Why do I find myself in danger on my vacation? I have come here to rest. I have a meal with my family but excitement surrounds us. It is a special day for the people here. A day of unadulterated violence, destruction and death. Continue reading →

I’m dead and I’m damn happy about it.  Finally, I see freedom.

You see dear reader, we are taught from a very young age to cling onto life for as long as we can.  We struggle through the endless monotony of being slaves to our hunger and our need for sleep and shelter.  We compete with each other for the scarce resources that our planet is blessed with.  There are rich and poor.  Some eat caviar and other starve and slowly decay.

I admit I’ve watched the ‘Matrix’ and I loved it.  That movie is the answer my friends.  It’s not that the minds of humanity are imprisoned in a computer system.  You’d be mistaken to think that.  Also, we’re not trapped in a dream or a figment of someone’s imagination.  No sir.

But – and here’s the rub – we are indeed trapped in a ‘system’.  We’re bound by the laws of physics and by the needs and wants of our bodies.  We are slaves to our desire and held hostage to our insatiable hunger.  We are trapped in physical form in a universe of rules.  We need to find a way to break these rules – to break out of our prison.  The answer is closer than you think.

Okay, I’ll cut to the chase.  Death is the answer.  Yes it’s that simple!  See how easy it is?  The life that we struggle to cling to is actually our prison.

Now that I’m dead I know the truth.  I’m no longer bound by rules.  I am the purest form of being.  Don’t mind me though.  I know you won’t believe me.  I can’t convince you that I’ve escaped the system that you are trapped in.  So keep wallowing in your own suffering my dears.  Keep competing for limited resources until you finally succumb to the truth.

The quicker death arrives, the easier it will be for you.  Trust me.

He faced the day with dread.  The decision had been made.  It was not for him to question; only to execute the orders that had been promulgated.  They were the deities.  They watched over and protected.  They were the good, but to know good there had to be evil.

He had thought for a long time about suffering and why it was that it existed.  Now he knew.  It was all about choice.  There could be no utopia because, if there was, people would have to behave the same.  There would be no choice.  Evil was just an emanation of choice.

It was now his job to propagate evil.  He knew that he was going to cause pain, but that could not stop him.  They had made the decision for him.  They had created evil and it was his job to dish it out.  He had to deliver the message, but it wasn’t as simple as that.  It wasn’t enough to communicate the message.  He had to own it.  Instead of being a mere messenger, it was as if the message was his.

“We will not tolerate dissent,” his master had warned, “Each of you has made this decision yourselves.  We are just an emanation of your common will.”

The truth had been twisted to suit their ends.

“What about the truth?” a soldier had dared to ask on one occasion.  There was a gasp from the crowded unit.

There was no hesitation from the master.  “Remove him.”  So it was done.  He was never seen again.

“Just remember what you have decided today,” the master reinforced.

Oh the irony.  What *we* had decided?

How could he escape this?  It was a symbiotic relationship.  Not only that, but now that he knew the truth they wouldn’t let him go.  How can one man stand up against such tyranny?  With that in mind he continued their evil ways.

Then it suddenly occurred to him.  He had been blaming them all along but the truth was that he was evil.  Sometimes it is worth the sacrifice to find yourself again and to become a “self” instead of an automaton.  He realised that following his own destiny, even if it meant risk of death, was the only way to escape.  He had owned all of their decisions because he had gone along with them.

The unit gathered to hear the next set of orders.  The masters stood before them in their long robes.  They promulgated the evil deeds for the day.  All listened with fear and loathing.

“I will not do it.” he shouted to them.

They didn’t look surprised.  It was as if they had anticipated this move.  “Take him away.”  Nothing more was said.  No argument was entered into.  He had fulfilled his destiny and set himself free, but he still feared the outcome.

Two soldiers approached him.  He hesitated, not knowing whether to fight or remain still for them.  Before he had time to decide they grabbed him and took him away.  He was removed to a small room.  It was dark inside.  He was alone there.  The door was closed.

“You are free to go.”

He didn’t understand.  A door opened on the other side and he walked through it.  It was as if they had been waiting for this moment.

He was set free and all it took was for him to follow his conscience.  He was trapped no more.

Pity about all of those who had suffered and died to make the point.

Sitting in the mission briefing he felt violently angry.  That’s right – not just upset, but murderously, viciously, inhumanely aggravated.

It had been a combat experiment.  His lack of impulse control had been amplified.  It was thought that this would make him a better combat soldier.  He would be a machine, not having to think – his reflexes would take over.  He would shoot to kill before anyone could touch him.

