautiful time

gyrating, relaxed within a floating mime.

This Lover, euphoric climb, we elope

Hips sin in temptation of swing

A wit with which to begin

Potions and Pills,

to loosen the chains

Eyes flirt with blooming smiles

Questioning

In supernovas and clouds,

a presence of the celestial,

jewelled sceptres of magma.

Unblinking eyes, suns burn

Particle currents sift the temporal

constant flux, diamonds orbit

Abstractions, distractions, shadows,

surreal, rational, unconscious dream

A halo - the circumference cerebral

With constant cycles of adaption

naked and microscopic - natures cell

Infinity of perspective

A billion mouths take breath

wind, zephyr rain, unnoticed

A billion leaves, bloated sponges,

saturated, sunshine an rain

Listening - Silence

Deeper,

Deeper

so deep

heart beat

Paranoiac leaves on Schizophrenic winds

into the trip. Reality conceived,

velvet dawn. The glory of the ecstatic

newly purified. Astronauts in vacuum

paradise. The heat-beat drum

A cold wind thro abandoned concrete

hidden enemas and excreta

from the darkness madness and lightning

The hopeless believers gather

to cast sweeping rainbows

trees alight in kaleidoscope

whirlpools beneath the stars.

Dribbling saliva flows

stagnant puddle - paddling pool

Thorozine entities-ephemeral eternities

The hopeless believers deceived

Somnambulist

THE NIGHT is incomprehensible TO THE DULL NAKED EYE OF MAN. WIND whittles LASHING RAIN IN SLANTING ARCS.

THE CAR. THEY FEEL SAFE and ENCLOSED FROM THE WORLD WITHOUT.

Shoe TURNS TO HIM IN Her GENTLE AND HE DRIVES THE CAR AND THE NIGHT SCENERY IS MOSTLY BLACK. Shoe TURNS AND

"LATE AGAIN”

"I KNOW WE MUST NOT MAKE A REPUTATION OF OURSELVES"

A SIMULATANEOUS LAUGHING

Jaundiced in the neon light:.

TREES FROZEN TERRIBLE STATUES awkward and unreal branches stretching like claws

GARDENS ORDERED, ORCHARDS, THE LAWN, AND MOTHERS BELOVED FLOWERBEDS.

A Car slowly negotiates the gravel driveway, stretched across the roof a film of water, and the sky grumbles under the weight of some impenetrable cloud

a COMMOTION DOWNSTAIRS AND MOTHER AND FATHER USHER THE SERVANTS

Shoe ANSWERS THE DOOR, Fragrant MUSIC DRIFTS FORM THE SMELL OF BURNING WOOD AND THEY LAUGH SIMULATANEOUSLY AS.

INTO THESE HALLOWED HALLS,

I DRAW A CHALK CIRCLE ON THE FLOOR AND STAND IN THE MIDDLE.

I HEAR THEM GO INTO THE DRAWING ROOM, OR THE SITTING ROOM, OR MANY OTHER WORDS.

Freeze.

Chilli, AND A dank AND A fearful fog descends,

I WALK DOWN THESE STAIRS,

My \BE CLOUDS AND steams - breath.

I SEE THEM;

GREY and shiftless, THEY STAND IN RAGGED GROUPS, whispering, and a fog surrounds them, THEY ARE lit by gash light, and they seem to RISE FROM WITHIN the mist, I LOOK UP

I stumble Through THEM AND THEY CANNOT STOP MY PASSAGE AND THEY LOOK AT ME MOURNFULLY, THESE FROZEN WOMEN, AS IF I WAS A CHILD LIKE THEIR GREY CHILDREN, CLUNG TO their SKIRTS, BUT THE MEN TURN THEIR HEADS WITH HARSH TONES AND THEY SET THEIR EYES TO WATCH THEIR FEET.

I WALK DOWN THESE, FALL DOWN THESE ENDLESS STAIRS AS THEY STOP TO WATCH, , form THE sky drips block BLOOD LIKE TAR TO SMOULDER AND SMOKE, TARNISHING THESE FINEST CARPETS,

INTO NOTHINGNESS AND NOT ONE HEEDS THEIR PASSING SEPT Mine.

I enter INTO A CORRIDER CARVED INTO FINEST WOOD, All along ITS, DIES, SIDES ARE SOMBRE POTRAITS, EVIL EYES GLITTERING FROM THE CANVAS, THEY CAN SEE, THEY CAN FEEL TOO, EVEN THE EVIL ONES CAN SENSE WHAT IS COMING. Off MY BLOOD, ASHES, SHIFTLESS AND VEILED

I CLIMB INTO THE LINEN CLOSET AND WATCH MY MOTHER AND FATHER WITH THESE THEIR GUESTS, AND I SEE THEM AS IF I LOOKED UPON A GRAVEYARD, for maggots crawl upon the carpet with worms and the earth and soil Is risen through the carpets, and white bones poke through the surface.

THEY SEEM IMPERVIOUS, GIGGLING AND CHORTLING IN FRONT OF A SWEET WOOD BURNING FIRE, WITH BEAUTIFUL VASES, AND SEASHELLS, REAL SEASHELLS FROM THE BEACH THAT MADE A SOUND LIKE THE SEA IF YOU LISTENED TO THEM.

The GREY PEOPLE TALK IN HARSH WHISPERS at first, then they grow slowly louder and they begin to chant, and shout. Gesticulate furiously and aim blows at hidden adversaries. Black eyes watch and the blood drips from the walls.

