Enlightenment for Dummies 1.0

Enlightenment for dummies version 1.0

By

Nick Clark

I shouldn’t laugh… but I do.

My reality consistently cracks me up at how ludicrous it is.

It’s partially ludicrous because it’s so woefully tedious a lot of the time, and spent alone.

I’m not in jail, or anything criminal like that, I just can’t hold on to a decent girlfriend because a) I’m not convinced such a concept exists in my generation, b) I have major trust issues thanks to past betrayals, and c) I’m not overly well endowed, which is what many of the underclass scrubbers seem to base a man’s essence on… That purely flaccid and grotesque thing dangling between his legs.

Which says more about women at one level than it does about man. They actually obsess over that hideous of monstrosities.

Hilarious, really.

However, this book is not about my lack of love life, which is all largely sausage based to the Neanderthals, but about my world dominating mind spaceship.

It goes by many names.

Currently, it’s called ‘HMS Tedium’, but thanks to returning to a mild libation of an evening, the ‘tedium factor’ has been partially relegated to a slightly less concerning status with a moniker such as ‘HMS Giggles’.

That’s in huge part because my Facebook status update tonight to all ten of the people still listening on my channel was so radically cool.

All thanks to beer.

I generally loathe the modern ideology online… Especially the Daily Mail, which is all about perversion and horror it seems, with very little ‘interesting news’ in the way. The ‘interesting news’ usually comes by way of the New Scientist, but their updates are infrequent, and if you righteously tell them you believe in God – primarily because you’ve met him – they think you’re either stupid, or mad, or both, without even knowing how or why I (we?) know there is more to this world than meets the common eye.

Which is usually very common, and repeats the same daily bilge about very little in particular.

Football, sex and the weather are what the hoi polloi tend to discuss. If you’re lucky enough to meet a liberated man though, he might actually be interesting to talk to, if you can determine exactly what he’s attempting to communicate through slathering lips of self-realised insanity.

There is another kind of human… Very rare, and even comes in shade of female, which is HUGELY impressive, and they tend to be well educated, classy, and high up in the Christian Churches.

Yes, I said ‘including female’.

They also seem to rule vast regions of Europe via subtle approaches to being mindfully genius, and deal with the psychotic Muslims in the Eastern sectors with mild mannered perfection, superior ken and female Jedi mind tricks that would make Luke Skywalker blush.

As Captain of my own mind ship, I neglect whenever possible to mix with other people, usually because work is of the devil, unless it’s your own creative pursuits, most people are full of utter shite, and the company of fools is not something I ever particularly welcome, unless they’re the family children, in which case, they can be excused for stupidity due to their tender years, and say cute things on occasion which make everyone go ‘Awww’…

The funniest thing about my reality though, is that I’m allowed to discuss with my good friend ‘Tom the unbeliever’ about my plans in case I’m ever made Pope.

Currently, the name I would select is a new Popish name, and it is ‘Pope Chuckles I’.

This is because I relish ‘joy’ and laughter.

Yes, sometimes I’m plastered while relishing the joy, but rarely legless, or comatose, and I NEVER black out with too much self-destructive drink annihilating. (Knocking back strong liquor isn’t ‘fun’ in my book. It’s more like attempting suicide at a party).

In fact, the last time I was attacked in the street by a gang of feral youth, I’d only had four cans of the urban bionic tonic, and was able to defend myself quite successfully against the first three attackers, before I was consumed in a brawling mass of head punching and kicking by the false accusing little bastards of contemptible working class stupidity.

I mean… being a paedophile is a terrible problem… Being false accused of being a paedophile is an even worse a problem… Being BEATEN UP over the false accusations of being a paedophile is literally criminal, and were it not for the fact the gang were all under sixteen, and I’m not, contrary to vile lies you may have heard from the ex, a ‘psychopath’, it’s lucky they’re still breathing frankly.

They certainly didn’t come from good stock. They’re ‘genetic vermin’, linked to the lowest form of peasantry you can imagine, and that’s why their only means of being understood is ultra violence, because they lack DICTION and ELOCUTION.

They think they’re hard if they’re riding a bicycle for goodness sake.

