Bathing in Future Dreams

The peaks of perversion are never going to be reached,

don’t worry, children love adventure, your neighbor too,

god calls for massage on Friday, the ocean is your only

escape, women cry rape, men listen, the aids industry

thrives, so does everyone around it, call the dealer, get

a packet, and fast, my nose is bleeding, so is my head,

so is your heart, everyone is dead, satisfied or do you

need to see a certificate, it’s in the manual sir,

blast!.. !. Harry rubbed his forehead, unable to cope

with the rush, his toes tingling, all the way across his

back, over his shoulders, till his head lifted off

almost, my god he thought, shuddering all over. The joint

quickly died. Stubbing it into the desk, he wondered

if he deserved the resurrection of a fresh one or what

was it that was on his mind so recently. The Palestinian

issue had been dealt with, god should have been in

politics, I hate that, god I’m getting old, we’re all

getting old, but harry was getting older quicker he felt,

as he was forgetting things, the bleddy coffee he sighed

..a bath..yahoo he screamed exhibiting a roar that would

terrorize a muslim. Yes, a baptism he thought, why not

both he laughed, thinking out loud, I’ll ban religion and

make it even more popular. You can’t have that. He began

to yawn all of a sudden, his mental state crumbling

apart. His eyes were opening closing, fluttering in

disarray. Rest, was the answer, a bath and he could have

it all, yes, warm foamy liquid, he’d relax, sleep

perhaps, no one ever drowned in a bath. Many were killed

in them though. On his feet, he wobbled over to the edge

of the tub, turning on the hot he winched slightly,

plenty of it he thought, adding some cold. It’d take five

minutes to reach drowning point, six inches deep. Damn it

he thought, just when he was getting organized, he’d

forgot the final ingredient to his afternoon caper, a

bath fellow as he called it, a slender joint, well

rolled, not hard, but robust enough to last the course,

yet loose enough to allow plenty of fresh air. If I was

Cuban I’d roll it on the thigh of a virgin and not get

arrested. The makings were on the table. The bedroom

would be warmer. You can do this he fumed, slapping

himself across the face, shit that hurt he thought, sober

a few moments, his mental determination as acute as a

hard on in a nudist colony. Harry was awake mentally.

He slapped himself hard again, it hurt even more, but it

Shook him even more.

Jesus, what’s going, every where he looked, a window was

open. He couldn’t decide, the best place to make the bath

joint. Going into the bedroom, he sat down on the side of

the bed, his head in his arms, head going down and down.

Will I or won’t I he thought, roll that joint.

“jesus christ” he yelled. He raced into the bathroom. His

heart thumping furiously. The bath water was half full,

the ship hadn’t sunk, and there was plenty of hot water

left. Shock woke him further. Five minutes later, he was

all calm again, lying in it, a smoking joint in one

hand, a glass of water in the other, Balance he thought,

perfect balance, like the perfect woman, just be he

smiled.

Each sip of water was followed with a suck, till

all there was left was a butt. Flicking it accurately

into the toilet bowl he began to play with himself. His

manhood though, looked a wet shriveled mesh of hair and

flesh, there was no response. He twiddled with the water

instead, palming it playfully over his chest. He then

began immersing his head in and out of the water as

playfully as a dolphin. Fish he sighed, wondering what it

was like to be a fish these days, very disappointing. To

have your home turned into an international sewage

treatment plant, it’s happening locally, smell the air he

thought sucking it in, the open windows allowing for

endless waves of fuel injected air to enter his space,

lovely he thought, the sweet whiff of chemicals blended

with monoxides, good. But did it matter he wondered, the

water silent, harry still. It mattered to the him that

moment, water quality, getting worse everywhere, full of

shit. But they have tablets for that too he yawned. He

sat up all of a sudden, water cascading down his body,

least your not a fish otherwise, otherwise he smiled

thinking quietly, getting serious with himself. As ever

the phone intervened, like it was trying to disturb him.

