A Journey in Inner Space

Travels in Inner Space - 1 A Journey

I happen upon a cavern, and he is there, carefully examining and enjoying his treasures. He wears skins and a horned helmet, his grey locks and beard flow over broad shoulders and a deeply muscular chest.Gently padding from one exquisite artifact to another, he clearly relishes his accumulation of beauty. Here it is safe and quiet.

Although he has not acknowledged me, I know that he is aware of my presence. Beside him now, I study his weatherbeaten face as I communicate a question. His green eyes are set over the high cheekbones and aquiline nose of a warrior. "Dead" they say as answer.No matter, this is a is powerful man.

I follow him into the sunlight.Here is beauty without bound.The warm green meadow is dotted with leather tents and surrounded by a horizon of rolling wooded hills. The scented air is imbued with the graceful sound of women and children’s laughter. Although the sun must rise and set and vibrant activity is happening, time clearly has no place here.

We sit by the stream in the woods, together, fishing. Whilst I wonder what this man means to me, and who he is, the answers to my questions become apparent: He is alone save the women and children . He has no history. He has no need that is not fulfilled by his immediate domain. He delights in, and is completely satisfied by, the beauty and grace of his surroundings, his treasures, his women and children. He hunts, he fishes, he eats, he makes love, he sleeps. His fists pound the sky and his feet shake the earth as he dances his dance of power. He has no name and completely no obligation.

I am caused to be in that place again one day, by a masked woman rider astride a beautiful galloping stallion. She is charging around and around the man’s camp in circles, obviously affecting him deeply. He sits, in the middle of the her circle, holding his head in his hands as though as to deny her presence and the chaos she causes to his timeless tranquil scene.
Ridden stately and arrogant as fury, the exquisite beast haughtily rears and races oblivious of all except the need to mindlessly express his being. And his rider? I know it is a woman although her face is completely masked in white. Neither man nor woman appear to have any relationship with the other, each acting their parts completely independently.

My immediate thought is to comfort the man, I put my arm around him. I feel his fear. I wonder how the situation may be resolved. The horse and rider are resting, the horse is eating a little whilst the rider pats his mane. Cautiously, the man raises himself and approaches them, his open hands outstretched as though in a desperate attempt at friendship, an acknowledgement of their common bond. The rider leans back and unfastens a bag from the saddle. She hurls it on the ground where it bursts scattering its gleaming contents. The man is hypnotised, his love of beauty and treasure draws him immediately to examine the extraordinary objects that the woman has so disdainfully thrown. As he is engrossed in his task, the stallion and rider again begin their rampant circular gallop, the animal neighing and pounding the ground, relieved to be in action again.

As I watch, the man carefully investigates each object. Strangely, he seems loath to let one go before picking up another, he seems to wish to see them all at once, not letting any one out of his sight for a moment. Clearly, these are quite new and different treasures from those he hoards in his cavern. Certainly they are as beautiful, but they each have an added quality. Each is quite radiant. Not with simple, unassuming colour, light, dimension feel or form, but each individual item seems to have an energy that holds his attention by posing a question that must, by question’s nature, have an answer. Completely concentrated, the man sorts through the items, forming them into patterns and intricate designs, examining one in depth and then another, carefully replacing each within his attention span. Occasionally, he looks around him like an animal wary of intrusion. He must see and hear the horse maniacally galloping, he must smell the scent, and hear the regular daily sounds of his camp, nothing, however seems to disturb the concentration he lavishes on these new and exciting visitors.

He is oblivious of my presence as I move to take a closer look at the thirteen treasures in his new hoard. I look over his shoulder.Each item is completely different from any of the others in shape, size, material and form. And, although all are clearly great works of art, they are all quite unfinished,incomplete, imperfect as though combining many master craftsmen’s work without any final perfecting touches. Paradoxically, all their differences and incompleteness’ seem to infer that they are not at all separate,but that each article forms part of a perfect whole.