One of them, in the heat of ‘post battle argument’, at a mere 14 odd years of age, had the temerity to call me ‘stupid’ when he hasn’t even got a GCSE yet.

The little brat was such a gobby tool, that I imagine his future will be a rather interesting spell in jail, or warehouse operating.

He wasn’t the worst one though. The worst one was a comedy hybrid between Desperate Dan’s fat ugly chin and stubble, and Dennis the Menace’s short spiky hair.

He was the one who actually threatened to kill me… And he’s not even old enough to vote.

What an, as our American inbred cousins might call, ‘douche bag’ of non-gilded quality.

NEITHER of them are likely to comprehend the very basics of Hegel’s economic system, and yet think they’re so hard and knowing… when everything they said, and everything they stood for, was utter horseshit.

I was literally nearly killed for no reason whatsoever… And if anything, that would upset my parents, and my friends… and ‘personally’, while arguably not around to whinge about my non-existence, I would miss Jason Donovan’s comeback revival on TV, Simon Cowell’s continued hegemony of the British music scene, and a few groovy films about Star Wars, Transformers, and James Bond et al.

I’d also miss supping from the vine of produce the world has manifested in reward for its labours. (And handsome labours they often are).

I fear Brexit will be appalling for the wine trade.

Where will we get our vin from now? Yorkshire grapes? My favourite lager is French for goodness sake.

It’s enough to plan to emigrate to France, the home of the luscious beauty of Kronenbourg, just so I can get a decent drink.

I’m yet to try an English lager that isn’t like drinking fur, such as ‘Carling’.

Still… life moves on, and plebs will always be stupid by the nature of them being plebs… which is what they do, being plebs… so we must deal with this politically created havoc, in the name of havoc, thanks to havoc from elsewhere playing havoc with our moral senses.

Paedophiles, terrorists, and porn stars seemingly drip from every crevice. The ship, is undertaking some flack also from pseudo-omniscients, too up their own backsides with assumptions of genius, yet very little to prove they’ve got anything to do with it.

For every ink jet printer inventor, there’s ten thousand useless, drunk Marxist atheists riding the coattails of contemporary technology genius and spouting bilge as some kind of new enlightened ‘truth’. It’s a disgrace frankly… I’ve done more than them myself technologically by designing a basic iPhone app some years ago, and I say that as a believer in a divine force, which in the modern world means you must be stupid, no matter how many legitimate halos you’ve been granted by ‘the divine’.

No no… People don’t like ‘truth’. They’re scared of it… It’s ‘uncomfortable’ potentially because they don’t understand it. Try discussing philosophy with someone who doesn’t ‘get it’ for instance, and you soon realise it’s a sure fire way to anger the congenitally ignorant.

What people WANT is ‘numbness from the pain of mortal existence, consistent cosiness, and a peaceful sleep, which includes finality of physical breath in a nice way’.

Everything else is just try hard attempts at egomania and vanity involving leaping out of skyscrapers with machine guns on celluloid.

‘Genius’ is another arbitrary thing.

‘Some’ people are clearly geniuses. You know, the people behind the Intel processor and what have you… While some rare people can literally paint better than Leonardo Da Vinci, and SOME people compose music of sufficient note to be genius in their own right… but what am I meant to do? Mr. Average private school all-rounder, age 42, and still sitting in my parent’s home nursing a fractured face thanks to night of the living scum?

Right this moment… There is very little I can do, except show you round some of the interior of the ship cranium facilities.

We have an excellent array of non-disturbing accoutrements by which to vicariously view, press, pull, deploy and enhance. Indeed, you weren’t really a child of the 80’s unless you’d watched at least one film where the hero cop looks at early CCTV imagery and says ‘enhance’ in a cool American accent to the image operator when closing in visually on a suspected criminal.

THAT’s the stuff of legends. It’s so cinematically relevant, ‘Bladerunner’ itself is even an example of employing the story telling element.

I say ‘Bladerunner’ however, as though it’s a good film.

It isn’t all that great in my remarkable opinion frankly. I’ve tried to watch it a few times at film school, and found it deathly tedious, however remarkable and beautiful the futuristic special effects.

