My surreal Sixties book – Chapter 25 – kettle

Posted on by Opher

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Messing finished the housework and decided to relax with a cup of tea by the fire. He always liked the ambience of a good coal fire and liked to lose himself in the flickering flames.

He went into the kitchen, filled the kettle with just enough for a single cup and switched it on.

While he was waiting for it to boil he began putting together the necessaries. He retrieved the milk from the fridge, took a mug off the stand and spooned in one dollop of coffee and two sugars. He poured some milk in and returned the carton to the fridge.

He stood with his hands on the counter waiting on the kettle.

‘Instant coffee,’ he thought to himself. ‘One of the plagues of Western society.’ Messny preferred real coffee but beggars could not be choosers.

The kettle began to whistle as it boiled. The kettle clicked off but it still continued to boil. Messny frowned and flicked it off at the wall switch. It still continued to boil madly.

‘Damn!’ Messny exclaimed, staring at the kettle in disbelief. ‘I turned it off!’ He flicked the switch up and down but it made no difference.

Messny pulled the plug from the socket but the kettle continued to boil furiously. He held it up in the air with the cord dangling as it bubbled madly.

My weird Surreal Sixties book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 24 – conclusion

Posted on by Opher

Well I quite enjoyed rewriting that. The conclusion was just as I remembered. Very exciting. I was very much into gestures and still am.

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Messny had lived in this harmonious manner for over five years, apart from humanity. Fortune had favoured him for he had never so much as encountered another man.

It was in the course of his sixth year that life changed and his peace was shattered.

They began to construct a road across the hills to connect the cities. This was the modern age. Time was money. They were no longer content to skirt around the moor. Progress demanded growth, speed and expansion. Profit was the only consideration. Now that the construction industry had the means to deal with the inhospitable terrain there was nothing to hold them back.

The first Messny knew about it was when the team of surveyors appeared on the moor to reconnoitre the area. He watched them from afar. They were soon followed by the bulldozers and construction crew. A paths was gouged. Mounds of rock and soil was strewn around. The moors around were soon strewn with discarded junk and waste.

As the weeks progressed they blasted through the rock leaving jagged, scarred passes like gaping wounds. Clouds of fumes and dust rose into the air and the serenity of the moors was shattered by the roar of the massive earth moving monsters as they ripped and clawed at the living land.

Messny watched helplessly as the strip of tarmac grew, the wild-life fled and the green plants were covered in the cloying dust. He stood and watched as the hills vibrated with the impact of each body blow and he winced.

Messny’s heart was moved to pity. It was the first time in his self-imposed exile that he had felt helpless. He grimaced in pain as the rape of the land continued and saw that his way of life was doomed to end. Once the road was laid the traffic would roar along day and night. The wildlife would retreat, the peace would be gone and his ability to carve a living out of the desolate wilderness would be compromised. There was no place left for him or the creatures out here in this forgotten space. There were all to be harried and chased away.

Messny saw the future. It would be the same where-ever he went. Each new place would only provide a temporary respite. Each time the bulldozers would come to bury the land in concrete. They would never be content until every hill was flattened, every tree felled and even the remotest places were beset by fumes and noise. The tourists would come to stop and take their snaps, to leave their litter and marvel at the beauty they were busy destroying with every single step.

Messny stood helpless before the onslaught of a relentlessly expanding civilisation. He could on watch in agony as it grew and engulfed every part of the thing he loved and felt part of.

At night Messny lay under the blanket of stars and explored his heart. There was no escape. There was nowhere left to retreat to. He had no alternative. They would seek him out where-ever he went. He could not shake that vision of the future out of his mind.

It was time to make a stand and face the problem head on.

He waited until darkness drove the workmen from the hills back to the light and warmth of their homes, their meals, families, TVs, central heating and computers – perhaps down to the pub for a pint or two. Messny waited.

When they were gone he struck. The walls of the compound were no barrier to one such as him. He destroyed, set fire to and wrecked everything he could lay his hands on. He vented his hatred in an orgy of destruction. By the time he had finished everything on the site was laid to waste.

But even as he wearily returned to his home he was engulfed in sadness. He knew it was futile. It would not make any real difference. In the big scheme of things it was a minor set-back. The equipment would be insured and replaced. The project would continue.

The next morning, concealed in the undergrowth, he watched the men return, as they drove up and surveyed the smouldering ruins of their machines. They milled around in confusion.

Police were summoned and they poked around among the wreckage for clues. The site was sealed off and swarmed with people like a freshly disturbed ant-heap.

Over the ensuing days it calmed down. Repair teams arrived. The destroyed vehicles were removed and, as predicted, replaced.

There would be no end, no quarter or respite. Ahead lay only futile escalation tinged with a gesture of defiance. But Messny was aware that this was all any man could ever hope to achieve. To stand up for what you believe was at least something worthy.

Messny resolved to continue to the bitter end.

In the beginning he remained unseen, coming at night to evade the guards, thwart the dogs, to block the road, to damage the machines and cause the maximum destruction and chaos.

He could see that it was not going to stop them. It became a battle without any hope of victory. The police activity grew until the whole area was a mass of uniforms and security cameras. The work was slowed but not halted. In the day they had sniffer dogs out and helicopters hunted him. He had to use all his skills to evade them.