I watch closely as he picks up each object in turn.Now he holds in his hands what seems like an exquisite miniature group portrait, the subjects are moving and appear to be alive and carrying an important message, but the glass is occluded, it has not yet been ground perfectly clear, and try how he may, he cannot see enough to understand the message. Carefully replacing the portrait, he picks up another item, it is a sword, he fondles the jewelled hilt as the blade glints with an inner light like a deep blue diamond, he flails it in the air - the balance is just not quite true enough to be perfect, but a wonderful object nonetheless. His eye lights on a large circular pendant engraved with hypnotic primeval designs in precious metals and jewels, it hangs on a heavy golden chain. As he puts it over his head, his whole body swells with power and lust, then suddenly trembles with fear, he takes it off abruptly and chooses another object, a silken kerchief in a golden ring, detaching the material, he proceeds to unfold this magical fabric, as he does, it changes colour, shape, scent size, texture, and pattern. It is never the same from one second to the next. As he begins to understand a pattern of change, it quickly metamorphoses, frustrated, he picks up a cup, he cradles the gloriously coloured pottery in both hands. As he looks inside, it fills with a deliciously scented liquid, but, just as he tries to drink it, the liquid disappears, and the cup is empty. Discarding the cup, he chooses another item - a gorgeously decorated mirror, this reflects his image in any way he chooses, but it is never quite perfect enough for him. Frustrated, he puts the mirror down and surveys the rest of his treasure.
Part of the hoard in front of him is an amazingly beautiful mechanical black cat almost, but not quite, alive. The cat is very loving, nuzzling the man most of the time and even coming to his call, then it fixes its claws into his flesh and won’t release them, he squirms and pushes it away.

There are two other artificial animals- an opalescent snake of changing colours which curls and writhes around his body, obviously giving him great pleasure until it attaches itself to him and bites him repeatedly - and a richly jewelled scarab spider. The spider’s tactic is to prance and dance in a hypnotic and completely engaging way, almost like a dervish, until it, too, attacks the man by throwing itself at him and clinging to his body.

The final four items the man examines are: an engraved ring made of many precious metals, having the quality of giving him intermittent comfort, an exquisite casket, so small that it can rest in the palm of his hand,occasionally the casket opens a tiny jewelled door revealing an interior so large that the man can nearly, but not quite, enter, a tiny flute and, the largest item, a magical cloak which flies like a bat, confusing the man when it wraps itself around his head.
As he frantically pores over each item again and again, and then surveys the whole, a small audience builds up at the periphery of the circle described by the galloping stallion. A few of the animals have come to inspect the cause of the commotion. A rabbit appears, then a dog arrives, and a horse trots up. They calmly watch as the scene almost reaches a crescendo. Before this happens a very strange event takes place.

Standing beside the crouching man, I look at the animals around the circle. My attention must have been taken by them momentarily, for when I look back at the man he is being covered by the cloak and the treasure and is disappearing into a hole that has opened in the ground. I feel his entering the earth like an imploding volcano.

Instantly the scene is calm.

The valley is quite uninhabited, except by a piebald horse gently chewing grass, and me.
I notice a small silver trowel laying on the ground, pick it up, and start to walk out of the valley. The horse, obviously in need of a little company, walks with me.


2 - The Witch's House

It seemed perfectly natural to be in the witch’s house, certainly she didn’t threaten or frighten me in any way. There was nothing spooky about the way I’d arrived there either. Climbing out of the valley and through the hills, I’d simply missed my step on the winding path and slithered a long distance down the hillside. There was a rather quaint log cottage in front of me, I simply went in as though I was walking into my own home. The witch gave me no particular greeting and I sat down at the long wooden table. She was tending one of the two fires in the room - a big open fireplace, blazing with flames and light - a stove stood just in front of it.

Sitting at the table, I occupied myself by playing with the table’s surface, a very pleasant thing to do. Although it was clearly wooden, it had the quality of plasticene, and I was able to make very pretty patterns on it, When I tired of this, I applied the same technique to the windows and furniture. No-one seemed to mind, and I found the whole atmosphere very convivial and pleasant, I was just left to play as I wished and the witch left me to it.From time to time she brought me a steaming bowl of delicious stew fresh from the fire.She would sit with me as I ate the meal, it was then that I noticed her delicate old hands, soft and almost translucent with tender, long raised veins. Often I held her hand, as it seemed the nearest to communication that we could manage.