Damn it, I’ll let it go, they’ll call back, everyone is

lonely, The phone kept on ringing though, annoying him

for a good two minutes. It was time to begin a personal

manicure. Two minutes and six dunks later his hair was

washed, and clean of all traces of sud. His hairdresser

recommended conditioner to him the last time he got his

hair trimmed. Now he had a predicament. Feel like a

woman, the bob Dylan song entered his head all of a

sudden. Not that he felt he needed to feel a woman, he’d

have felt the first one available anyway, but he felt

like a woman all the same.

He didn’t have that album in his collection he recalled,

he’d buy it for himself for christmas he promised once he

sorted out the problem starring him in the face,

shopping, choosing was shopping, if not shocking

sometimes. The array of bottles to the side of the bath,

she couldn’t need them all he thought, maybe she mixes

them he sighed shaking his head at the chemical

concoctions, all in very colorful bottles, herbal, ying

yang, normal, everyday use, coloured, must be for black

people, all conditioners, he read the labels, dry hair,

normal, greasy and super greasy to choose from. She must

have had lots of men friends, all bathers too. He

pondered the choices. Just like a woman, he knew what bob

meant now!.

His hair, obviously wasn’t dry, so that was out. Which

one did lainey recommend, but her hair had been dyed so

often he thought, she was a natural what. For a second

he was normal, just his hair. Squirting a creamy blob

into his hand, he began to massage it into his head.

Telesales agents, should be banned he howled, once he

heard the phone come alive, again. Not now he screamed,

I’m not doing interviews. For a moment he thought it

might be her. It stopped then rang again. Down and up,

his head was immersed in the water for a nanosecond.

Leaving a watery trail in his wake, he reached the phone

just as the caller gave up. They’ll ring back he sighed

with a shrug of the shoulders, always do. Out of the

bath, there was no point getting back in, condition or

not. Drying himself off, that was a bath he thought, as

if he’d never had one before.

“I bet he’s gone for a walk, he walks then writes, it’s

an inspiration thing!” she told herself. She’d have to

surprise him at home instead, they’d given her a raise

plus a promotion, just as harry said they would. She

wanted to thank him. Holding the phone in her hand,

she pondered. Was he worth it she thought, of course she

assured herself, smacking the phone down. Decision made,

she was going home early, to the man waiting for her!.


Dope makes you dopey he thought. Your thinking, so don’t

worry. He wondered if snow white and dopey, of the seven

dwarfs fame ever smoked. No, he Concluded, that was a

fairy tale, make belief. Besides a good looking woman

would have no time for a dude that only reached her

navel, unless he’d lots of money. Seated on the bed,

felt so comfortable too, but he couldn’t sleep, speech

he thought, speech, she likes me reading her stories in

bed and you like it too he thought, meaning himself. But

sleep, five minute power nap that’s all, his eyes

beginning to dictate to him, five minutes that’s all,

five harry, remember. Crumpling down on the bunch of

pillows, he hooked the loose covers over himself,

five minutes he promised. Should have done this sooner he

sighed, grabbing the duvet tight around him, five minutes

five minutes, have to write it, have to write he thought.

Fully asleep he was free to roam around his dreams

uncontested or disturbed. Grabbing and groping with

thoughts and revelations of every sort, he wandered and

wandered. Perhaps he was always on the verge of a nervous

breakdown. In the asylum, they’d consider that normal. He

shook in the bed, delving, going in and out of scene

after scene, seeking answers to issues that disturbed him

when awake. Millions of darkened bellies, all empty,

what an advertising nightmare for a food company, lots of

hungry people with no money to spend. Food parcels, He

smiled to himself, going further into his dream, they

were all alive, they were just dieting. They could always

ring the yellow pages and get a pizza home delivery. He

wondered if DHL delivered food apart from computer parts.

He muttered words, twisted in the bed. A towel that was

wrapped around his damp head, was now strewn on the

ground. Evil, must first get to know it intimately, he

smiled, smiled big. A Jesus truck had arrived with a

bread van inside it, did the feed the world trick,

without the need for personal appearance money.

Harry laughed, every story had to have a happy

ending. As for Noah, he was really a math professor who

couldn’t count beyond two. Harry laughed again, turning

in the bed as he did, still in a state.

