Connections


From many years ago…Trying to re-kindle my lust.

TALES UNRAVELLING.

It all seems so clear one minute, And the next, It’s as cloudy as ever.
On clear nights, When the planets and stars are visible on Earth, I find myself outside, Almost as if called to, Beckoned, Lead on. Or perhaps fooled.

I cannot have the connection that I once imagined I had.
For what purpose? Why to me? Surely, If at all, It would be reserved for those not on the fringes of society, But for those on the crest of a wave, surfing it with ease.

It’s not as though I never expect the extraordinary.
It was a matter of course for a long time, And when I sought, I found.
It would take me weeks, Months, And years to quantify these things in my life. Some will never be reconciled.

Yes, I certainly was privileged to be where I was, It did not always feel that way to me…

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Signals in ‘C’… (continued:2)


I kind of already knew when I started this new job that it would be unlikely serve me well as a career. I’d ended up drifting and for the ten or 11 years leading up to this latest , what I’ll call poor choice, and through summer,winter, hot,cold and indifferent modes of operation nothing could penetrate the defenses I had to raise to protect myself from the infiltration of the signalling.

As an enquisitive type(some say nosey) I would welcome ‘comms’. Sometimes it was more like a ‘ping’, imagine a rubber ball being fired at your head from somewhere, perhaps in a crowded room. You’re unlikely to be sure of the source of it but someone must have thrown it if it made contact,boing or thwack type of thing. Following the boing or thwack there will be shock and surprise on your part and possibly embarrassment, the kind that will trigger standard defense response. Scanning faces like a CCTV camera, looking for a smirk or nudge or clue, a likely culprit or at least someone to whom you can transfer the scowl on your screwed up face.

‘IC’s’ (intelligent/invasive comms) were not rubber balls however, more like target seeking transmissions, missiles which are directed  to specific places, people, and times. Much like a trojan virus enters a computer and spreads its invisible corrupting code throughout each and every system in a bid to cause disruption, pain, loss, infiltration, confusion…                   Galaxy to galaxy conference calling, multitudes of alien languages and recognisable,very definitive frequency patterns are being, and have been received by specialist Earth receivers for Centuries. Now ,I myself have documented such cooperative engagements. I have listened to ‘Alien garble’ flow from children seemingly tranced or ‘acting oddly’,making noises, twitching and contorting their bodies in highly rhythmic and strangely choreographed movements. I know for a fact that the same is true of Teenagers, young Adults, middle-aged folks, The elderly….  Paperboy, Burger technician, office jockey. Unemployed, Business owners, Mums, Dad’s, Son’s, Daughters, Rich, poor.. The subject is ultimately unimportant as all that matters is the interception and deciphering of the code.

Of course, this shouldn’t really be happening in our fair and civilized society you would like to think…

Not that I am intent on scaremongering or sensationalism, That would be resident at exactly the other end of the scale. Neither am I a whistle-blower, conspiracy theorist, I have never held a position of power or privilege….I am not special or superior to anyone, but I do feel a duty to share all that I know because the implications and far-reaching consequences for all of us are insurmountable.

‘I’m afraid that your confessional will have to be postponed Proxy.

Although I was sitting alone with my head-splitting, situations, visuals and what felt like white noise resonated heavily and painfully.

‘Oh for Fuck sake!’ was the fullest and defeated reply I could muster as my heavy head swung down to meet my open hands, Please, fucking’ ‘ell..Haven’t I done enough ?

The IC’s that I had personally experienced seemed at first to follow a certain trigger, a sequence of events would occur and even after the first Thirty five I grasped at straws, wrote fictional stories about it and hoped that someone else would recognise it, do the hard work as it were.

Here I am again digressing and branching out, off on a tangent which may be a circle.

I keep forgetting. Maybe that’s the point.

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Driving from one oil filled diesel pit to the next changing crud encrusted diesel filters, oil sludge traps. Toiling for hours on end crawling on hands and knees in pissing rain, hail wind and snow was the part of my employment I actually enjoyed. It was filthy and paid less than minimum wage. No overtime, No lunch, No drinking the Diesel and other petty rules. It ensured that I was engaged  in something, and They left me alone for a while…. I forget the time period however.

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“We’ve cut the A.I link. You may as well retire from this particular game, it’s over Proxy. Let it go! ”

Microphone head drawled with disinterest and began reeling off the spiel about how I had been invaluable, exemplary, establishing translation protocols between so many new worlds…Of course it was all bollocks, I and everyone else were used as live test subjects, 100% expendable. Virtually sentenced to Death every time we experimented. Our missions were classified as ‘One Way’ but of course, none of us were made aware of that small fact.

There is one saving grace however, and it will be our salvation. The A.I link thing ? The link they think they’ve cut !……

amber

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SIGNALS in ‘C’ (introduction)


Depending on where you access these notes, I mean to say at what point in the text you find yourself here, It would seem apt to wonder if this is the beginning of a story, the end of a story,
or maybe the middle bit..