Now he was in the briefing, being told about the mission plan and he was just getting hotter.  He felt like he was going to explode.  They were proud of him.  They didn’t know what was going to happen.  According to their plan he would be briefed, he would go behind enemy lines and do some real damage.  Yeah, he was going to teach the enemy a lesson they would never forget.

They had planned on making more of him too.  It was all about brain manipulation.  They would suppress certain emotions in the next batch.  They would turn off fear and amplify anger.  They would create battle ready machines.  It was a much better idea than robots.  Robots were still basically dumb.  There was no AI and there might not be for a long time.  Things hadn’t progressed as well as the computer nerds had thought.

But this – whoa what a plan.

He sat there trying to read the screen.  Someone was sitting in the row in front of him with their huge egg head in his way.  He could see the part in the abnormally straight hair on that goddam head.  It was so stupidly perfect.  The head kept bobbing in front of him, turning in the same direction that he was trying navigate to see the goddam mission plan on the goddam board.

That godawful ugly part ridden big huge head.  Why couldn’t the guy have sat somewhere else?  Why would he pick such a stupid spot right in front, blocking the goddam view?  There were spare seats on the other side.  Hell, there were spare seat everywhere but this clown had to sit right in front of him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.  He got up from his seat and began to walk back towards the entrance to the room.

“What are you doing soldier?” the sergeant called out at him.  The officer motioned toward the sergeant to let it go.  “He’s special, ” the officer whispered, “Don’t worry about him.  We want to see his reaction.”

“Yes sir, ” the sergeant responded unevenly.  It was to no avail anyway.  The strange soldier had already left the room.

The mission briefing continued.  The officer hoped that the soldier would be back soon.  He was an experiment but he needed to know what to do.  No matter.  He could always brief the soldier again later.  It was an important scientific experiment.  They had to let him do what he wanted and just observe him for the time being.  They could always abort anyway and save it for another day.

The officer was relieved as the soldier walked briskly back into the room.  The officer wasn’t relaxed for long.  Suddenly there was roaring sound as the soldier quickly approached the man who had been sitting in front of him.

The tall man with the parted hair didn’t get to say much.  The soldier lifted the chainsaw above his shoulders and sliced the man’s head off in a single stroke.

“Get out of my goddam way you bean-headed, part ridden slime.  I can”t see!  Get it!” the soldier was shouting.  The man’s torso collapsed in the chair.  His head rolled towards the front of the room.  Everyone was aghast.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Is it weird if you have a dream in which:

- you and Yoda are trying to escape a deadly shopping centre in which a female shop assistant won’t sell you a cupcake;

- the only way out is in a lift that just won’t stop at the level you want it to because your swipe key isn’t working;

- you then forget which level you parked the ‘escape’ vehicle on;

- your old school friend accompanying you is carrying your family’s laundry and it’s important that you don’t leave it behind?

I hate being the fat kid.  Everyone looks at me, teases me and laughs at me.  Did I say I hate it – ’cause I do.

I go home one night and my family is already at the table eating dinner.  That’s ironic because I’m hungry and fat.  Do I keep saying that I’m fat – ’cause I hate being fat.  There doesn’t seem to be a lot of food left.  I groan noticeably.

“Jack, you know we have to leave some food for the prophet”.

There they go again with their mumbo jumbo religion.  I’m still a kid here but somewhere else I’m an adult and I’ve grown out of their religious beliefs.  I decide to take them on.  I look at my father.

“No one cares about your beliefs.  It’s all garbage.  I’ll eat what I want.  You didn’t even leave enough for me anyway.”

My dad stares at me.  He looks me right in the eye.

“There’s a bigger world out there dad, “ I’m responding to the look, “You live in such a closed community.  No one gives a rat’s arse about your religion or your prophet.”

My mother looks at me in shock, as if I’ve become the devil.  I know what it is.  I said “rat’s arse” and she hates swearing.  Goddamn, does she really think that “arse” is a bad swear.  Still, she looks upset and I stare at her right back.  It’s not my fault if she’s so sensitive.

I eat my fill, which is a lot.  The prophet can starve for all I care.  I’m getting fatter I think, if that’s possible, but who cares, right?  I mean we’re all different; nobody’s perfect.  People have to accept that we come in all shapes and sizes.  I can be fat.  It doesn’t make me bad, right?

I go to bed and have strange dreams.  The next evening we’re all back at the table again ’cause it’s dinner time.  I’m surprise; truly surprised.  My mom’s cooked some really big steaks.  There’s enough for everyone, even for their stupid prophet.  Okay, maybe we’re getting somewhere here.