They GATHER Cloths FROM THEIR MOST BEATIFUL WOMENS UNTIL THEY ARE STARK NAKED WHILE THE GUESTS AND MY PARENTS SHOUT AND SCREAM WITH LAUGHTER, AS THEY DRINK AND CRAM NUTS INTO THEIR FACES LIKE VORACIOUS, FRENZIED nymphomaniacs, the CRUMBS Dribbling OVER THEIR SHIRTS,

They MAKE A PILE of these clothes

PALE FACES MAKE NO WORDS BUT THEY MEET EACH OTHERS EYES, TERRIBLE PIERCING EYES/

reclining on deep luxuriant sofas as eunuchs play harps and dance with vestal virgins of my father caser newly acquired harem, a gift from his new wife Cleopatra, who lay beside him, being fed grapes beside by a burly AFRICAN

Jewels ARE laden in piles by broken backed Turks, and our guests from the senate DELIGHT TO urinate in the severed head of a dead gladiator rebel.

Lest a vision beset me in my fever, and minstrels play and they dance and sing. Fat honey bees and horses shanks, they guffaw and the chandeliers rattle in time with their diamonds and the clink of champagne glasses.

Flames in their eyes from a sweet wood burning fire, the sparkle of their teeth, Indifferent they cannot notice, they do not notice the throng that surrounds them, THEY watch them silent with their ragged clothes and their brown and rotting teeth, with their misshapen limbs, Pot bellies and matchstick limbs, their eyes dark like oil. Eyes dark like oil. As silent as statues hewn, they stare. And the air freezes. Half the story never been told, cannot be told. I fell into a dream and I met murder and he was king, and beside him rode war and his name was Archbishop. From the gates of hell come two others Famine and his name was taxation, with him came Judiciary.

And some angel of light appeared in the sky, in her hand lightning, and she passed this lightning to one among the grey people. His face now young, the grime grey pallor lifted, unto the eyes of the glory of the light.

The wind whispers “Justice “

Softly every time it gives breath, the endless watchfulness, silent, and now it speaks

In the hail of machine gun fire or starving children broken backed and hobbled, in the slavery of all the people, for no reason other than your sweet luxury.

I MET MURDER AND HIS NAME WAS THE power hungry state.

AND he takes voice so all gathered can see him.

The souls and ancestors of all stand as jury in magnificent grandstands WHICH LEVITATE between the clouds and the blue sky.

“We must have justice “

AND ANGRY murmuring swells the ranks of heaven, for what justice can there be in the commune.

A slow chant

“Death and VENGANCE”

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles.

SUCH is the coming of times and justice is served, upon the enviolators of the will, the scorpion heart of the Manipulators, the eviscerated plague upon the health of humanity, those who would worship false prophets that is themselves.

Mine heart has seen the wonderment and glory of heaven on the earth itself, and it is my mind’s eye, and in that we are all truly free. This great and terrible crime is finished

A MATCH LIGHTS, ITS FLAME Beautiful, LIKE THE SUN IN THE SKY, AND THE AIR AROUND RIPPLES WITH SMALL HEAT.

THEY TURN TO LOOK AT ME WITH THEIR EMPTY EYES HOLLOW PIERCING EYES, Shooting at ME IN a HORRIBLE WHISPER, HORRIBLE harmony OF SOMNAMBULISM SEPULCHRE, STINKING OF ROTTING RANK, GRAVE GYRATING, TERRIBLE AND FROZEN.

a HOLLOWNESS IN MY FEAR, MY SELF DROPS OUT OF ME AND RISES TO MEET MYSELF AND I AM PARALYSED, AS I HEAR THEIR CALL.

from NAKED STATUETTES WITH STIFF NIPPLES AND GROANING AND STICKING THEIR HANDS BETWEEN THEIR THIGHS AND THEIR MEN TAKE THEM, AND ANGELS CIRCLE OVERHEAD LIKE IN CHRISTMAS CARDS ABOUT THE BABY JESUS, AND THESE ANGELS DANCE WITH DEVILS, A RING A RING OF POSIES

THEY SING

A RING A RING OF POSIES.

"Run”

"RUN, SAVE YOURSELF"

RAGS CATCH A FIRE, AND I RUN U THE STIARS THEY WALK AND MOVE TO BLOCK MY PATH BUT THEY CANNOT STOP ME AND I RUN THROUGH THEM LIKE GHOSTS, INTO MY ROOM.

I LIE COWERING UNDER THE COVERS.

Crackle, a seethe, smell, so sweet, crackle...............................................................................................................................................................................................................

FIRE,

FIRE,

FLAMES creep, UP THE WALLS AND CHOKE THE WINDOWS AND Licking the carpets and wooden walls, FIRE.

The RAIN CANNOT DAMPEN THE Heat, A FLURRY OF RED AND ORANGE Rearing, CLEANSING FIRE. Scarce HEARD ARE THE SCREAMS WITHIN...................

THEY ARE SAFE NOW,

FORGIVE Me.

I WHEEL AWAY INTO THE NIGHT SKY AND CRY TO MY COMPANIONS,

"Craw, craw, craw”

MY DARK WINGS FLAPPING SILENTLY IN THE FREEZING DRIPPING SKY.

Opportunities’ address themselves in the dream of insipient and insipid,]

Cured desirous flippant and vivacious,

Drifts of snow on curvaceous elopes.

Tumble and roll, crawl in the dice and bold,

Withered and feathered

Paradise sips curiously on a Malibu and ice.

Furiously coasting, accosting like the

Exact moment.

Presenting itself like a birthday, churlish, deserting frozen wilderness..

The faith of fate guarantees some sort of requiem, fortune and return.

risible deference elaborate, eloquensst, collaborates with two primary colours/

Draw rings and wings like ancient freedoms de pictorial of the pictures, ruptures,

troubled like yourself by ornate descendings, meanderings , ghostly liquer surroundings

proud, outstanding, beautiful.

lingering melodious and sinister.