I honestly think the British 21st century movie by my film college companion Edgar Wright ‘Hot Fuzz’ is better, primarily because it’s actually amusing.

I see little value in watching a desperately bleak future.

The present is horrendous enough as it is, without watching some artistic depiction of how much worse it’s going to get.

As one who suffers from depression anyway, this isn’t good therapy.

‘Hot Fuzz’, is good therapy.

It’s still about the cop being a good guy, but it’s so wonderfully perfect in its hilarious nonsense that it’s even suitable for family viewing with mother in the observation chamber.

It was a pet hate of mine as a young man in the 90’s, all these ‘cool people’ on serious drugs who loved ‘Bladerunner’ quoting the famous Rutger Hauer line as though they were some neo-Shakespearian replicant baddy, too cool for school because they were mainlining shit, quoting the famous line: ‘I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die’.

What a load of starry eyed nonsense. As if they even managed to replicate a tri-field subatomic cluster blaster.

When it comes to sci-fi, the greatest, and most romantic moment one could argue was when Princess Leia calls to Han across the room in ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and says ‘I love you’, to which Han, originally meant to say ‘I love you too’, subsequently says ‘I know’, and it’s so cool, and so ‘there’ cinematically, it was a major reason the film was STILL recently voted as ‘the best film ever made’ by Empire Magazine… Primarily, because in many regards, it was.

(What’s interesting is that the exchange of dialogue is repeated in ‘Return of the Jedi’, although the other way around, and in more positive circumstances, albeit still firing laser blasters).

You see, while ‘Hot Fuzz’ is better in my mind than Bladerunner, I can’t say it’s better than ‘The Empire Strikes Back’.

I’ve personally told Edgar this, and he’s baffled as he thinks it’s like comparing cinematic oranges with apples… but my point is, ‘they’re both fruit’, and one in my mind is far more entertaining than the other.

‘Bladerunner’ is more akin to an animated electronic poster of future vistas, than any real compelling story.

Which brings me to fairy tales, and how it bugs me when people call ‘The Bible’ a ‘fairy tale’.

That’s so insipid, shallow and wrong, I don’t deign to speak to such ill conceived limited minds of often nihilistic scientifically indoctrinated Anti-Christ agenda balderdash.

It’s like calling ‘The Matrix’ ‘tosh’, when it’s one of THE leading films of the 90’s, so artistically well conceived in its high octane philosophical narrative, that it was a cinematic ground breaker.

Anyone who knows how to make films will not tell you ‘The Matrix’ was bad. Only the dull and ignorant (who, according to the Desiderata, even have ‘their story’), could not find something to cherish in the first Matrix film, and regarding my personal inquiry into whether or not I can claim to be a genius in my own right, I CAN actually say with some certainty I DID know what the Architect was going on about in ‘Matrix: Reloaded’, so that at least sets me apart from 90% of mankind.

Which is not a totally accurate statistic, but a vaguely correct one, I imagine, and this imagining is not the quiet emitting of a lone psychotic, but rather, years of exploration into space station comms system ‘Facebook’, and just how many stupid people populate its techno finery.

I do like Facebook, but the memes are getting old, the jokes, unless they’re mine, are usually wearing thin, the increasing wealth of horror stories in the news so utterly dismal, if it even IS news, and not evil, damnable lies, and the chat limited as it tends to involve a neurotic on the other end too concerned with his own illusions of big brother welfare to really knuckle down to a heavy debate on contemporary politics, religion and ethics from a position of actual knowledge.

I say this as one who attempts religion almost at the Hasidic Jew level. (With the long temple hair of Leviticus to prove it), and not some high minded hippy strung out on drugs and making amazing guitar music to lead his flock to the precipice of rock and roll glory, wherever that leads, which is probably Hell in the case of ‘Slipknot’ or ‘a new sound’ in the case of slightly more pleasant renditions of the broad church of groove.

As one who attempts to live as religiously as an Hasidic Jew, with quasi-Nazi rages when angry, and a general consensus that I’m actually overall a ‘Christian’ to cover all sinful bases, it’s my ‘religion’ which really puts people off coming to see me and have a cup of tea on the rural veranda at my folks house.