The cottage was obviously some sort of school especially for me.At certain times of the day a blackboard would appear on the wall, the witch’s clothes would change from her black attire, and she would become a middle class English lady complete with pale green twinset. In this outfit she would carefully inscribe various shapes on the board - circles, triangles, stars, squares. Although the meaning of them seemed completely beyond me, it didn’t seem to worry her at all, eventually, she would just change back into being a witch, and carry on with her work of looking after the blazing fire and taking care of me.

There were many small animals in the cottage, and I found it very pleasant to play with them, as they were all extremely tame, kittens, cats, mice, rats, spiders, they were all very biddable and playful, keeping me occupied for long periods of time.

School didn’t stop at the blackboard. I was obviously the witch’s intention that social skills should be demonstrated, and many people came to sit at the table. All types of people came, very long thin ones, with large heads in tattered coloured rags, very smart fat ones with bright waistcoats and bowler hats, glamorous women, slovenly children old hags and aristocratic gentlemen. They didn’t come just to talk, for there was completely no verbal communication. Sometimes they just sat there as though they were on a railway platform. Sometimes they did a little act, perhaps disappearing in a small ball of fire, or metamorphosing their whole into just one body part, like a finger or an eye and hopping about for fun and attention.
Night, I think, was the most pleasant time. After dinner and a little social intercourse with the strange callers, I went to bed.

My bedroom was strangely large for the small cottage, and an enormous and comfortable four poster bed occupied the middle of the room. The bed was draped with luxurious silken canopies and clothed with downy linen sheets. The witch had obviously chosen this setting for my sexual education as all the glorious pictures on the walls depicted romantic renaissance scenes, and, as soon as I was quite undressed and comfortably ensconced in bed, my visitor for the evening arrived. Usually she was a delightful flaxen haired beauty with peaches and cream complexion, deep blue eyes and a generous rosy mouth. She appeared tallish and slim, but as she removed her clothes deftly, she revealed a classically rounded body. She went to her work with relish, her lips, teeth, and hands embracing each part of my body, lingering passionately over my mouth and penis and buttocks. As she brought me to climax after climax, she guided me over her body and my tongue tasted the delights of her mouth, her delicious ears, her warm armpits, her legs and the wonderful acid honey of her silken warm cunt. Many times as she lay in my embrace after our passionate lovemaking, her sister would arrive. And a totally different personality would climb into bed, her short haired, hard bodied sister injected a more aggressive quality into my love play, we almost fought, our embraces were so painful, committed and passionate that night after night we collapsed, spend with exhaustion, in each other’s arms.

And, one night, before I went to bed, we had a late visitor, the young lady. She was utterly beautiful, with long raven hair and black eyes, quite tall and very slim. As I sat at the table, she came close to me and slowly unbuttoned her long black cloak revealing a perfect body. Delightful breasts, a tiny waist, rounded buttocks, long slim legs, and a perfectly moist satin vulva framed by the finest, the curliest pubic hair. It was obviously her treasure, for she gently rubbed her vulva on my leg as she offered me her breasts to suck and her bottom to fondle. This pleased me greatly even though she was not the sexual side of my education - for that took place in the bedroom.

The girl did not seem to understand this, and, as I was fondling her with greater and greater passion, I realised that the scene around me had changed. I was no longer sitting in the witches kitchen, but in a grand ballroom full of the scent of the orient, and the music of heaven. There were beautiful young and old people all around who were making the fullest use of the music and the atmosphere by dancing and making love. No-one that I could see was fully dressed, they were all enjoying each other’s bodies by offering theirs to the fullest extent.