She hit him full blast across the face, shattering the

glass dream he was in. He opened one eye, then the other.

The side of his face hurt, why so, he wasn’t sure. She

came into focus, the angry expression on her face was all

he saw. What time was it he thought, acting and looking

stupid.

“you’ve been at it, you, jesus, can I ever trust

you!”. She wore a heavy scowl too.

Harry rubbed his face very firmly, from the forehead

down, feeling with his fingers, the crevices and sockets,

it was still there.

“jesus I’m alive, you wouldn’t believe what happened me”.

She lit a cigarette and sat down beside him, rubbing his

cheek with her free hand.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she sighed.

“thanks!” he replied sitting up, sober with shock.

“twisting and turning, I thought you were on LSD

or something, what are you like, and no speech either

I suppose!”.

She passed him her cigarette, he tried his best to

explain. I was just bathing in future dreams he sighed.

A short story extract from a great story being written..

“the adventures of Father O’Che”

a week later…

It’s Been Said For Years,

To the older generation, good persons or good Christians, I don’t carry placards, I don’t walk streets under a banner, I don’t pull punches either, but I do try to be humorous sometimes, as humor is key to keeping the mind well, only when it’s real of course.

Why bury your heads in the sand, why look guilty, because we all are guilty whether we believe it or not, and this is why what I say is true. Evil has always existed in the world, and we have been warned about this for generations. The fact that this is truer now more than ever before, from the exploitation’s of all, in almost all circumstance, you name it, it has been done, but those of us who like to be called “good” or “Christian”, it was and has always been the duty of those who claim these titles for themselves to do more than just pass judgment on those who horrify us in deeds, and for this we are all to blame. I am not trying to put you on Valium, but since I was a child, a child with conscience, I still feel like a child by the way, but I used to go to my local supermarket with my mom, I was ten or less, I’m talking many years ago, near forty or thereabouts, but I was always aware that we all had a reason for being, even then. At that time in school, Biafra and the famine that ensued in those parts quite often used to make regular topics of conversation, and with the TV exposure that went with it; children love seeing tanks and bombs on TV cause it’s exciting, as exciting as seeing sexuality being demonstrated, don’t think we learned a thing in reality, but I remember thinking to myself, while I walked past the cereal aisle of the big shop and all the cereal on display, how if I chose to buy it all on Friday how it would all be replaced by Monday, it’s the same today and will be the same next week, cause no single nation stood up to the violation of Africa from all angles, and I’m afraid the older generation simply did zilch to rectify the situation, apart from the usual suspects, the aid agencies. And my point being, if your only interest in life is the welfare of your own family and close associates, your just the same as everyone else, no matter how well you look or how smart your job, did you ever hear of the good Samaritan, it’s time to wake up some I’d say. It was the systems that we depended upon that destroyed the well being of the world, and these systems weren’t run by aliens, but humans. We’ll be asked to account for ourselves one given day, sooner than we think I imagine, I hope we have a good story to tell, that’s all.
Admit your faults and try to make amends for the bad deeds you carried out, cause I know for certain that God is very real, and more real than people imagine. Just cause he hasn’t shown up for a while reminds me of school and the teacher who went sick who used to give us loads of homework, we didn’t wish him back too soon. It’s the same with God and his associates. It’s why those who encourage libertine thinking such as the grasping of pleasure
and opportunity at any time and those among us who don’t fret about the sexualisation of everything, want to keep on encouraging a lifestyle based on no after life, it’s in their interest not to have God exist at all, no guilt nothing but death to worry about. I’m a Christian and the way children have been sexualized these last ten years was a signpost moment for me in that I reckoned it was the last straw for our way of life on the planet, so it seems. The more of them in the group the better they all feel, group therapy. Have you ever tried to leave the Mafia safely. Once you’re a confidant you’re a risk to all. Those who live a life with little or no virtue don’t really want to see former colleagues turn good as they get older. It worries them, have I missed something. Did I need all those affairs, how is my first wife doing, what about the office affair, was he married she asks, did he leave his family for me, etc etc etc…..what about all the children that were affected etc etc…
So finally, to an older generation, don’t worry about getting old, every tree has to seed, every plant must die to live again. If you want to put things right with God, you make amends and do your best. You’d be surprised how forgiving a father really is, ask your mother if she is still alive. Seriously though, to the older generation, try to forgive as best you can, mercy is vital for you, you don’t want to leave this life with grief on your head, but with a patient smile. By the way, I hope I sound like Pope Celestine, even he came out at the end, and that was 800 odd years ago, I don’t mean sexually, but faithfully. I’d recommend that you read his prophecies, no matter what your faith, or what they believe in. We still worship idols by the way….well lots of folks do, it’s called dieting from the heart, starvation from compassion, winner all right, whose next. When your passed, you’ll only be remembered for the good you did, the encouragement you gave, and the love you shared, nothing else. Maybe Santa is real, he’s real to little children. Why not do it for the children, it’s a good an excuse as any!