The problem with my religion, is that it gets results… and as stated, people don’t like what they don’t comprehend or understand, because it’s beyond their comprehension and understanding, and thus, their twee little protective zones are potentially challenged as they exhibit often the most tedious of existences thinking ‘they’re the man’, while attempting to have me sectioned for such crimes as ‘knowing there’s a higher power’. (Which, for arguments sake, we shall call ‘God’ and not some high minded name coined after a moon cracker)

Personally, I can’t STAND the scum of this world… And were it not for my chronic stygiophobia, I would happily kill a lot of people… but don’t tell mother I said that, as years of diazepam putting up with an enlightened son has meant she believes we’re living in Heaven and everyone around us is a living Saint.

Which could be true, in part, until you go a few miles further in any direction and reach such ghastly places as Boscombe.

They say ‘reality only exists when it’s observed’, and I’ve observed Boscombe, and believe me, ‘reality isn’t that groovy’ in all the same places. I’ve also observed Windsor, quiet extensively, and that is a far superior reality to the crappy reality, so as realities go, I would rather live in a decent one than a naff one, which means I would need ‘finances’. Which means, according to ‘Matrix philosophy’ that makes me a baddy in the Matrix, because the religiousesque heroes all wear sackcloth and eat gruel as ‘they know the truth’, and the French bastard who makes a lady orgasm by feeding her a Sarah Lee chocolate cake is a nefarium like ‘Cypher’ from the first film because he’s so hungry for steak he sells out his mates in the matrix for illusionary techno food.

If this wasn’t bad enough, one of the visionaries behind the monumental film is now a lady boy… Which must SURELY challenge a few peoples levels of what ‘really’ constitutes the thinking behind ‘the Matrix’.

(“You see Neo, your congenital, interdependent gender identity is a fallacy built on genetic modelling designed, enhanced and controlled by the system moderators…” the Architect might say, for instance, in light of this modern nonsense where people are changing sex quicker than an Argos light bulb).

The problem I often face… is that my ‘reality’ wasn’t ‘logical’. This isn’t to say it didn’t happen, and wasn’t, of a kind ‘true’… but it didn’t always make coherent sense, and let’s face it, why should it, given that ‘actually’ we’re all on a smallish planet in the middle of seemingly infinite space being warmed daily by a local semi-massive star, and people thinking telling me about ‘tax’ is a raison d’etre when NO ONE has yet answered me the question ‘How much did the universe cost to build and what on earth is it for?’

To quote Jesus in the face of Satan, in a modernist colloquial roundabout way, ‘F*ck THAT in the name of all that’s holy’…

I knew one accountant in a business practice once in my life, where I once shamefully worked in porn (albeit as a censor), and I imagine he had the job because he could do basic maths, but was so fat and ugly, the poor guy has probably NEVER even been kissed.

Such is the sadness of most accountants, one can only imagine.

Still, being kissed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s slippery, quite slimy, prone to spreading bacterial disease, and rather childish.

I mean, consider two grown adults grasping each other and ‘snogging’ beneath a weeping willow beside a river bank. Grow up, FFS… You’re adults, not kids in some make believe cinematic fairy tale… If you want to collide the indescribably uglies, at least do so without having to tell the world of your all too common passions. Jeesh. Most times, sex is a doorway to nothing but trouble, all for a temporal and fleeting explosion of the glands and a squirting of grim juices.

Get a life… And if Nicki Minaj is ever seen singing ‘Anaconda’ in the Albert Hall, you’ll know the British Empire has well and truly collapsed.

Still, we glide on through this acreage of peace and fortitude amid the verdant scenes as best we can, and I must always remind myself to be sweet and gentle with the good folk of Britain, because some of them are so honest, loving, caring and trustworthy in their humble little worlds, it’s a wonder the entire local population hasn’t appeared as an entourage on ‘Pride of Britain’, which, if you haven’t seen it, is a program so wonderful and tear jerking, it has been used in clandestine torture practices by the foreign legion against ISIS spies to break the hardest and most darkened soul with tales of young heroism in the face of debilitating illness and wotnot.