The girl began to remove my clothes so that her vulva could make the fullest use of my, by now quite erect, penis. And quickly we were both completely naked, instead of my leg the target for her vulva, my penis served the purpose of heightening her desire. As I immersed myself in her. I became aware of the fact that we were not alone in our ardour. She had, in fact, brought two young men with her who both made their presence felt by caressing her body as she rubbed herself against me. Detaching herself from me, she proceeded to undress one of the men, making a small noise as she took off his trousers revealing his hard penis. She immediately began to fondle it. and it grew even more as her fingers stroked its whole length revealing a blue-red palpitating head eager for action. Turning to me, now sitting on the chair with an erect penis and open legs, she brought the man to stand between my legs, and rubbed his penis over mine, having the effect of raising and invigorating both penises. My hands moved to touch him, I then realised that they were restrained behind me by the other man. I was powerless, then, to stop what next happened. She moved his penis all over my body. Between my legs, against my penis, over my stomach, over the whole of my body. And finally to my mouth. I had no alternative other than to take the whole of its width between my lips and suck and caress it with my tongue as the girl pushed it in and out with increasing passion and force, rubbing his bottom and his balls as she did so. As the man’s ardour took over and he forced his penis further and harder into me, the girl sat on my lap, burying my member into her firm moist vulva moving up and down, rubbing the sides of her cunt over my cock. Faster and harder they both moved as they brought themselves and me to an enormous climax. Hot salty sperm filled my mouth and dribbled down my neck.

The girl then withdrew the man’s cock from my mouth, rubbed it over my face and went a few steps away with the two men. She had clearly now been so aroused that she was desperate to be fully satiated. With her arms around the naked muscular waists of both men, she was walked away to a corner of the room, and, laying on the cushion-covered floor, she urgently opened herself to all their desires, again and again increasing their passion by deft touches driven by her sexual need.

A drum began to beat quietly and slowly and the oriental girl arose like a cobra uncurling itself from its basket. As I deeply breathed her warm scent of sandalwood and musk, I reclined on cushions in a fabulous eastern palace. Everything I could have wished for was close at hand. Delightful fruits, drinks and sweet and savoury delicacies were heaped in jewelled golden bowls beside me, a dusk breeze freshly scented by orange groves gently blew through the delicate windows, the exotic beauty of the east was all around: Fabulous rugs, exquisite tapestries, jewel-like mosaics, gilded furniture, delicate silken cushions, powerful carvings, vibrant sculptures, And I was to receive the most opulent treasure of all.

In a shimmer of silk, the beauty stood and raised her hands high above her head. As she joined her delicate fingertips together to stretch her lithe body against the translucent silk, the drum became more insistent and powerful. Her head and arms began the dance- a flute now provided a melody- and as the movement of the music travelled throughout her body, strings and another drum joined in the rainbow of sound.

Surrendering myself to my circumstances, I became completely engrossed in this magnificent embodiment of the act of creation. It is true, the girl was beautiful, jet black hair, sparkling eyes of an almond shape, a perfect skin of olive complexion, delicate bones, long, fine limbs, and the most wonderfully generous ruby-lipped mouth. And her garments certainly did nothing to decrease that beauty, covering her wonderful body in a way that, combining the texture of cool silk with that of warm flesh, accentuated and enhanced her potent sexuality and that of the dance.

But the beauty of the scene, and the scent and the girl and her clothes and the music were merely superficial factors. The dramatic compulsion of the activity was something much, much deeper and more powerful.

The girl had completely surrendered herself to the music.Like a man who was fucking her, the music took possession of all her body. And like a woman who was fucked, she gave her whole to the music. As the drums beat and the flute soared, and the strings shook the air, this beautiful, sinuous, delicate woman certainly became the creature of the music, a material manifestation of its ethereal, striving energy. And the music itself? I felt the echoes of its depth throughout my entire body. This was a manifestation of something so powerful that its utter perfection just hinted at its enormous and untouchable majesty.

In this act, the audience, the dance, the music and the surroundings were so subsumed that the passion lasted both an age and a trice.

And then the girl was sitting with me, offering herself to me completely. Both parts of the whole, and both energised and exhausted by the dance, we embodied the energy of the continuing music in glorious acts of love. As the drum beat slowly we gently removed each others clothes. All my body had been made hard and hot by the dance, and as she gently stroked my erect penis with her long bejewelled fingers, I slipped the moist silk off her shoulders to reveal her glistening hard breasts her taught waist her rounded firm bottom, her moist cunt and her long legs.I kissed her erect nipples. I smelt her musky scent warmed by the heat of her body. The music soared, my penis entered her honeyed cunt, and our tongues joined together, two penises playing ardently in the warm sensations of now-one mouth.

