The Cleansing 5 – Chapter 1 continued

Posted on by Opher

The sequel to Judgement

Far away on Gestor, the home planet of the Federation and seat of the United Federation of Races, Beheggakegri, Head of UFOR, reclined on his luxopexi sampling dainties served by his trusty luxoservor Limo, and brooding. One by one the morsels were flicked by his bright blue forked tongue, straight through his elongated buccal cavity into his oesophagus with hardly a tickle of a taste bud. Not that Beheggakegri noticed. Consumption was habit. His mind was elsewhere.

He shifted his enormous frame to become more comfortable. The pressure of blubber pressing outward caused bulges between his scutes. So much so that it was hard to see him as a reptilian Dref. His contours resembled a portly Amphibian Leff with absurd scales glued on. Not that Beheggakegri gave a nexy.

On the mense his comulator winked with a stream of urgent issues requiring attention — documents to sign, decisions to make, reports to read. Beheggakegri remained oblivious. Of the hundreds of operations underway, only one occupied his thoughts. His mind was cemented on Hydra and that infernal mindsore Commander Chameakegra with her stupid experiment.

He was certain she was doing it deliberately, just to annoy him. What had Judge Booghramakegra been thinking? How could she have made such a foolish decision and sided with a vukse like drangling Commander Chameakegra, the crazy dissident lunatic?

Beheggakegri seethed. He blamed it all on Sang. That stupid Solarian had appointed her. What could you expect from an amphibian? He’d given Sang a list of judges he wanted. How had that worked out? Stupid rules and regulations. Not one of his choices available, and that idiotic wet‑backed overgrown tadpole Sang refused point blank, even when ordered, to bend the rules. Downright infuriating.

Dainty followed dainty, washed down with quality synth. None of it lifted his mood. Commander drangling Chameakegra was driving him mad. He despised everything about the female reptile — the arrogant tilt of her fluorescent crest, the sleek gloss of her scutes. She had been safely out of the way on the periphery, yet those fools had not only brought her back from that vacuum, they’d conspired to give her central billing. Somehow she’d squirmed off the hook he’d devised and convinced that drangling Judge Booghramakegra her crazy idea was worth pursuing.

Drangling Sang and Booghramakegra. Hang the two of them.
What to do about it?

First Date – Bodies in a Window Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

This is very much based on autobiography. I am standing in the hospital room with my dead father looking out the window. Partially it it my own life. Partly it is the people walking past. We knit together.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window

So for our first date I invited Jenny to this party. We were going as a foursome. I was bringing my friend Rich and she was bringing her friend Pat. Rich was not so much into Kerouac and poetry but he liked good music and knew what was happening. He was a good guy to have on board. We always seemed to find the hip joints and he always found the best bands. I was much too disorganised to do that on my own. I needed Rich to organise me. Rich was hip in his own way, different to me but he certainly knew where it was at.

I’d been at school with Rich. He had been the coolest cat in class. His hair was greased back with a big quiff that was so long it could reach his chin. Right from early on he had liked all the good loud Rock Music, Little Richard and Eddie Cochran. I bought that Eddie Cochran Memorial album off him, and had this cool motor scooter that he’d adapted. He’d taken all the fairing off and lowered the seat by taking away the petrol tank. He’d replaced that with a motorbike tank. Then he’d put these great ape-hanger handlebars on. It was so groovy. Everybody looked up when he rode it through town. It was a real girl magnet. They loved drooping themselves on it, hanging off the back. He was always popular. Rich was a good guy to have around.

The other thing about Rich was that he had well-off parents and was the first of us to get a car. He taught me how to drive. At least he sat there in the front of the car drinking beer while I drove. We just went off for hours driving aimlessly through the countryside. Whenever I asked him which way he’d say – straight on – it’s always straight on. We always got somewhere and found our way back home.

Rich was cool.

The party was a wash-out though. It was as dead as a doornail and Pat and Rich didn’t seem to be hitting it off too well either. It looked like the evening was turning into a disaster. We were sitting around in the gloom rather despondently wondering what to do. It was time to head out of there and nobody had any idea of somewhere better. It was beginning to look as if the pub might be the best option.