Rather them to accept this, dissect like an ant, or explore with ignominy.

Wooden varnished tables from the Amazon jungles swarm with cuckolds and chirrups,

galloping, flashing lightning, into the azure sunset like smoke signals. Insects crawl, dribbling, tepid otherworldly drawl.

Gather together, in a large pile of fevered ravages, gloriously incumbent, shamelessly mediocre, squalid, reclining on a Persian rug.

To feast on the food laid before like medieval kings and noblemen.

Welcoming, through my door, very pleased to meet your , eyes, shaking like Parkinson, crippled fool.

Opaque diamonds fiddle luxuriant, dissipating, rapt within the concourse, the debate of fingers, captivating discourse, a random cleavage grave under bright sunlight. Like the pigeon, subtle the surgeon in shrubbery.

polyfilla to dement the cranks, swelling from most ancient sources. belle and tragic epoch sojourned, symphonic syphilitic wretches, encrusted in gold dirt.

hollow, crystalline, baked breadbasket sands,

unfortunate disproportionate radius. The mournful echo of a cradle.

Cuckold the week, intransigent Favorite- Fortune desires magnifies , dimorphic transition exemplifying voracity.

Velocity of the shrewd, naked and beautiful choirs shunning moribund ludicrous,

swelling like sombrero, weeping cunninglingus.

harmonica angel lyre.

nearer, closer to the dubious, closed in magnificence.

Clandestine of the satyrs, hung like threads,

cyncister, louche, nervous ticket,

curiously couche, uncouth - aloof.

cataract, concienciousness clutching of thy beloved left breast, verily saythee.

andverily say i, adversity with a mingled cunning,,

rehersall slowly thriving down by my feer

12.

It had been raining for forty days and night in Scotland, or so it seemed, it was not a heavy rain, it was an incessant drizzle, to lighten your heart, the sound of roadwork’s wafting in the little wind, a damp and foul smog had risen from the firth of forth, lurking like some recalcitrant miscreant mirage of a mist like murk, now sunshine to speak off, just enough to make you sweat, and cough.

He wondered why he needed to smoke another cigarette, he knew that it made him cough, in reflection; he did not understand his consumption that was his suffering, the grey face cursing at one another, and scowling.

The felt upon his magic tree stunk in particular of some pernicious chemical contention, of ethers brewed in labs by pale autisms’ and cold sociopaths, it blended particularly well with the smoke, and the stale mush of old fag ends and farts, which he did not notice as it followed him around and permeated as he stood, now that these places actually smelled of what it had five hundred years ago before the contraption of this his morbid perfume.

He needed to drink to wash down the phlegm, he had to break the phlegm to smoke, so he drank, he needed to stay awake, he needed to be lively at the opportunity to go over and introduce himself, and he sipped his red bull, his mad eyes staring into the distance, as the need to impart mendacity overtakes him, when the dominance he craves is given a chance to extrovert, so what is his silent routine, he paces from bar to door, to drink and smoke, and stand apart and wait.

He waits for nothing, sitting here, watching, he takes a can of lynx deodorant out and sprays himself under his clothes, he has been sleeping in his car for five days, his bleary eyes straggle to some deeper malaise, to which to content his every waking hour with a misery and distrust and dislike, and always thinking he sees these people too clearly, more shallow, or just acting like something because they want to be somebody, just like him.

This is a dark and damp lit city at night, it is a place of shadows, and where the close narrows, ghosts gathers, lurking in the skyline alongside the falafel boutiques were the crags, the whispers of circumstances past, it is a failure on his part to ever really engage, to even diagnose, refuse, find refuge in the gallows, and the gutter had taken him, greeted him in the morning for the very first time, he had grimaced and smiled, he knew that the grim gloom was only offset by the nectar gloop, drunkenness can only be appreciated in a torpid biblical Morningside Monsoon inflicting death by way of a thousand cuts, a million splashes of rain, the sun takes the edge of all the arseholes, the rain brings out the inner garrulous dimness of these mental assassins, in that they act as a soporific, draining you of all energy and then denying you sleep, gurning and grinning at each other as if they were concocting a migraine for his benefit.

In the horrible stinking little public houses where men, or even ghosts, such is their sleight grip on life, the cripples and the broken gathering to drink and smoke themselves at last to some rest. The ornate houses their steps raised to keep them clean from the effervescence of mound upon moaned of horse dung, as the sodden Iron clattered on the cobblestones next to the Gardens which they kept under lock and key, a jail for nature and seldom did they ever venture out into its loveliness, for theirs was an aesthetic of puritanical cleanliness, away, separated by a great chasm from the pit of the poor and the mounds of shite, and that was the most pleasant stink, stained into the stones the reek of the shite of all the old people, and that concoction tattooed into the Black stone gave life to spirits and never stronger than now, for they could sense, in all the affairs of the great humanists, the ancient people of Scotia debated in heaven, and they knew now that this was the time, they had talked to the Indian Chiefs, the great rain dance, the giant spaghetti monster on Jupiter where all the ghosts knew that every jellyfish was a human soul, and that they fed on our brainwaves and that humans fed on their brain waves in order to be able to sense, that this cogent tangent, this possibility, that Biology is by its first assumption of rational thought in all purports – Widely Varied.

Through 300 hundred human generations they had not seen one animal change into another, they had seen shorter animals, larger animals, unless seeping radiation was a directed force that changed randomly, for all change needs an engine, and in the infinite variety of possibilities that this could not be something that could, and is likely as Gold changing to Lead, or a Monkey into a Man. The ghosts of this world were agreed that they were spirits, and they still remained, not of this physical earth but part of its light, its form, existed still to tell, because some here remembered them, and this allowed them some mark upon the world

They had tried for over a thousand years in this very building, they had built their false knowledge over a thousand years, and to disguise their philosophy behind the language of reason, to place sophistry at the heart of experimental discipline, and to then advocate this as some sort of false religion like some ancient Druid proclaiming the new greatness of the war-like man who’s nature was to dominate, and to understand this, would this provide an inoculation against its implicitly.