The dance was now the dance of sex, the desperate need to make one of two. As we played with each other, the music was sweet and melodious, echoing her lips on my penis, or my teeth nibbling her nipples, arms or bottom, as we soared to ecstasy, the music blazed, drumming slowly, rhythmically and powerfully as I entered her and we pounded each other. As though to find the highest chords, and the greatest oneness we made love in many ways, desperately seeking a position and orgasm that would reverberate with the music and complete a massive harmony by our complete surrender to the force of creation.

Finally, there was a crescendo of weariness and we slept in each others arms, the music gave way to our relaxed sighs of breath, and , with a sweet kiss, she was gone.
The tent was full of robed men who were talking in a language I seemed to understand - dark eyes of power glinted from weatherbeaten faces as they occasionally glanced at me sitting alone on a rug on the ground.It was not hot, but the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pungent incense and aromatic smoke. Physically, I was comfortable, but I was clearly a stranger in their midst, or at least, something outside the crowd, who had become an object of their attention, and was no longer a human part of them. I appeared at their mercy and decided to relax in that, simply surveying the scene as an observer.First, I looked at myself. I was dressed sumptuously in embroidered silk pyjamas that were sensuous to the touch, a jewelled waistcoat and a heavy velvet cloak. My feet were comfortably bare, and my skin was a deep brown. I felt my face and head, my hair was long and black, my nose aquiline, my face bearded. I felt strong and powerful and alone as I looked around me. The tent was large and comfortably accommodated the thirty or forty squatting men. They were talking urgently and with passion, clearly about me, and, although I could understand what they were saying, I wished neither to have any part of their discussions or even to follow their arguments. I did not feel disdainful, but simply unattached. And when their discussions reached a crescendo and their agreement formalised with ferocious handslapping and they approached me to enact their verdict, I was in the temple, my garments changed and the dance begun under the searing sun.

The pipes were soaring and shrieking their wanton tune, the drums beating their commitment to a thumping earthly pulse. A frenzy of coupling had begun, creation and destruction were to have their joint moment, and, when the sun was at its highest, I was willingly to die.
Having lost any commitment I may have had to order, I surrendered to my libido, my body joining in the melee with a gusto powered by forces of which I had completely relinquished control. Personifying the reckless power of the crowd, the pipe and drum music soared and thumped. An anonymous part of the throng, and clothed in the crowd’s uniform cotton slip, I acted with it, joining in the orgiastic frenzy with an abandon engendered in part by my closeness to physical death.

A lovely, half naked woman approached me, damp with sperm and sweat and perfume. she writhed against my body, clinging close as she slipped her hand up my skirt and stroked my erect and throbbing penis. She moaned and bloodied my neck with her sharp teeth as I rampantly fucked her while another’s fingers plunged into my arse. Yet another dripping cunt pressed against my mouth as pungent refreshment I hungrily licked up and greedily swallowed. As the fingers in my arse turned into an urgently hammering penis, as my penis drove itself in its searching climb to fruition inside the woman’s womb, as the honey mingled with blood in the cunt I was eating, as the music and the moans avowed the singularity of the crowd with the power of death and life, as the sun rose to its zenith, I was dragged from the clinging legs and arms and mouths and fingers and stabbed to death in the blinding light.

And it is dark and it is Beltain and I am tied to a tree on the hillock of a clearing, deep in a forest of trees and chanting naked bodies. Warm streaking rain is beating my body as lightening sears the sky overhead and its thunder cracks, shuddering my bones. As the rain’s power increases, and the electricity of the lightening invigorates my body, I try to couple with it as though to completely merge with the power of all the elements in one act of sex. As sperm shoots out of my penis and mingles with the rain, I am cut free and comforted by the warm lips and arms of a woman, eager to take me into her focussed, bounded care.

The path is through a valley as bare as a quarry and as hard. The path is wide and the valley is deep and the sun beats down mercilessly. Once, the valley must have been inhabited for empty utilitarian buildings with broken windows dot the sides of the path and half-legible advertising slogans are visible on the poster boards high up along the valley cliffs. The path is straight and silent, there is no sign of life save the soaring birds above the valley walls. I walk along the path alone, my mind as empty as my surroundings and as austere.