To my surprise Jenny announced that her parents were away and she had the house to herself. We could go round there. It sounded a bit too good to be true. I really fancied her and the idea of getting her alone was great. It sounded to me as if we might be up for some action.

We hustled up some beers from the offy and were out of there like a shot. Rich had his foot right down to the floor.

It didn’t quite pan out like I imagined. Back at her place, things went a bit pear-shaped, we sat around talking and drinking beer and having a laugh but somehow it did not develop into any raving sex scene, mainly, looking back, because Pat really did not fancy Rich one bit. Weirdly we found ourselves sitting around bemused while Jenny played the piano to us. Pat read us some French poetry – Baudelaire and Rimbaud – quite cool stuff but all too intellectual and intense the way that Pat delivered it. I was intrigued but Rich was bored to tears. He wanted some action. I did too. I only had eyes for Jenny.

Jenny and I had a little snog before the end of the evening but that’s as far as it went. It was obvious that Pat wasn’t interested in Rich and that put a down on the whole thing developing any further. Rich was not sophisticated enough for her tastes. I wasn’t either by all accounts. She’d made that quite clear to Jenny the next day. To her eyes I was as uncouth as Rich. Though that didn’t come out until later and didn’t seem to put Jenny off me. We seemed to hit it off. I don’t think anything would have made any difference to that. It was visceral.

In some ways, many ways, it was a boring evening but strangely I didn’t find it so. I was besotted with Jenny. Just being around her was good enough for me. Sex was a bonus but did not seem anywhere near as important as usual. When I got home, with Rich’s grumbling in my ear, I was buzzing with Jenny. I’d spent the evening with her and she’d agreed to see me again. What could possibly be better?

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Yet more 53 and imploding Kindle/Paperback

Posted on by Opher

This is another short instalment of my stream of consciousness antinovel. I think it is thought-provoking and different:

53 and imploding 

Does death scare you?

            The universe is so big that our egos do not even have the significance of a speck of dust; our intelligence is laughable. From my perspective your Leah jet can’t get you there and your wealth can’t buy a single star. Your beliefs won’t gain you a second more and all your possessions will be passed down to others and decay.

            The only good thing is that one day all traces of us will cease to exist and our place in the history of the universe will be as if we had never breathed.

            All we have to play with is the present. We can build futures. We can stop suffering. We can care. We can make this second perfect. Surely that is a worthwhile aim?

I hear the ticking. Each tap on this keyboard could have been spent differently. I continue to tap until something more important comes along. I would like to see what that might be.

I would like to be happy. I continue to send reports from the termitarium. These are the sermons on the mound.

I am sitting at my computer in my room and tapping in the contents of my mind. Can you glimpse me between the words or is the person you think you’re seeing merely a shadowy fiction?

            The first rule is that whatever starts off in idealism usually ends up bogged down in practicality.

That is the way it is planned.

53 and imploding eBook : goodwin, opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

53 and imploding Kindle/Paperback

Posted on by Opher

I wrote this stream of consciousness antinovel twenty-two years ago! I still love it. Here is an excerpt from 53 and imploding . You might find it upsetting!

53 and imploding – another small bit!

How can you be happy when each new panacea for the world’s problems is a system run by leaders with vested interests? And none of them can be trusted?

How can you be happy when the aim of dominant males is to dominate everything that breathes – even if that means annihilating everything that lives – just as long as they end up top dog? Better to be undisputed leader of the last ten rather that a leader of a billion among many leaders of billions. They cannot rest while there is still one other potential leader.

            How can you be happy when your life is all about owning a third DVD player, another TV and a swish car and you feel shit because your phone is the wrong colour, shape or size? When you are obsessed with the label on your clothes, your body shape and muscle definition? When your new IPad cannot shop fast enough? You need a new one.