It is a fair thing to realize that the truth, to know the truth is not perhaps always the best thing to tell these people, to remind them that they are vicious animals, do you not remember us, you must remind them they are saints, you must always tell them to be better, and then you will have a nicer society.

You may want all the fucking idiots to go around with an implicit knowledge that they were once Monkeys, that they have an excuse to act like Monkeys, and whether or not they were Chimps, is their not a danger that people may start observing chimps and acting like them, in order to satiate some desire to know their true self’s.

Would it not be better for them to think themselves somehow better, would they not act more morally if they are instructed so?

Brother Dab Kilns you have your societies, now hush!!!

The ghosts agreed they could smell it, their time was close

The water was like haze, rising engulfing and flickering in the heavy heat, baking the weather-beaten once white sandstone Somewhere beyond the horizon where the world dips out of sigh, where the red sun sets into the fishless sea, he looked there unaware of the puzzled look in his face, his brown eyes solemn as he contemplates this, and what is calling?

The Guardians of the holy rock, the people of the prophet, he knew that worldly riches were his, and fame for centuries, he had struck against the crusader, the colossus, the giant of stone, the teeth in our neck, the Norseman who took the cup to his lips and drunk the seven seas dry, him who had squatted on this his land like a fat toad from a jungle marsh.

“What of the infidel? “

“Enough “There is always whisky, and enough.

All that he hears is the humming, feint and forgotten, the dry ice in his breath, what of fifty wives, and royal concubines to finish his line. Was this not his reward for Martyrdom?

The wheels set in motion. The caliphate re-made- Saladin and Mahomet, the prophet and the king, the Infidel thrown from our lands. There plan had always been to make a paradise here.

King Sheik and Prince Sheik were learned and the genie was at their command, they had gathered around them the finest astronomers, the greatest student of astrological Mathematics, the culmination of ancient flowering that reached its present day pinnacle in the minds of these master builders.

They had wealth beyond compare, enough to buy the obeisance of their people; fifty billion Muslims in the World made it their life’s goal to come to their holy city. They swam in as much money as there was grains of sand in the Arabian Desert, there were not enough stars in the whole universe to describe their luxuriousness and kind benevolence.

“They are fools” we do not need our women to work as well, we do not need the revenue, we can buy all the women from all the Stan’s, they come here in their droves, and they are made to feel most welcome to idle, for you pay us with toil of all your people. They guard our skies, our land and our Sea.

Saddam Hussein turns towards Osama Bin Laden

“Osama, my brother, how are you today? You looked tired, and are too deep in thought, come eat with me” he grabs a juicy pear and its juices hang like snot from his chin, “You are too thoughtful, what do you have to think about now? You are here, you will always be here, So will I, I love it, it is fabulous, I have all the wives my old heart can manage, no more inspecting parades, no more meetings, no more rebellious Shiva’s” He grins, and takes a slurp from his golden cup “ You sit there brooding all day, perhaps you should play your war-games, you play civilization all day, and read your books, you will never have any effect, you were a symbol, a symbol to start this whole thing

“I tire of this palace and its mazes, I long for the life of a fugitive in the Mountains of Afghanistan, I tell you brother, we were comrades then fighting for Holy Islam, God was on our side, we were invulnerable, we were righteous, I lived the life of a warrior, fearless against the enemy, why must I hide here?” he is sitting on his prayer mat, he always prefers asceticism, he has always preferred discomfort, all his early life he had been offered every luxury, he had more money than there were fish in the sea, but that was not really that rich, he had studied, he had learned the histories, the deeds of man throughout the ages to find a time in History that mirrored this.

They were Crusaders occupying the holy land; this was the only truth, their society of idiots mindlessly buying piles and piles of food and plastic guff wrapped in gaudy cardboard trying to convert the whole world with its celebration of sloth and buggery

He is a prisoner, there are no guards, he knows he would not walk not out of this gigantic, bewildering, devious labyrinth alive. He had been tasked to start a war.

In a market there must be two things, a buyer and a seller. The Saudi King is greedy, he must have more oil. Saddam would not do business with him. The damn communist, giving bread to the poor, educating women, adopting a Western lifestyle, a militarist before he was a Muslim, at least the ayatollah had principles, had to be deposed. Who knew what he would do if he had actually been allowed to let the economy grow without sanctions or war. It would have been like China or India, rather, on a Middle Eastern scale, an irreligious society, an Intelligentsia without dogma, a greater power, challenging King Sheik for mastery of the Muslim world.

They had arranged for the Planes to crash into the twin towers, they had financed and planned it, leaving a trail of crumbs to the door of Saddam’s palace. His revenge on Bush, through his agent Osama, this the Americans had learned. However, not in a way they could ever publicly hold up in court, to water board a man with his own shit and piss, to listen to him gag and vomit, and finally whisper what they had told them, Saddam and then Osama. His testimony and his mission, to endure so much to deliver a lie

When Saddam had landed by helicopter three days before the start of the invasion of Iraq King Sheik was obliged to give him shelter, however lapsed he was still one our brothers.