Night falls and I continue to walk. I have no need for rest. I have no need for comfort. I have no need for any sustenance. They have proved temporary and therefore illusions. I do not long for death or try to prolong life. I walk along the barren, desolate path, because there is nothing else. Occasionally I think to stop, but why? I walk without the need to look or to feel. I am not inquisitive, I walk automatically without a thought for destination or for route. There is no purpose.

I lack the will or energy for commitment or emotion. If I feel anything at all, it is empty. There is no hope and no purpose, that is my sole comfort. There is nothing of any merit or any threat.
The path climbs, the air cools and shrubs appear. As I look back into the valley and the path I have walked, it takes on the familiar beauty that is given to it by perspective and distance and cohesion. As I reach a green lawned clifftop and watch the shimmering sea below and its spraying waves playing at the shore, I am suffused by delight. I allow myself to be launched into the air by the wind which carries me gently and playfully over the sea. Excitement appears inside me and is echoed by my surroundings.

3 A Destination

"How can I help these fucking stupid people if they simply don’t want to be helped" said Lynn, pouring herself a glass of Chablis.

I’m feeling bored and more.Resentment, disappointment, anger, awkwardness, detachment, longing and a deep and desperate need for the comforting touch of real communication hurt my head and brain, restrict my search for an apt reply. It’s all grey and shitty but sex may suffice and she could be attractive. I mumble, try to look as deep and interesting as I can, find a point of contact, but my boredom’s contagious, Lynn catches it and departs to brighten her evening elsewhere. As usual, my balance has fucked off and I didn’t realise it. Maybe it never came with me.Maybe hope took its place when I walked into the room.Thank God the moon must be outside the window. I’m angry.

And my occluded heart is as full of uncommunicable images and memories as ever. Images that my brain longs to merge with the outside world. Mirrors of creation that demand language to destroy the artifice that denies their worth and mine and yours.
Wanna hear them? Well, here goes...

Like I said, I’m angry, So angry that anger becomes only an acceptable way of describing my feelings. Let me give you a taste of what I mean.

Just imagine being defrauded, not only of wealth, comfort, vitality, relationship, property, health, security and assets, but of all of these and much more. Just imagine being defrauded of every single opportunity you may have for true happiness, love and joy. Just imagine being defrauded of your right to be who you are and having to live as an exile under an assumed name and identity every single day of your thinking life, Just imagine living close enough to almost touch everything that you deeply love and that deeply loves you and being restrained from any real form of communication with it. Just imagine the one thing that gives your life meaning - and your absolute right - being denied you forever.Just imagine seeing everyone that you care for being slowly tortured to a painful and unhappy death.

So, how do you imagine you would feel about all that? Angry, I bet. So angry you’d probably want to do something about it right?
Here, of course, is where the problem starts. To right a major wrong ought to be pretty simple - didn’t it?

Unfortunately, it seems not to be. You don’t believe me, then just try.
You’ve been defrauded and think that you need assistance - then ask a friend (your first big mistake) The likelihood is that they’ve got exactly the same problem as you, so you could be forgiven for thinking that that they might be a natural ally. Wrong. Your friend will, almost certainly, have done one of three things. They’ll either have been persuaded that it’s not really a problem (what a hoot) by someone older and wiser (hoot number 2) and because they’re petrified of a fight; that it’s actually their fault (they’re either seeing it in the wrong way or they're guilty of creating the problem themselves); or they’ve got a cunning scheme that doesn’t quite tackle the problem head on but is sure to be effective. If you’ve got any balls you’ll get involved in the only form of action - the cunning scheme. But. The difficulty with cunning schemes is twofold - the first is that the cunning scheme can’t ever tackle the whole of the problem and the second is that the problem, you’ll come to learn, is a bloody sight more cunning than the scheme - always. Retire hurt, or carry on resentfully with the battle, you’re in a no-win situation.

Or go to an authority, like a political party or even a church, which has your rights as its aim. Now, you will find that, generally, authorities have one major difficulty, that is that they got to be authorities, and stay being authorities by representing the general view. The general view is much like your friend’s, composed, as it is, of lots of people like your friend. Authorities even have their own cunning schemes that they’d like you to join. If you’ve any sense, as you’ve already gone down the cunning scheme route, you probably won’t try it more than a dozen more times before admitting defeat.