The problem with being considered insane by the ugly masses is that ‘you know you’re not’, ‘you’re just experiencing a complex set of personal evaluations and experiences a mortal mind could never fathom during a response to a warped reality that is fundamentally problematic anyway’.

It must be virtually a sin to be normal in the religious world, hence why ‘unbelievers’ all burn in Hell according to St. John the divine.

Which is a little strong on final posthumous destinies, but nevertheless, ‘let that be a lesson to you’, yer fecking unbelieving chaff. Your lives are shite, your ideas are shite, your knowledge is pointless, and your comprehension is futile. Better to be a hated sheep, than a rich and famous goat, long term, sayeth the moi.

I know people are full of shit, because I’ve spent considerable time with the ex… Who is so hilariously devoid of all reason and rationality in her all too mortal knowledge, that even though she ‘attempts’ Christianity, it’s as though ‘eternal life’ is wasted on her, because her needs are so utterly trivial and consistently mortal it is merely a drug replacement as she spends half the time whining about existing. But enough of mad women… Let’s talk of angelic men, for the world needs a saviour, and I’m the man to try, as long as the noodles are delicious, the takeaway pizzas quality, and the dogs cute and fluffy – like Ewoks - rather than the protectors of the gates of Hell, such as my old cannabis dealer owns.

My old cannabis dealer – Lambert, we shall call him, for that was his name – is interesting in that he also shares the UK number one chart topping position of being ‘the most stupid person I’ve ever met’. Being stupid at his level I didn’t even know was humanly possible, yet, seemingly, it is.

It takes some dramatic non-functionality of the brain to be in one’s forties / fifties and not heard of ‘Dunkirk’ during World War 2. His lack of knowledge is so woefully improper, that each time on meeting him was like walking into the dreary den of the moronically stupid, past the Hell hounds, which would bark with teeth of ‘I desire to eat you alive’ every single time, and suffer a good five minutes of this appalling individuals company in order to procure some of God’s giggle bush. It takes a sterling amount of unpleasantness for a cannabis dealer to be so dumb, so tight on his deals, and so woefully unappealing, that he actually makes you want to quit the notorious herb.

Which, over the last three weeks, ever since the head smashing by scum youth, and the bank balance looking emptier than a Gary Glitter revival gig, is exactly what I’d done. Quit my life’s first love. The weed.

Surprisingly, the suffering from going a week without cigarettes wasn’t as hideous as I considered thanks to a patch that seems to have partially welded onto my upper arm… and the three weeks without cannabis (one of which was spent in hospital among lovely multicultural nurses) was remarkably free from Adolf Hitler-esque stress, but boredom, if even only fleeting, was and is a problem. Sobriety is rarely a state of mind worth bragging about at the best of times, hence why the world suffers from addictions.

One can only work for so many hours a day, and sleep for so many hours a day, without some need to enjoy oneself.

For a smoker, having a drink without a joint is like going on holiday alone, but that’s just me… and some people prefer crack cocaine and rapping with guns, so it’s all horses for courses.

I didn’t waste my time in hospital though. No Sir… I ensured I studied a good few movies, one of which was a documentary about Frank Zappa, which was excellent, because it proved to me I really should continue with my home based music because Frank had all the musical talent of a trod upon limpet. He was more of a political ideological sideshow of the times, than anything which warrants an artist’s credibility. The most interesting thing was that he hadn’t done drugs either. Certainly no LSD, and said of cannabis ‘I tried it a few times, and it made me cough a lot and fall asleep’, which, given the paucity of his musical ability, I can believe, seeing as he was all ‘anti-establishment vitriol’ and no talent to speak of whatsoever.

Personally, the weed makes me feel like a quasi-omniscient giggling human demi-God awash with beautiful insights and ideas and a reality augmented into the universal stratosphere… but the very nature of the pantheon of the Gods is such they can’t associate with mere mortals, and frankly, Zappa’s ideas of music should be consigned to the pits of talentless drivel beyond that of anyone, aside maybe from… no, I can’t think of anyone worse… and yes, I’ve considered Timmy Mallet, Lamb of God, Slipknot and the Kentucky fried chicken song amid the wall of dross of which I speak.