If you want to read a book with a structured story, I suggest visiting a high street book store or looking online for popular novels about wizards, prostitutes, or bankers.
Because I’m not a writer, a story in the conventional sense is an alien concept to me and so the following are merely words which come into print through witchcraft, sorcery, Alchemy and such like. Watching words appear magically on a blank, white empty space never ceases to amaze and satisfy. It all must make perfect sense to someone, maybe the author who resides in a very different place from the one I inhabit. It is possible that we’ll meet someday but artistic differences will probably repel us like the opposing poles of a magnet. on consideration and consultation, we have mutually agreed not to ‘go there’, and so… Onwards.

My ‘ghost writer’ appears only now and then. She used to be alot more frequent, sometimes hung around all day and night for weeks or months on end, feeding my curiosity, leading me into situations and scenarios which were usually terrifying yet compelling, ridiculous, comedic at times but insanely rewarding on a level somewhere deep down where I’d never even imagined.

She is ‘c’ or ‘cc’, I am ‘r’ or ‘arsehole’, call me what you like, I will treat you in the same way, I’m like that you see, very polite. I call a lady ma’am and a gentleman Sir. Occasionally, I address people as cunts, but only close friends.
me and c have been ‘together’ many times before, in previous notes I have documented some of our collaborations which were ninety percent nightime journeys usually involving pitch black woodland, abandoned buildings in the middle of nowhere and an ever present stirring in the pit of my stomach. She beckoned and I obeyed, it may sound ridiculous but witnessing and feeling change,
the air pressure, temperature and sky scape transition as if controlled by some ‘guy in the sky’
pressing keys and pushing faders.. I knew pursuing this was neccessary, Nah, it was imperative,
I had a role in this, whatever it was and I was drawn in deeper and deeper until reality became nothing more than a distant relation.

“so” I heard her say…”what’s next?”….

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AMBER SIGNALS (part 1)


Prequel to Amber Signals..

TALES UNRAVELLING.

ALIEN CONCEPTS:

A case from the files of a spy in the nut house.

These short excerpts represent ‘A patients’  State of mind whilst receiving treatment for apparent psychosis. Ally (Assumed name), claims she originally hand wrote the statements and apparent messages and says she remembers doing so on certain occasions. Her consultant was sceptical. After studying the pieces he devised a test to disprove her or to the contrary. What he discovered certainly wasn’t envisaged. The simple handwriting test was 100% conclusive, There was no doubt about that. Little things cropped up in the text however.

At first a couple of numbers caught his attention. Codes, Manufacturers I.D’s, Supposedly highly confidential and accessible only by a select few. Where did she learn of this?

‘ It was undeniable. Theres no doubt in my mind, Sure. Okay then, Where are we at this juncture I remember saying outloud- It’s  an…

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CAROUSEL CONSTANT


From 2011

TALES UNRAVELLING.

When I realised that I was stuck on this carousel forever, literally, I thought it would have hit me harder.
I guess I was still waiting for the punchline, In a manner of speaking.

‘It would make compelling viewing, I was here, There, Everywhere, All at the same time’
It started to come back to me and began wondering what would happen in the next episode…

The lights and hubub of the crowd. The smell of burning diesel, Hot toffee apples, Candy floss, Meat. Pounding Bass spun in the atmosphere, Re-arranging the pressure.
The shouts, Screams, Smiles, the laughs and the tears.
Gears grinding, Wheeld turning, Pistons in constant and content motion.
People in motion.
I remembered the people mover, The perambulator, And our night games…

If I thought about it too much, it would reduce me to a wreck.
She was there, Right there, Close to me.
She was…

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‘PERSPEXii’ – I looked through. (2004)


From 2011

TALES UNRAVELLING.

Like an emotional ampifier the music reflected my soul and fed it back to me. Memories which are stirred, Vivid, detailed, Precise and concise implants which I have no recollection nor real understanding of in this life.

It’s not so easily dismissed, If it was a case of  ‘IGNORE and FORGET’ , I wouldn’t suffer as much when I landed. This searching stuff sounds ridiculous in print, It is because of this that I have largely stopped reading it, So forgive me if tangents turn into Monumental changes of direction, It’s definately not edited, It’s dis-jointed and may not make sense at first.

These are merely out-pourings of spuriousness which spill forth in a torrent of fast flowing garbage.

The main point of the blog is to get everything into print. All the loose leaf A4 and countless notepads full of scribbled words, which as a collective would make an…

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‘TRANSITION’ (Amber signals ch1)


From 2011….

TALES UNRAVELLING.

For the last sixteen days Ally had emerged only at night, Shrouded in darkness, Shying away from contact and light. Spending hours often in temperatures less than bearable to most. It was her special place, A place for escape and a place where she felt relaxed and able to open up to herself. And only herself she thought.

The orange haze emanating from the row of street lamps about fifty feet below allowed her to still see the team of rabbits that lived in the hill around the harbour.  Watching intently, crouching dangerously close to the sheer edge of the higher harbour wall, Ally felt a connection with the animals, Not like she were able to talk about the weather or the price of carrots, But that they were aware of her presence in their world at night and seemed comfortable with that.

They were doing their usual thing, Hop…

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