Your options now are pretty much exhausted. OK you can go on complaining, but that’s certainly only going to make your life(what’s left of it) even more uncomfortable, or you can try to forget about your anger and live the best way you can.

Defeated? Congratulations. You’ve joined up. Society welcomes you. It’s been no small payment - your birthright in perpetua after all. But, provided you learn the rules and keep to most of them, your life will be more or less comfortableish. But for God’s sake don’t long for what you could have had - you couldn’t after all could you, and everybody else is in the same boat - aren’t they?

And, as a paid up member, you’ll be provided with everything Society can give you to help forget who you are and to put you in the picture. Society’s picture that is. A whole new reality to play with. Of course, adopting the picture as your very own could prove a bit difficult because it has little relationship to what you actually feel and see and hear. Don’t worry, the trick has been nearly perfected over millennia - we must be nearing that Eureka moment. Basically it’s a combination of mind altering drugs and fearful dishonesty (well, let’s say dissembling then, if dishonesty is too strong - they both have the same effect after all). This wonderful cocktail allows you to interpret your new reality beautifully. Not naturally, of course, that would be against the rules. The aim of your new picture is to stop you being natural. Being natural could be very very dangerous indeed both for Society and you -just imagine if everybody wanted to be natural what could happen then? Chaos, sex and violence, that’s what would happen.Well sex and violence happen anyway, the effect of Society is to keep it away from you, most of the time, well some of the time at least. Chaos is the real danger and an artificial order has gotta be infinitely better than a natural chaos hasn’t it? Don’t believe me? You’re not taking enough drugs.

And that’s my problem. The drugs don’t seem to agree with me, or I with them. One way or the other, we don’t seem to mix. You can’t say that I haven’t tried, I think it’s just that I get bored, and hop from one to the other without feeling comfortable enough to stay. Maybe perseverance is needed. Maybe I’m just over diffident.

Drink, anyway, nearly killed me and then it stopped. Sex was only occasionally completely fulfilling. Religion is filled up with such good people. Respectability worked for a while, but got boring in the end.Money’s nice but I always spend it. My opinions seem to change from day to day. I just go to sleep when I watch the telly and the rest of the media is just so full of shit that I can’t be bothered. Food? Well I’m really enthusiastic, but it ‘s such hard work eating enough to fill the hole.Music, entertainment and gambling I like, but not enough to subsume me. And nobody seems to want to have a dependent relationship with me now (well, you can understand it given the foregoing, can’t you?) So it seems that the usual drugs are not for me. I blame it on the drink myself, If I could have hacked that one, then I think the others would have been much easier. Anyway, you can’t say that I haven’t tried to join up. In my case it just doesn’t seem to work.

Sorry for the diversion, let’s go back to the party. I’m angry and bored, I’ve bored Lynne, she’s fucked off. As often, I’m standing by myself looking for an opportunity to talk to someone attractive and interesting. There’s a group of Hell’s Angels in the corner. One’s old, fat, bearded and in a wheelchair, he’s got a big damp cigar rolling in his mouth and a bleary eye. .Attractive? Who knows. Interesting? Possibly. I walk there. "Smoker’s corner?" A hard look adresses me, but no reply. Well, I’ll stand beside him anyway, something may happen. And now, here’s a blonde. Black dress wide eyes, elfin face. "How many people do you know here?" I ask "Four", she says, "Including the man I came with" pointing to a middle aged friendlyish looking tubby friend of the Hell’s Angels who’s eying me suspiciously. I introduce myself and instantly forget her name. Blondy tells me her problems (work and health - just how many women do I know that are unfulfilled with bad backs?) as she fixes me with her eyes and touches me with her tits, arms waving wildly behind me. At least she’s committed, I think, but I suspect her jerky movements and wonder if the adreneline is emotional or pharmaceutical. Whichever, I don’t like it and look for an escape again. Very attractive Sonia is introduced, eyes everywhichwhere brain circulating like a ballerina. Dan arrives. "We’re trying to help this lady with her career", I say, hoping he’ll introduce himself to blondy and she’ll remind me of her name so’s I can use it. Too late, suspicious tubby drags her off to dance and I’m stuck with Dan who proves interesting, to say the least. So interesting that my guess is that he’s on the cusp of enlightenment or has given up entirely. Dan’s a fortyish, handsome middle class apolitical liberal who seems to like his job and hates mine - I’m the devil’s disciple, by the way. Dan’s a management consultant with New Age credentials and I’m a marketing consultant with ditto. I get lulled into a spar which I think Dan wins on a technicality (he proves to his satisfaction, but not mine, that, because of my background, I cannot but exercise moral judgements in my work). I acquiesce conditionally and we start talking about reality, unreality meditation and other shit. Broadly, we agree and my alarm bells only start ringing when Dan comes up with his panacea cunning scheme - Bio something or another, derivated by some Jung student, that he claims cures almost anything. I realise that I’m walking right into yet another cul-de-sac with Dan, and mention peeling onions.