Whilst recanting the soundtrack to Hell, which is Slipknot, I am reminded of the time I took down a legion of their followers on Youtube one by one. (They were no match for my boarding school erudition).

They have a song, although it’s not really a ‘song’, but more a ‘delivery of noisy bilge’ called ‘People=shit’. Now whatever you think of the title, and how correct that might be, the track itself (I won’t deign to use the word ‘tune’), is abysmal mega ultra.

If it was inspired by the wall of sound movement, then the ‘wall’ is a Satanic black breeze block little number covered with hateful imagery, and doesn’t even function as a wall, which is designed to keep people out and keep roofs up, for instance. It’s SUCH a bad tune, that this is the only example I can think of where Frank Zappa possessed superior beauty in his – I use the term loosely – ‘craftsmanship’. Which is not much of a feat. It’s a bit like saying ‘Well, I think you’ll find Stalin killed many more of his own people than Hitler did’, which, while technically true, is not really a ‘talent’ so much as an unfortunate distaste for vast swathes of mankind… and to be honest, if all the music was like Slipknot’s ‘People = shit’, I too would be a little more genocidal in my motives.

Thank GOD then for ‘Girl’s aloud,’ ‘Steps’, ‘Disturbed’ and ‘The red hot chili peppers’, and a host of other bands of some actual musical merit which push the frontiers of contemporary pop into toe tapping and groovy new places that often display lighter capabilities.

Although the last album by the Chili’s wasn’t their best, with Josh Klinghoffer seemingly doing his best to singlehandedly ruin the great history of the masters of funk rock under the TRULY talented John Frusciante, some lament we are entering a time that is a musical nadir.

I don’t believe it myself however… I believe all times have their epic bands which resonate with the youth, combined with an ocean of average works, and a myriad of ‘not really very good at all’, and personally, I think the Beatles were well overrated and very bland to listen to in retrospect.

But hey, what do I know about music? I think the Christian band ‘Hillsong’ from South America make some of the most lush music I’ve ever heard, and being a Christian in the English music scene is like being Denzel Washington at a KKK rally.

Kasabian have some talent too in my mind, if you’re into neo-rock… They’ve been producing examples of some quality rocktastic music for a while, and the tune ‘The man’ by the Killers is great fun. One of the best pop tunes I’ve heard in some time.

But who is Pope Chuckles I, and what makes him tick? This book isn’t purely designed to discuss the finer aspects of chart topping pop, but rather, to be a self-aid manual for intergalactic believers finding themselves surrounded by futile atheism, or just generally bored and pissed off.

So SOME of the atheists are so smart, they designed the earth based matrix, or the ‘actual Death Star’, or what have you. The system, it could be argued, was genius… and in that it keeps much of us alive in a state of peaceful incubation, I’d be inclined to agree… but what really goes on behind the beautiful images which flash up on our screens? And what is reality REALLY about, given a culture stooped in fiction and high minded, drug fuelled festivals?

Well, it seems to me, from a ‘Christian’ perspective, that while ‘everyone is unique’, there are really only two camps of people. ‘The wheat and the chaff’… ‘the saved and the damned’… ‘the sheep and the goats’, and having spent ten hours in Hell once on the strongest LSD known to man, I don’t plan to return to a reality like Hell if I can help it for all the teleportation systems in China. I’d rather be religious, thought of as a loony, and saved, than unspiritual, atheist and thought of as a master of understanding, when the game of fates is of such eternal consequence it isn’t worth challenging God’s genius… It simply isn’t.

You… will… not… win…

God’s genius is second to none, often subtle when not threats of Hell fire and brimstone, and not to be intellectually abused.

I mean, how on earth did all this ‘reality’ come about anyway?

“Oh, thermonuclear forces during the big bang,” some bore might say down the pub quiz.

Well, fair enough, at one surface level perspective, but it’s not going to give you much of an interesting life knowing not only that ‘stuff is made from stuff, and it’s very small’ unless you’re going into the nuclear industry by trade.