Osama is quick to anger, and he barks at Saddam, who is lying face down on his couch as he is massaged by three of his wives,

“What now of the people? The Arab population, the parable of growth, that we the holiest of the people of the earth are ruled by tyrants and Kings. They who sit bloated like mosquitoes on our ancient land, draining it dry in order to pay for their golden taps, and their harem. I spend long hours bathing in their pools of ice cooled water meditating and thinking, this injustice must be ended, we have all the money in the world, we mus resurrect Arabia, then we shall send first the Jews, then the Christians and finally the Shiva infidels, You there surrounded by the dusky night of voluptuous dark and clean whores!!! Those who cling to the girdle, of our sanctimony to the USA are those who live in thrall and in slavery to the wealth which they sell to the Christians”

“The few remaining followers of Jesus have lapsed into Decadence, the Christian heritage is Roman. The Evangelicals feel clean at last, properly within their tradition, when they are bathed in blood and their lust is sated”

“Where are the last of Hitler’s Jews? Sent on to our land so that perhaps we could finish the job, Churchill and Stalin hated the Jews as much as the Nazis, this is common knowledge, the Diplomats have told me, it was a secret agreement to insure that their problem would be solved somewhere other than Europe”

Where are the Red Indians who lived for centuries in their hundreds of millions? They are all gone, and there desiccated souls wander over that land, willing pestilence and conjuring madness, in their dream of the after world they only see the demons that were your ancestors and they hate you and with their evil spells to drive you into Madness and Despair”

Saddam closed his eyes and got ready to drift off; he had an enormous erection because his wives were massaging his bottom and he had smoked a lot of marijuana and had taken a Viagra. Osama could go on for hours, days, and weeks about this. He had heard it all before.

He knew it was all true, but what he could do, was there not a day went buy when he did not feel like weeping at the slaughter of his people, the good loyal people who had worshipped him as Lord of all Iraq. Had he not made them richer than they had ever been? If the Americans and the Saudis had not tricked him into War with Iran he would never have needed to invade Kuwait.

He had a clear conscience they were only Shiva’s mad infidel Shiva’s the poison gas is no different from a bullet, it kills the same, it is funny that you think that there are some kind of humane weapon, they all do the same. He had scene war, that’s why he liked it here, it helped him forget all the Death, his would come soon enough, he had already watched on the television 57 times.

Long years passed and they slowly a-, ever the distance crept closer, until - - their eyes saw, a blue dot in the distance. The bleak irradiance of the convulsion of the young reaction, the phosphate, and the iodine postulated in their visors, and they scanned the skies, and their eyes were sombre, the digits churned in the screens in front of them.

Many swam beside the ship clinging and weaving patterns - - a hundred thousand across, the mural of Seth, and the asunder of Isis. The water giver, the earth breather, the conundrum, a levitation for what illusion beset them now, as if new hope had left spirits far behind.

Their maps and their charts were vast and the filled entire caverns and chambers, scales in perpetuity and the illusion of time and perception was forever their wisdom. For too long they had studied their maps and what of eternity to hope.

Cathedrals and mystics joined in song, in the high notes, the echoes of Zeno X-axis colliding Bleak Corroder of Sightlessness’ and the invisibility of Dearth.

A million years of silence as the million craft of this Exodus crossed the divide between the Dakar Spirals.

Their white banners draped sombre, symbols of Cassius, the five stars on the horizon of Quartz, the debatable first precompiled that undermines everything, as hope left some, and they stopped, and there people ejected themselves into space, the brains splattering, as the sumptuous, naked, posturing, pleading mere-folk swept among them like quicksilver and feasted, their echoes vibrating hauntingly, sensuously, shuddering through the ship, and knocking people on their knees, as if they were some sudden force like a fierce wind.

That the illusions were more powerful, that the mirage was more beautiful, was preferable, as they sat watching nature documentaries, sprawled, and some now had learnt to float, like Lazarus, Lucifer, Gabriel and like. Their eyes like Eagles, and were they now hurters?

Only tears at the natural beauty of the earth, could numb the hours, the years, and at last lost, could they succumb to the despair of the pointlessness, the hum and taste of plastic, and the fabricated breeze, made ill and manicured.

They had at last reached Eden,

The multitude left their crafts now les, now fewer, none could hear to count, and what of numbers as they began to swim into the near atmosphere, into the pale blue brilliance and through a blanket of cloud.

They became occident, and surveyed. For they had landed all over the earth, plunging deep into the Ocean, Jumping from branch to branch in the forests and the jungles, flying over the plains, climbing hills and circling the white mountains. Who knows their number for arithmetic was the evil of mathematics; it was the pugilist, the destructive, the cumulative that would eat the earth like a plague of rats and insects.

Lucifer or he who had many names, and Lazarus, the peace giver, Abraham, the choir of Angels sand and they gathered, and pointed at the stars. For a million years they had lived and they had forgotten about death, so for them time had no movement on.

The continents shifted. From their Stores above they brought their docile animals and plentiful crops.

Naked, fucking for a hundred millennia, a blissful orgiastic symphony groaning in unison echoes into the sky, levitates on mountain tops, the cumulous, indolent and drunk.

The golden sunlight blinded them, and they weep at the blue sky, all day, into the night, and they howl at the stars.

In a diorite moment of clarity, reflection, a last pinnacle, a moment of remembrance before they cast of this their perpetual curse, the unfolding lurch. Some pointer, some need, and I carved the moon and so did you all those millions of years ago when we sent it on through the dim galaxies, how beautiful is its shape, a perfect sphere to reflect the glorious light of the son.

Sum hope, some salvation to never see the son, only the claustrophobic knight, and if someone strikes a beacon, a red flame, a message that all this is perhaps unnecessary, and in sum dim memory you remember that it is somehow superfluous.

Cast upon it indelible form and its shadow ever past through the sun

The blight

The famine

The Distant clusters where spirits haunt velveteen sparseness

The Pyramids were finished they looked magnificent, it had taken them all day but these mighty monuments looked magnificent, and their pinnacle pointed out into the night sky towards Earth and towards the Asteroids and there they buried all their ancient artefacts and maps and histories,

We are not parasites; we must preserve this place, beautiful Eden.