Thank God for beautifully turned-out Oussama approaching on my horizon doing his oriental-politician-creep walk. I’ve been targeted. Oussama takes my hand and shoulder warmly and conspiratorially, tells me he’s got me tickets for the ballet, the new Clinton jokes and what he thinks about Iraq. I get the full five minutes before being sent off to start an unsuccessful search for another ballet fan. At least tall, dusky young and beautiful Amsia asks me to dance. She’s got a blocked nose and makes the most of the pretty speech impediment. I’m tired.I leave.I walk. I drink a coffee. I smoke. I review.

It turned out quite interesting, didn’t it? And some beautifully enticing question marks have started to appear to delight me. The coffee’s quite good as is the cigar. And I feel comfortably tired.

I’d start my perfect day in Amsterdam in a light filled room with a canal serenely wending its way past my window. I’d have almost nothing to do. The weather would be beautiful, and not too warm. I’d have a good breakfast of ham and cheese and currant bread. I’d stroll for fine coffee and the most delicious applecake in the world. I’d buy good cigars and chocolates.I’d enjoy some stunning architecture, history and sights. I’d meet warm, interesting and articulate people. I’d have a good lunch, and I’d spend the evening at a new production of a brilliant opera. As I strolled home, the moon would be bright above me reminding me of my place in creation.

So, why the fuck didn’t I really enjoy it? I’m not saying that there weren’t moments, you know. I’m not saying that I felt crappy and fed up all day. I’m not saying that I’m ungrateful. I’m not saying that I don’t feel extraordinarily priviledged to have been given all these magnificent gifts plus the basic educational and sentient equipment to enjoy them. What I am saying is that I wasn’t filled with a sense of wonder all day. From beginning to end.

Look at the eyes of almost any baby. What do you see? Wonder. No, it’s not my projection. It’s wonder. I mean, this is a pretty extraordinary world isn’t it? Starting from a basis of nothing, there’s a lot to wonder at. Colour, shapes, noises, smells, textures, movement and that’s just some of the material stuff without one adjective. And there’s sll the stuff you can’t see like feelings, emotions, thoughts. Just imagine plucking someone from primeval formless ether and saying "What about it? Here’s form and colour and light and feelings. Have a wander!" You’d imagine they’d be pretty impressed, wouldn’t you? A bit frightened, not having seen it before, perhaps, but pretty impressed, nonetheless. You could say that it’s like being blind and deaf and insentient and dead, and being given life in the midst of life - some gift eh? Anyway, when I look at a baby’s eyes, that’s what I see - wonder. The same commodity that I, all too frequently, feel the lack of.

Right. I’m fifty-two (fifty three in a week’s time). I’m pissed off that my wonder level is at a lower level than by rights it ought to be (judging by my perfect day test). I’m not stupid or resourceless.I’ve already worked out that everyone else (that I know) either doesn’t think that there’s a problem, is fearful of dealing with it, or has an unworkably crappy cunning scheme. So I’m on my own. What am I going to do about it?

The Year of the Fat Pink Piggie Wiggie

Look forward to some interesting explorations starting on this propitious day. I know the first part of the journey, but from there on, we're in uncharted territory...