So the universe is made of tiny particles. What a surprise.

It’s like saying a computer game is based on ‘1’s and 0’s’… We KNOW that… the point is… what is OUR EXPERIENCE OF THE GAME? What does the game INVOLVE from a personal level, visceral level?

THAT’s the territory Pope Chuckles is more interested in, not whether or not stuff is made of stuff, which, one would imagine, it is…

‘Consciousness’ is so wildly epic at one level, however torrid it can sometimes be, that I don’t understand why people aren’t skipping and dancing in the street more often with the sheer cheap thrills of being alive

We’re fecking EXISTING!!!! Does that mean nothing but whining and depression, obsession with vile genitals, and feeding the peasants at fast food stores?

But no… show a little too much ‘independent cerebral zeal’ around here, and they’ll think you’re a criminal for ‘thinking outside the box’ in some more rustic pubs. Some, might even want to kill you out of envy.

Heaven knows I’m considered dangerous by some because I’ve read a few books and been to a good school.

I probably AM dangerous in some respects. When sitting in a passenger seat of someone’s car, I have strong compulsions to shoot guns at nonentities. Some girls desire to be boys, and vice versa, and their needs are met, so why aren’t mine credible? Sexual immorality is a major offence to God, but try teaching THAT to the wealth of perverts out there who think they’re all free and living the dream as they have their unmentionables pounded by goats. It’s disgusting, actually, and makes me enraged with holy lividity, but am I consoled with my ‘all man status’? No. I’m considered an arsehole for believing in the word of God… Well, screw you philistines, I shall await in my suburban monastery for the return of Jesus Christ on his intergalactic spaceship and to Hell with the modern damned!

‘Reality’ being made of stuff isn’t quite the marvellous revelation people would have you believe.

The more interesting question is: ‘What is reality for?’… To which one initial answer could be ‘to explore and experience’, even if this is in the mind.

Everyone in the 80’s tried to boost their intellect and sound all so clever by reading Stephen Hawking’s ‘A brief history of time’… but as many will tell you, it was a turgid effort to get through, and what do we learn for certain the other side of a black hole anyway? We didn’t. And we still don’t know. So where’s that got us?

Having been ‘experienced’ and stepped beyond the event horizon of consciousness, I can tell you that what you do NOT want to happen, is ‘eternal suffering’, in this dimension or the next.

And it really does seem to be, that the only escape route ultimately from a place of horrendous ill feeling and eternal torment, is Jesus Christ… the ancient avatar of light, sent on a mission to earth to illuminate mankind with a variety of lessons, and liberate us from the jaws of many a grim notion such as exacerbated by a certain middle eastern paedophile warlord, and his evil pursuits.

Some claim ‘religions are all saying much the same thing at the end of the day’, which is ignorance of the highest order. The very purpose of a decent religion is to escape the horrendous clutches of another, and liberate the psyche from oppression, ignorance, and torment. Religion isn’t about ‘controlling the masses’, like the Satanic and delusional believe. It’s about setting us soulfully free and liberated from the methods of the evil ones.

I cooled as I relaxed into the Captain’s chair of my ship.

I would ‘like’ to say the world depended upon me for my vision, and cutting edge style, but it seemed, not even the sheep in the paddock could give a stuff about me, and thus, while inhabiting the controls of a vicarious intergalactic cruiser with minimal cyber connection to the denizens of planet earth, who mostly hated me because I wasn’t gay; solitude was once again my only friend.

Ignorance is bliss… Knowledge of the holy prophecies is so far removed from ‘ignorance’ it’s a wonder the Bible hasn’t been banned for threats of future crimes against humanity in the future, or at least, made X rated.

Still, it’s good knowledge to know that there are lethal angels prepared to kill millions of people at any given moment should people do too much bumming… Which, frankly, I’m amazed they’ve even tolerated up until now, what with the wealth of sin on display in murkier contours of the internet, or, if you will, Earth’s observation zone.

The only thing exciting me since hospital was the likely promise of a new computer system. A super spec high grade new mother of a terminal for composing new music, writing books, and generally flying into cyberspace with the mind set to full textual assault on all illiterate members of ‘the dark religion’.