Five years or twenty years on….

i’m part of a new society, radicalized for all the right reasons, true life true love. it may sound odd, but my state of mind matters more than anything, as my mind dictates while my heart ponders on the decisions i have to make, the same decisions that i have to make everyday i live. the children s stories of old make more sense to me than any book or epic novel i ever read. the simplicity of honesty is often understated and seemingly missing from this world, a point i make that others ought to make on a more regular basis. in five years time i’ll be selecting movies to be made, stories to be told, and such stuff, cause i’m just a kid with a crazy dream, as leonard so often points out.

it’s a woman’s world…really

The only hope he saw, was in a total re birth of human religious beliefs. Families that stay together pray together, can be blown apart together too. If the seed of reason can be planted, it can he harvested too. To reason one had to listen, listening, unlike shopping it meant using the brain. Listening to the gods of war, explain themselves on the TV, trying to appear reasoned, each defendant putting on a show, hoping to impress the global jury, all of them well educated, intellectuals of a kind, harry couldn’t see how these men, they were all men, how did they manage to have followers, or were people like sheep, as the bible says. The rules of social engagement, mixed marriages were a non event. A dowry also had to be present. Children were to be brought up in the religion of the husband; the list went on and on. With men so unreliable, it didn’t make sense putting them under pressure. Women had to be shielded from men, would have been a far better excuse to blame global warming for covering their heads. And women were the property of the husband and children too, till all were dead. Education of the woman was considered dangerous. She might learn to think for herself. The list of funny and odd rules the various religions used to control women mainly, made interesting TV too. The program was Swedish made. That explained its clarity. Finding a wife or husband is a matter for the parents explains the narrator. The background image is bleak, of a small village, huddled together rocks; in rags the children laugh and run about. Marrying cousins, half sisters, uncles, there was a clause for every possibility. All religions he concluded, found it necessary to control the woman. When she bled, for whom she bled, by whom she bled, to the last drop, her life was managed for her. Women must be thick concluded harry, for putting up with all these rules.

what a 13 year old should know

be patient, life is not a week end you are looking forward to, read the lives of the great men
and women of the past, learn how they coped, think of the struggles you might have to under go, prepare to be patient not just be patient, and practice means just that, allow yourself to wait, eat dessert an hour after dinner, deny yourself the TV program you were looking forward to, and turn off the TV before the movie reaches the end, you’ll look forward to seeing it another time, and most importantly you’ll have learned how to be patient with yourself…

Yes

It started a long time ago, a series of events, but it was one particular day, and it’s the day i made the decision. travelling from the south of France, i was heading to Paris, alone in a carriage with a beautiful american lady. i was younger then, and she could smile. i asked her what she was doing, living in Paris. She told me that she made breakfasts for men, i wondered what she meant, then the train pulled into a station, an hour from Cannes. i knew it, the moment he got on. She was distracted, i had a friend with me. He spoke a little English, i spoke poor french. i was in recovery from a near death experience. he was a clown who liked to entertain children. It was almost like a meeting with God himself as i pondered about it. will i go on….