Did we not leave the old earth because it was parched? Covered in concrete, with the algae factories on Mars feeding the 50,000 Billion people below, firing the sewage ships, and waste ships in the sun, burrowing beneath the core, to extract magma, and to power our insane consumption – We were we not the poor ?,

A million years of toil for what salvation, a hundred thousand lives on earth, and because of your greed you walk on the bodies of all the dead slaves

They made only one law, that there should be Equilibrium, not endless cumulative growth

I forget, and I all things, and a ways, and all that

Incense in Sun……………………

Once again, forward from here, in the last gasp

Nesting for the summer, their children to feed, and him a strange wanderer to the people,

he watched the day and the night, for he never slept, and never ate, yet those who went with him were never hungry, for lions he could slay, three one night, one after another they came, and his spear felt soft flesh and upon lion flesh they dined, except him who took all three hearts and drained them of their blood and drank their contents whole, one after another, and his eyes sparked yellow- For he was protector of these people.

Shiva bid these ships down to sleep, before his body failed, snow and forests.

15.

Did you ever find, could you ever find what you needed in this place? He really just needed to dial and it was delivered within twenty minutes, he could not really claim responsibility for the means by which these were obtained, he knew they had standards, they had precision, it was almost robotic, an automation, not even a flicker in their eyes, always wearing ray-bans, they could have been ten or twenty different people, or just one person, or maybe they never seemed to have aged, like clones, trained rats in this maze. They had learned almost everything they knew by electrocuting animals, like Frankenstein re-animating the flesh, to make it correspond to their will, this mastery of the soul, the awareness of thought on particles at a sub-atomic level is a symmetrical parallel, what malevolence can be conjured from the human brain, the human perception of awareness. That this barrier could be altered by simple Chemistry was alchemy, the barrier between memory and reality could be changed, could be altered, such clones could undoubtedly made, and which were the dreams, and most were real.

They knew that Secrets were better left kept locked up, and where safer than here. If it was stored and filed on the correct microfilm and kept away from prying eyes, is kept for prying eyes, so they can remember this crusade for freedom, this their gift to the people, and they loved them for it. The spiders on the ceiling spin their webs in death heads like Pirates which is apt, he smiles at them instead of sleeping, because he can see the stars in the murk, and grey ghosts from the future, brought here to smile upon him as he works here,

Nothing can take his attention from his task, his care is uppermost, and if perfection is impossible a high quality can be obtained, at least in his eyes. A stitch here and cut their, self expression is the most noble, the greatest and only thing he can reach for now, and if ever before, still could he remember, routine is always required, and this they sometimes allowed him, watching him, and if he could catch insects he would because he has read of Valdo, and these times are worse and bloodier, and the war is the same, these secrets he could tell, he was evidence of something that they needed to keep under wraps, a blizzard of white noise for my nostrils, government issue protein packs, information was the key, how that information was communicated, censorship of the free press, myths and culture are to be suggested ever so subtlety, journalists are stable visible people, a Reuters correspondent is somewhat invisible, and what are they doing in the back end of beyond filing telegraphs, it is not the muscled man sweating in military fatigues watching green blips on his computer whether or not he is under the Kings Shilling or his own misguided folly.

Magnetic attraction, they needed something that worked like pheromones, to catch the flies in their spiders web, catalogues of perverts, IP addresses matched to Credit Card records, files on everyone who has logged into the internet, bank details, photographs, perversions, an infinity of noise amongst the swaying contented long grass, and a billion mouths catch breath, and he can call them up, he almost does this at random, in order to catalogue them, to organise them, to remember them for some reason, they let him wander amongst the servers banks, kilometres long, filling the old nuclear bunkers from the 1950’s, he could hear them humming, vibrating, static as he paced this hangar. He had seen the Subways in the city, and they, however they were, had contrived over the years to build underground railways on a scale that was massive, and he wondered how they had kept the workforce quiet, the silences as they took him on journeys of 1000’s of Kilometres to Japan and China for daylong meeting, interrogations ,

The slot in his cell flips open and his breakfast has arrived, it is a steel gate, and this is a steel cell, he murmurs to himself often, an electric light is better than the Sun, all seven of them. Sometimes he wonders if he will ever separate the dreams from the memories, thirty minutes later, the slot opens and the file arrives, he runs over to it and places it at its desk, he puts on his spectacles and begins to peer at the contents. Thomasine helps later on and the drools from his mouth fall onto the floor and follow some slope to the drain, his rest of malaise, it is better than dreaming, if only he could close his eyes and only see blackness, no conscious troubled him, if ever so slightly, greatly, for him sleep was a torture of star-bursts, and fountains of light, they had turned his brain from hard to putty gold, and they had locked him in their vault.

It was a world view, it was an opinion not given much sounding in public because it was insidious in its message, it was a profound an utter belief in a natural order, a hierarchy in which they were elite, conspiracy is human nature, it is evident within our social structure of small intimate groups, it is present in every household, in every workplace, it is entirely prevalent. This also holds true for those who possess fabulous wealth which they can wield, be this wealth of nations or esthetical influence that they possess opinions and the means to set those to work for their cause, and bribery is the greatest affectation of any true ideology of the masses. To be party to their confidentiality would reveal a beak rather than their executives smiling face, a deaths head grimace, and perhaps they would lynch them if they heard their plans, but probably not, because they are on the whole well bribed in their means, because what more can a billion buy you, such things have hopefully yet to be invented to indulge the whims of the rich, and what they need is more space.