I’ve yet to meet a Muslim who knows the truth about enlightenment… Heck, I’m yet to meet ANYONE who knows the truth about ‘enlightenment’, but think they know the truth, they do, as they continue to espouse illicit bile and absolute ignorance as though surfing the oceans of moronism as an extreme sport.

Adrenalin junkies I can kind of understand. It must be so cool, if you can do it, to leap off a mountain and fly with a wing suit and parachute… Fantastic. Trouble is, I’m not designed to actually fly per se, other than in cranial vision, and no doubt I’d ‘get it wrong’, fold in an arm or something to pick my nose, and collapse to the ground in a rolling heap breaking all my bones, if not killing myself in the process.

While I have experienced my fair share of living on the edge, as one who attempts wisdom, ‘the cusp of a precipice’ is no place to build a long standing foundation, and planning permission would probably not be allocated for reasons of health and safety. It’s also not an ideal place to raise children, seeing as how they have a tendency to fall off anything and everything and run into things at high speed.

What really narked my plums however, was while under parental supervision, once again, I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind.

Because I had one.

Because they didn’t agree with some of it.

You’d be hard pressed to know how Hollywood conjures all these action packed films when it comes to the intellectually dormant like my parents and many others I know.

Imagination, Einstein was once claimed to have said, is more important than knowledge… And I can see why.

Ever since a child, I’ve been at play in the fields of the cognitive Star Wars Lords… Where my ideas and my visions are allowed to play out in a wealth of solitude and freedom. I would say ‘loneliness’, because I am usually alone, but I am not lonely. ‘Loneliness’ is a horrible feeling I’ve only felt once, in a field, surrounded by thousands of people. ‘Being alone’, while sometimes a little boring, is nonetheless positively idyllic compared to the company of an idiot… And while so many irreligious fools think they’re all knowing in a world of microchips, designer drugs, planes, cars, alleged brainwashing and TV’s, if they knew the truth about ‘enlightenment’, they wouldn’t be so quick to mock the Bible, or, indeed, me.

Frankly, to not have studied the New Testament, is in my mind, the height of ignorance. Modern people think they have a monopoly on derived intelligence, when it’s completely without any comprehension of spiritual reality whatsoever, and not even their own work half the time.

One of the only interesting things anyone has ever said to me was my old toking partner ‘D’, who had a vision of a space ship one day on drugs. (He also had a nice idea once about everyone at school trailing a ball of coloured wool so we could see the pattern they make over time).

Most people waste their lives in mundane jobs, with their mundane minds, achieving little in the way of greatness. Those who DO achieve greatness are correctly lauded, but they’re few and far between. For every other Marie Curie, or Oppenheimer, or Rachmaninov, there’s a host of non-entities all judging people in bars on the clothes they wear, arguing over who the fittest member of ‘Big Brother’ is, or some such transient, unimportant crap like that.

Indeed, Oscar Wilde once stated ‘fashion is something so ugly, it has to be changed every fifteen minutes’… which has much truth to it. The Cavaliers and the roundheads mostly battled it seems over who looked cooler in their military regalia, and who had the more lofty notions of the time. The idea of fighting over religion or ideology in my mind is a nonsense in the modern world… but fighting against blatant evil? That, I can understand… the problem is, ‘evil’ isn’t a symptom indicative of any one nation of people, and if stupidity was a crime, Earth would be transformed into a penal colony. Which some argue it already is… but if it is a space age penal colony, then the outside spaces are often rather pleasant, and the music over the prison radio is sweeter, progressive and more liberated in the West than the East.

No… While some places I would rather not visit due to appalling crime and people, I still believe the earth is some kind of cosmic gift from a divine force, and ‘decent consciousness’ is a thing of remarkable good fortune. Indeed, liberty and hilarity for all, should be a welcome legend to champion for a nation, but that hilarity is only marred in the mindsets of evil doers, who all exhibit ‘schadenfreude’ as a source of comedy, which isn’t true wit or humour at all, but a desperately pernicious state of mind usually employed by utter criminals.

Perhaps the future war will be exactly that… Good comedy versus evil comedy…