            How can you be happy when the world is being covered in concrete, corporations buy off politicians, MacDonald’s has a branch on the Amazon river, (which is now concrete lined), the last tree is in a museum and the music you listen to is a product of a mass industry?

            How can art be a commodity? How can creativity be assessed?

            How can you be happy when nobody cares about the scant600 Mountain Gorillas we have left? When the world is so depraved that a rich millionaire can pay a fortune to get hunters to kill three precious gorillas in order to capture a baby gorilla, have it ripped from its dead mother’s arms and hauled off to America so he can have it for a pet?

            How can you be happy when a moronic footballer’s salary is hundreds of thousands a week? Stupid, selfish, greedy Rock Stars, actors and actresses earn millions and babies lie bloated for want of a bowl of rice? A millionaire buys a trip on a spaceship while a whole nation festers in their own excrement?

53 and imploding eBook : goodwin, opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

Extract from the antinovel: 53 and imploding Kindle/Paperback

Posted on by Opher

I live in a nice house that is three hundred years old. The doorways and ceilings are low because people were smaller back then. Even I have to occasionally duck. It used to be a farm, a pair of two-up two-down cottages, and a shop and now it is my home. The mortgage is completely paid off. I own it. Except in reality I am merely passing through. I will leave it to my wife and then my children. It will be lived in by others after me. It will be altered, decorated, knocked around, improved and no evidence of me will remain. I am passing through.

I love this house. It is warm and cosy. It has room to stretch out. We have invested much time and energy into making it a home. It houses my books, records, CDs and computers. I am comfortable here. There is a sense of history in the walls. They lean and tilt, the floorboards creak, and the ceilings sag. It is happy with the way it has settled into itself and redolent with the memories of unseen people. I have grown into it and lean and sag to the same extent in sympathy.

I am passing through.

53 and imploding eBook : goodwin, opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

Extract – Nick Harper: The Wilderness Years Paperback/Hardback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

Extract – Nick Harper: The Wilderness Years Paperback/Hardback/Kindle

The one mystery surrounding Nick’s career concerns the level of success he has so far achieved. It boggles me to think that he has not risen to the heights, received the recognition and walked away with awards. He surely deserves it. His time will undoubtedly come. Skills like his do not go unnoticed forever.

I suggested writing a book with and about Nick many years back but he was not keen. Nick is a modest man who neither seeks to inflate his achievements nor crow about them. He simply did not feel he had done enough to warrant a book. There was also the business side of it. Nick naturally shies away from any aspect of the business that is concerned with money making. He abhors anything smacking of exploitation. He feels that he is privileged to be able to do what he does; which is to create and play music. That should be sufficient. He is grateful when anybody enjoys his music and still amazed that he has a ‘career’ and people actually pay to see him. Nick refuses to see himself as a part of the music business or his songs as a commodity. Despite the fact that he knows he has to make a living he is not about to exploit his supporters by producing ‘product’. He does what he feels is right. He writes songs because they are an expression of how he feels. He is the same person on and off stage. There is no eye on the market.

Nick is extremely ambitious in only one aspect; he wants to get better as a singer, musician and writer and pushes the boundaries continuously. When it comes to promoting his career, getting on radio and TV, or looking at potential marketing he tells me he is lazy. That is not true. It is not so much laziness as a disinterest in doing anything that he is not inclined to do.

Nick is one of a rare breed who has integrity. He is genuine and honest. What you see is what you get. He’ll give you time after a show because he wants to. He is genuinely in awe that you should bother to make the journey and pay to see him play. Playing is what he loves doing. He’d do it for free. The guitar is not just a meal ticket to Nick; it is a friend he needs to play in order to keep sane.

Nick Harper: The Wilderness Years: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781678850661: Books

Neil Young Book now available in Kindle version!

Posted on by Opher

Sonicbond Press have started to release their books (my books) in Kindle versions. My Neil Young book is now available in both paperback and kindle!

Neil Young 1963 to 1970: Every Album, Every Song (On Track…): Amazon.co.uk: Opher Goodwin: 9781789522983: Books

Beatles White Album Book now available in Kindle!