I feel pretty sick.  I can’t explain it.  I feel weak and vulnerable.  It’s like something’s missing.  I’m numb all over, especially in my torso.

Next evening and dinner again.  Great whopping steaks again; delicious and plenty for the prophet.  Still feel under the weather.  I seem to be getting weaker.  Don’t know how to explain it.

It’s Friday and we’re having dinner with friends of my parents.  They have a son and daughter.  Daughter is two years younger than me.  She never looks at me ’cause I’m fat.  Strange, but tonight she’s eyeing me.  The adults keep talking and we go with the “kids” to talk.

Suddenly their daughter’s all over me.  We’re in her room.  How did we get there?  Where are the other kids?  She’s kissing me; can’t keep her hands off me.  What’s going on?  Not that I don’t like it, but what about being fat?

Now my head’s in her chest.  She wants to go further but uh oh.  Daddy’s calling her.  He’s coming towards the bedroom door.  All bets are off.

I feel more attractive but why?  At home, shirt off and I’m looking down at my usually flabby stomach.  Wait, what?  It’s pretty flat.  I’m thin.  My god, I’m actually thin.  How fantastic.  But what happened and how?

Then it dawns on me.  The sick feeling and better dinners… mmmh delicious steak.  The steak is me.  Mum’s getting back at me because of the religion and my so called swearing.  I want to feel angry but I’m not, as long as she lets me live.  I don’t mind if I’m thin. I decide not to eat myself anymore.  Mum’s okay about that and she makes me a side dish.  I’m not as hungry anymore.  I mean I don’t want to eat part of me, but the other’s can.

Then I wake up.  I’m not with my parents anymore.  I’m the adult I always knew I was. I’m fat again.

Oh my, help me please.....

There are two possibilities. I can worry or not worry. If I worry, I am in pain all of the time. I think of the worst. It’s agony. If I don’t worry then I might be okay, but I won’t anticipate what might happen. Then I may be caught unprepared and there will be a lot of pain.

Maybe if I worry then I can prepare for the worst and put myself in a position where I don’t suffer as much. On the other hand, if the worst happens then I will be in pain anyhow and maybe there’s nothing that I can do to avoid it.

Problem is that I can’t be certain whether or not preparing for the worst will put me in any better position. This means that, by not worrying, I am taking a risk that I could have done something whilst I still had the chance. But this all comes at a great cost. If I begin to think about the worst then I freeze. This is a problem because the fear takes an almighty grip on me and I might fail because of the fear.

I don’t want to fail because of fear as that is a self fulfilling prophecy.

Why am I in so much pain? Why can’t I relax? More importantly, why can’t I just live in peace?

Every day I have to go through this. I can never be certain that bad things won’t happen. It’s like living on the edge of a precipice. What can I do?

Okay, I get it. I’m supposed to just say that the worst doesn’t always happen. If I keep saying that then I can wait and see. If something bad happens then the pain will only crystallise at that point in time. In the meantime I can live in peace.

I’ll try that. I just can’t stop thinking about the risk of not preparing though. There must be something I can do.

I understand now. I feel that I have to be in control because I will be blamed if something bad happens that causes pain to my family. They’ll say that I caused it. I should have managed things better. I didn’t try hard enough. I failed. I am to blame. That would be very hurtful on top of the pain. I would never intend for that to happen.

I guess the problem is that I am fallible. I make decisions all the time that I think could be of detriment in bad times. For example, if I spend money now, I can be blamed later if I lose my job. They could say that I should have saved more and managed my money better. They would say that the pain and suffering is my fault.

If others didn’t depend on me then I could live with whatever happens. I just don’t want to be the reason for other people’s pain. Especially the pain of my children. I don’t want them to be hungry, for us to have nowhere to live, for me to lose them, for them to be taken away from me, screaming and crying and wriggling violently to free themselves of their captors.

It would break me.

He needed to escape. He was running away from something or someone. It was all about keeping himself occupied with distractions. They seemed real enough and, on occasions, he actually thought that they were productive, but this was far from the truth.

That day it became particularly challenging for him. He was sitting at home. It was his day off. He hated having time off. That made it difficult to survive. He had asked, then begged them to let him keep working.

“I don’t understand,” his boss has said calmly, “Everyone needs a holiday.”

An argument followed, but he couldn’t win. He knew that they were getting suspicious, perhaps even thinking that he was crazy. No one could understand why he wouldn’t take time off. In the end, he had bowed to the pressure, especially since it was a statutory obligation for them to give him a break.

He was thankful to have been distracted for a moment with that recollection of events, but his mind was starting to empty itself of thoughts. He was left alone, sitting there at the table.