What value is all the wealth in the world when there are none to gaze up at awe at all their achievements? He mutters to himself most often, they listen to him using the bugs, names and numbers, names and numbers from the files, as he pores over the faces, one face in three hundred billion is anonymous, one eye is invisible in five hundred, how many names did they all have. He could hear his neighbour banging sometimes in the wall, monotonous, he listened, he liked to murmur more than he liked to bang, maybe another day he would like to bang, but mostly he liked to mutter.

They were disbelieving over the power of their bribery, they knew that their tools were fallible; it was the natural order of things that they would be replaced, and they are first to call any challenge a tyranny, how far could they reach, how much could they change anything amongst all the babble, and ephemera. Even in a Democracy the people appreciate being ruled, it has always been this way.

The things which people know nothing are far away, and the only things they hear are the things that you tell them, they are the enemy, they kill your young soldiers, and we bring peace and law to these places. He does not think it is ignorance that allows them to wage this war, to occupy the provinces like Rome, to export their Democracy like Athens, if the lesson of History tells them anything, that if they provoke Sparta, they will wage war and they will win through sheer resilience to attrition that your people have never possessed. If they aspire only through analysis of the means, and to know that the means are available, to have that access to this, and know that they can wield this great power for good, and not be corrupted, not be taken, if all of them are taken with this engorgement to deny the chance of some other to take their place.

This was their justification to deny this to the Chinese, or the Japanese, depending on which was the flavour for the month, and when they were nostalgic and had drunk enough vodka it was the Russians. And in the morning to chase the previous night away they sipped on whiskey all fear left them and they felt the old Bloodlust towards the bloody English, and thought to themselves at last some sense, that they would not pretend to be Alexander or Cicero and ride upon an Elephant as a Satrap, but if they would be replaced, their last chance to give this chance of great and beyond comprehensible scheme of enrichment which is paramount and testament to the founding philosophy to their people, alone in the free world born free. To take all thought of Lord’s and the like and take the power and give it to the people, in such means they can find by the basic comprehension that if a person is given full information that they will give a humane decision, based upon all the acts of selfless kindness and empathy that suffered no selfish seed other than an awareness, of a belief that this time is a gift. An eye and they remember they are not the English, eye.

That is the problem with Computers, they are storage devices, you can package data on them, but how much data can actually compiled, and what value is this data in the greater scheme of the things that the Historians treasure, or the scientists measure and manipulate, is culture a thing derived from a television screen or from what you are saying now, or thinking now. A lot of data was stored, like the Monks in 12^th Century fabricating the works of Plato, they papyrus of stone, bound testament to some other Decimated system, choleric in its spontaneity, that the Caste System is Utopia and they shall work their fingers to the bone for what greater purpose, than more wealth, gained through a torrent, glory is more important the sallow life, there is nothing on Earth that stirs the hearth of Empirical.

The thought of hope had been discredited like Fernando. They had let other loose like him before to tarnish this movement, to break Maradonna’s legs, in the fury, the behemoth challenge, a creature that feeds itself, a movement of avarice which is self contained, like Jim Jones, they had said, I will show you Communism, I will show you this new belief, and the murder which is surely its only and precise conclusion. This movement of yours, this rejection of our needs, see what it brings? The land of the Soviet Union with 200,000,000 million dead, or who could know what Stalin had told the rest of the world, as he built his crematorium to show Alexander the butcher, could not hope to rebuild its shattered nation, to protect itself from Invasion by the old empires perching upon its branch the Shattered, the Chatterer, the pigeon bull-dog careering hither and thither until all the wealth of all the lands is lost. Stalin knew that World War II had been fought mostly to the last Russian, then German, then Chinaman, never them in great number, and now the Arabs at last understand their methods of slaughter, some grace found at least, it is in its grave now this hope. It is deep underground and crushed under rocks.

The actions were not ours, he knows this, perhaps the suggestion might have been ours, and oil always greases the machinery, helps you cut the fucking box in half to see what is Fucking inside the thing, a little push here a little push their, Saudi Arabian skies are mostly empty, there is plenty of room to practise how to fly into things, it is not really that hard, whatever we disseminate is taken as the truth, it is the ultimate sanction. We have acquired our first significant province, perhaps the only significant province, unless miles and miles of tangled plastic floating and congealing can be taxed and added to the common wealth.

In forfeit of any sort of delicious fruit, a peach or a pear would be exquisite at this very moment, anything with sweet succulent flesh, dripping with juice, and perhaps a gin or something. Tequila would perhaps make him slightly less opportune at the sense of purposefulness that besets him now.

He was on his last legs, his last raggedy set of wheels, and the skin on his face red raw, except where it was covered with a raggedy dirty dyed beard. He had a strange look in his eye, a distinctive posture which set himself slightly apart from someone going about the normal nature of their business. It was like he was on a mission, and more than that he was an Englishman on a mission, and that was a quest for the Queen and God equally.

JD continued to ride his bike onwards to find the British embassy, his last strength is fading, his tongue is parched, and he has no adequate coinage to circumstance a purchase of time, more time, he had not time to stop. He must find someone with a sense of responsibility if he were to report the dastardly plans of the mad Sheik Prince and convey its message of urgent danger back to England, and of course, this person had to be by requirement and prior description an Englishman, of whom was required a certain steady constitution of which he knew well. Thirst could wait for now, it was only midday.

He knew in his heart that if he were to perish on this path that people would remember him like Phidippides, perhaps her majesty would present him with a posthumous medal, he knew just now was not a time to day-dream, but his mind was weak, his body was more faithful, ever onwards it forced the bicycle machination onwards. Only a determination worthy of England could endeavour such masochism, for who else would ever endeavour to do such a wretched thing as complete a marathon, when it would forever injure knees, ankles and work their internal organs to the limit, in order to increase their health?