Posted on by Opher

SonicBond are slowly but surely bringing out their books (my books) in Kindle versions. The Beatles Classic Album is one of them. It is now available in both paperback and kindle versions!

Everything you ever dreamed of knowing about the greatest Beatles album, its recording and inception!

Phil Ochs: Every Album, Every Song – Paperback – Finally out Tomorrow!

Posted on by Opher

was the ‘The Prince of Protest’ in the sixties. The only real rival to Bob Dylan, he was the archetypal Greenwich Village topical songwriter. Whether protesting the Vietnam War or campaigning for civil rights, workers’ rights and social justice, Phil was always there. Phil was the man to take up causes, write songs, play at rallies and even risk his life. His clear voice and sense of melody, linked with his incisive lyrics, created songs of beauty and power. As his career progressed, with lyrics and music becoming more highly poetic and sophisticated, he still never lost sight of his cause. Towards the end of the sixties he joined with the YIPPIES in protest against the Vietnam War. But idealism became Phil’s downfall. He was an idealist who could see no point in continuing if he was unable to make the world a better place. Phil lost all hope and descended into depression, which, along with excessive alcohol consumption, led to his suicide in 1976. Shortly before he took his life, Phil asked his brother if he thought anyone would listen to his songs in the future. Well here we are; sixty years later, still listening. The songs of Phil Ochs are every bit as relevant as they ever were and they are making the world a better place!

Another extract – Bodies in a Window – Paperback

Posted on by Opher

I thought a further extract was in order to show that the book was not all about morbid death; there is morbid life too!

All the characters have different lives, different voices and different stories. There are young and old, sex, madness and fun and a range of different perspectives.

Extract:

I don’t understand it at all. The whole world has gone nuts. I can’t comprehend what has happened to young people. They don’t have any values. They are rude, scruffy and ungrateful. We fought a war, two wars, so that they could have everything we didn’t and they throw it back in your face. It makes me bewildered. Sometimes it makes me angry and sometimes it makes me sad but mostly it leaves me in despair. I just don’t understand – still, never mind, best to get on with it. The whole world has gone to pot. Put it to one side and forget about it. That’s the way.

Best listen to the telly and forget it.

I could feel Tom settling his head on my lap. I ruffled his head and he settled contentedly on the settee with his head in my lap – his favourite position. Margaret would never have stood for it – him being up on the furniture – unhygienic and dirty – not the done thing. She was house-proud. She wouldn’t have had him in up on the settee – not a chance in hell. Makes me chuckle to think about it. He most likely wouldn’t have ever been allowed in the front room. She’d probably have railed against him being in the house at all, but she would have eventually compromised and allowed him a bed in the corner of the kitchen.

I miss Margaret. She had standards. We didn’t use the front room at all when she was alive. She had the furniture covered and put newspaper down on the floor for us to walk on. You should have seen the caper when someone called unexpectedly; all that crumpling it up and shoving it in the cupboard. The sitting room was for guests. She kept it pristine. We lived in the kitchen. The rest of the house was done to a turn as well. She polished the doorstep every morning, dusted, swept, cleaned and washed until everything was shiny and spotless. Even when she was really ill she kept up the same routine. Nothing stopped her. She had principles. It is sad that I’ve let it go like I have, but I was never like that, really. Besides, I’m past caring.

I wasn’t like that back then. She used to nag me rotten. But I’ve let things slip. I know it. She’d be horrified if she came back now. She’d probably have a fit. But Margaret has been gone these last twenty years. She is not coming back. I’m on my own. Well, apart from Tom that is. Tom is my only companion now.

It will be Coronation Street soon. I like Coronation Street. Ena’s got herself in a right strop with Minnie. I can’t wait to see how that one is going to turn out. Then I might watch Harry Worth and call it a night. I’ll take a hot cocoa up to bed with me. I used to like to read but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. My reading days are over. I even have trouble watching the telly now. I have to watch it out of the corner of my eye.  It’s an effort. Everything’s a bloody effort these days.

Best listen to the telly and forget it.