The demons began to swirl around him. He needed something to do, but what? Could he do something with his computer again?

He grabbed his computer and launched his internet browser. In a few moments he was scrolling down the pages of his favourite sites. He followed links from the sights to get more information on stories that he was interested in. He was absorbed and time flowed easily. Nothing was a concern for him except for the moment. His browser was littered with tabs. He sipped his coffee and remained calm.

Then, as he closed them, there were fewer tabs in his browser. He was running out of time. There were four then three. He spent a lot of time on the last two sites and managed to follow several links from them into new tabs. Finally, his browser was empty. There were no sites left.

He began to feel agitated. He felt back in the present and that was not a good feeling. He looked through his browser’s bookmarks frantically trying to find new sites to visit. He caught a few here and there that he hadn’t looked at for a while but then he was at a loss. What to do?

He could feel the pressure. Maybe he would go back to sleep. He needed not to be conscious. He couldn’t be by himself with his thoughts or he would die.

The demons were back. They were quickly getting into his head. “You are not alive” they groaned, “Who are you?” . His head began to swirl. He didn’t feel real. He couldn’t go on. He didn’t know how to go on.

All of a sudden he was looking outside of his body at himself. Who was he? Why was he here? It was very distressing to have those thoughts. It was as if his body was a lump of flesh that he had to drive to continue, but he was no longer in the driver’s seat. It also became excruciating for him to imagine that, even if he were back at the controls, he could actually go on. It was too hard. How could he, a person without any identity keep pushing forward. He was sinking into an abyss.

“I’ve got to DO SOMETHING” he finally thought. The demons were taking over and he couldn’t let them.

He looked around, trying desperately to find something to do? What can I do? What do I enjoy?

It was a difficult realisation that he didn’t enjoy anything. He realised again that even the things he did were merely distractions to keep the demons at bay.

I

“Let me out of here.”
“First you must answer the question.”
“I keep telling you, I don’t know.”
“You do. Tell me.”
“I don’t. What do you want from me?”
“Just the answer.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you can’t leave.”
“What am I doing here?”
“Answering the question.”
“I don’t even remember what the question is. Can you tell me again?”
“I want the answer.”
“I don’t know the answer. How can I know it if you won’t repeat the question?”
“The answer please.”
“What am I doing here?”
“Answer now!”
“Where am I?”
“My patience is running low.”
“I’ve lost my bearings. “
“Get on with it.”
“Who am I?”
“I am not waiting any longer!”
“What am I?”
“Give me the information I want.”
“I’ve got a headache. I can’t remember anything.”
“You need to respond correctly.”
“I can’t figure it out. Is this a war? Have I been kidnapped?”
“A lot depends on this. You will not go free until you answer.”
“I want to help you, but you need to remind me what is going on here.”
“Stop playing games! Don’t use the word ‘need’ with me. You are in no position to ‘need’ anything. “
“I give up.”
“You have nothing to give up except the the information I want.”
“I have no information. I’ve forgotten the question, not to mention who or what I am, where I am and what the hell is going on here. Tell me if you want to know!”
“You have made a big mistake talking to me like that. Tell me now or you will stay here forever.”
“Where is here? Why should I care if I don’t know?”
“I cannot tell you anything. You must give up the information freely.”
“I don’t understand. If I’m trapped here then I’m not free. “
“Of your own will, tell me what I need to know.”
“What is the question?”
“Why do you assume that there is a question? You make too many presumptions.”
“You’ve lost me. What are you talking about?”
“Stop asking questions and tell me! Now!”
“Kill me goddamit. I’ve got nothing to say. I’m confused.”
“That would be too easy.”
“Wait a minute. You did say answer the question before. There must be a question. What is it?”
“You have made yet another assumption.”
“No I have not. You said answer the question. Then you said why do I assume that there is a question. You’re toying with me. You’ve drugged me and now you want to drive me insane.”
“This is no conspiracy. Just answer the question and it will be over.”
“There you go. I caught you! What is the question. Tell me!”
“I don’t know.”
“What? So you admit that there’s a question. Tell me what it is!”
“I’m confused. What question?”
“Tell me what I want to know.”
“There is no question.”
“I need to know what it is. Tell me now! I want to get out of here! I’ll be trapped here with you if you don’t tell me!”
“I don’t want to to stay here either, but I can’t remember.”
“You’ll stay until you answer.”
“Let me out of here.”
“First you must answer the question.”
“I keep telling you, I don’t know.”
“You do. Tell me.”
“I don’t. What do you want from me?”
“Just the answer.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you can’t leave.”
“What am I doing here?”

… [forever]