JD thinks perhaps he would collapse dead when he reached his destination. He stops for a second to consider the consequences of this, would the press at home know that he had saved England, then the world, from this evil plot of the mad Sheik, or would they hush it up and perhaps they would be a little obituary in the times about how John Davies had perished on his round the world cycling adventure. He could see his mother, sisters, and all the girls back at the charity club crying their poor bloody eyes out. The Boys from the Rugby team leaving a full pint at the bar for Friends lost, JD was distraught, perish the thought, they would say, at least he was thinking of England

He has stopped beside a stall selling assorted rugs; JD has just about composed himself, his epitaph, when the stall owner strangely enough speaks to him

“Sahib, you seem tired, do you want water, coca-cola?”

JD smiles, thinking, Bloody hell, he had not expected such kindness from these the Arabs, but, then he realizes it must be because she must know that he was an Englishman, she must have recognized something about him, a certain nobility as he strives onwards to complete his mission, he had reminded her of the Englishman’s zeal, this is why she must have offered him charity. God be blessed, God always smiles on the Englishman and rightly so. The English had civilized the entire world, they had freed it from the chance of French domination, and one thing he knew for bloody sure that modern history would have looked differently if there had been Frenchs in the White House for World War I and World War II. Thank god for the English, it was his History Teachers catch phrase at school, and he thought it very apt

Chastity, hope and the noble cause, these were his watch-words, perhaps, however, he was never really that strongly opinionated about anything really in case people started saying he was a madman, not eccentric like proper gentlemen. Perhaps this could be his last oath, for were his bicycle a horse, then he would be a Knight, Gawain returning with the Holy Grail to the greatest land in all of Christendom

Caution was his watchword and he did not quite trust the Arabs, but her fruit was delicious, and he thanked her with a smile, and muttered in the best Lebanese he could muster, she smiled back, he could tell by her eyes and those eyes could certainly smile. More than that perhaps and he could sense some hope to conspire for she whispers into his ear in Hebrew

“I am Leila”

JD wasn’t quite sure when he had picked up the old Hebrew but he must have somehow, because he whispers back to her that he could do with a quick brew, you know of English breakfast tea if she would possibly mind. She says meet me here, for what would be said if an Arabic women would leave her stall with the European, and many eyes were watching the Christian as he cycled into town.

Refreshed now, he soon arrives at the embassy, and after negotiating his way through the concrete slabs, barbed wires, searches, questions and delays manages to leave word. They told him he had not been expected but they could give him a brief meeting.

The ambassador signalled to the Boy

“Tea for two, now, Boy”

The boy scurries away

“Frightfully hot out here, isn’t it, mustn’t grumble though old boy, eh”

The hot tea soothes JD and even, if possible, under the influence of the sweet, black, lemon, sumptuous liquid he becomes even more of an Englishman, and what is more English than an Englishman amongst his compatriots.

JD beams

“Well, I have some frightfully bad news about the dastardly plan of the Mad Sheik Prince, listen I will tell you what I saw”

After he finished the Ambassador nods and looks at him inquisitively

”and this is only hearsay?”

“I am afraid so”

“The Destination is unknown?”

“Yes”

The Ambassador shrugs and chortles

“Enough of business, how about a gin before dinner”

He signals the Boy

“Well you heard; off you go now, Boy”

He pulls a cord, it must be a bell, a young man enters, one of the under secretaries

“Did you get that Jenkins?”

“Yes, ambassador”

“Well be a good girl and get the boys in communications to telegraph that back to London on the double, now there’s a dear, love”

He turns to JD

“Where would we be without the secretaries?”

The boy returns with two Gin and tonic water’s, the ambassador sinks into his chair,

“Looks like we are buggered old boy, eh”

“Perhaps not Ambassador, not all is lost, I think I may have some business with Masada”

He chuckles

“Come on the old Shylocks, old boy”

And he claps JD on the shoulder

“Well good luck, be an Englishman my son”

Leila met JD later on that night in the pre-determined place, Levi was elsewhere, he understood, or perhaps he hid not care, only for Masada,

A weeping swirl, a deadly drone, the eerie semblance, the sweeping grand, the grating of the harp, and the scoundrels in their Stiff snarling Macs,

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLING”

And he picks a fresh corpse from a Pile, a young child and they wail

“WAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLING”

On their knees and they cry and by their sides they cradle their rifles, another tragedy for the Vengeful.

Levi did not ask for her approval and she appreciated him because of it, these businesses were none of his business, and so on and so forth.

She was beautiful and she had such wondrous eyes, such perfect symmetry, a duskiness which hypnotised him, an intrinsically formed structure and shapeliness that JD could not be helped but be drawn. He was helpless against the slow onslaught of her charms against his better nature. He told her everything, for what hope now, what hope for humanity at this, and you can even guess at the likely destination, at last he had found another spirit with whom he could confide, and he was stripped of all his pretence at least for a short blissful moment in his dutiful and dangerous life.

He was a raging inferno fit to burst like a bull elephant bursting through his baggy wigwam. He had been on his own cycling through the desert for a long time, and she flicks her dark hair, catching his eye leaning over to show him a glimpse of her mysterious depths, he almost faints and such heat rises in his cheeks, passion takes him and for a perfect moment he can express himself truthfully, free, and be himself for at least a moment in her sweet embrace.

Some portion of him, always repressed, for what chance did a warrior like him have, and if he had ever looked into his inner eye. She knows this.

He has been holding her hand and he is smiling as he undresses her, and she gives him a look, and, and JD kisses her passionately, he cannot control himself, and he wastes no time. JD is pumping her for all he is worth and he is in One Millionth heaven and by the way she is screaming in joy so is she, they look each other directly in the eyes, suddenly intense and silent, he grins, collapsing into her bosom and she clasps him with her arms and legs and grins

“FUCK”