Messny decided to alter his strategy and bring it all to a head. It was time for total war. He could not continue like this. It was only a matter of time before they tracked him down. Already the wildlife had moved away and he could no longer hunt in daylight he had been reduced to raiding the sheep from the adjacent moorland, cooking the meat a distance from his home and spending time covering his trail. He knew they would soon stumble across his home no matter how cautious he was.

Messny gathered his weapons together. They were rudimentary but lethally effective. He had crafted spears, bows, arrows and knives. He had developed the necessary skills. He knew how effective they were through his success with large animals such as the deer. He selected his best. He was set on using them on something more than game.

That night Messny ventured off to the outskirts of town and commandeered a horse. Returning to his camp he set about his preparations. He bathed himself in smoke and sat immobile as the image of the flames purified his mind. He made his peace with the world, allowing his thoughts to journey back through all the places and people he had known, to thank the spirit that flowed through them all and connected them, to give thanks for the beauty and pleasures and to say his farewells. By the time he had completed his rituals he was prepared for death.

Using pigments he had created from the minerals and herbs he painted himself and the horse using symbols and designs that flowed out of his spirit. He discarded his clothes, cut his long beard and plaited his hair. The only thing he wore were the belts necessary to carry his weapons.

When all was ready he led the horse to the top of the hill overlooking the moors and stood on the tor as the sun began its journey above the rim. He watched as the light crept into the clouds and drove the darkness back. He watched the clouds festooned in their purples, mauves and rosy reds and he gave thanks. He was saying goodbye to the beauty, wonder and mystery he had shared. He was making peace with the universe for the last time.

He stood bathed in that glow, silhouetted against the sky – a man.

Some things were worth dying for.

When the sun was up and the last star had been swallowed he turned his back, mounted the horse and headed off to his destiny.

Messny breasted the hill and looked down at the crew below. They had opened the gates of the compound and were milling around preparing for the work ahead. Nobody noticed the lone horseman on the hill.

Messny urged the horse into a trot and as he approached he set it into a full-blown gallop. As he neared the startled faces, hearing the thudding of the hooves, turned to register the horse with the painted man bearing down at them.

He raced through the gates and into the compound sending people diving out of the way with shouts and warnings. He had already, like any hunter of worth, selected his target, the foreman supervisor who was standing in front of the office with a look of shock horror on his face.

Messny wheeled the horse and let fly with a single arrow. It struck dead centre through the heart. Without pausing he turned the horse and galloped back through the compound and out as the man crumpled and fell.

People were yelling; there was pandemonium, yet for Messny it was as if he was encapsulated in a bubble of silence where the entire world was slowed into a surreal unreality. Around him the faces were screwed into grotesque caricatures, mouths were open, screaming, but he heard nothing. Men were turning towards him, some appeared to be hurling rocks, some waving fists, some scrambling to their feet, some towards some away, but none of it penetrated his bubble. He guided the excited horse through the uproar and out through the gates.

As he headed back up the hill it unfroze, everything speeded up and the yells and fury followed like an explosion in his wake. At the top of the hill he turned the horse and stood looking down at the scene below. Below, in the chaos, men were shouting, pointing and gesturing; a bunch of them were gathered around the body on the floor. Messny could not see if the man he had shot was still alive. He doubted it. He could tell when he had loosed a shot that was true.

In among the calmness of his thoughts there were those of regret. That man had not been to blame. He probably had a wife and children, friends and relatives. Taking a life was a terrible thing to do. But who was to blame? He dismissed the thoughts and returned his mind to stillness. It was not over yet. There were still things to be done.

He sat on his nervous mount, holding it in check as it snorted and pawed the ground. He watched and waited. The time would surely come. The people in the compound continued to mill around, standing in small groups, gesturing wildly and pointing towards him. The angry noises drifted up to Messny on the wind. But not one of them made a move towards him.

Within an hour vans arrived. An ambulance on full blue light rushed up. Police spilled out of a variety of vehicles. Two big vans pulled up and armed police in full protective uniform slid out in well-oiled drill, weapons at the ready. They took up positions around the compound with many training their guns on him. But no shots rang out. He could see a discussion going on between those in charge. A helicopter appeared overhead. The ambulance roared away but there were no blue lights this time.

Messny waited patiently.

Finally he could see a decision had been arrived at. The armed police, anonymous in their flak-jackets, helmets and uniforms headed out of the compound and moved in an arc towards him. They spread out at the base of the hill responding to the guttural commands. All the rifles were pointing at him. The helicopter hovered lower overhead.

‘Dismount!’ A voice commanded from the sky. ‘Get off your horse! Lay down your weapons and raise your hands!’

Messny showed no sign of having heard the instructions. He stared passively down at the troops below as they fanned out through the undergrowth.

‘You have no escape! Get down off your horse now!’ The voice boomed.

Messny ignored it. His eyes swept along the line of troops assessing the strongest point. His mind was as clear as a mirror. His emotions were quiet. He knew he would know when the moment came. He blotted the voices out along with the chattering of the helicopter.

He looked back over the moors that he had called his home. There in the distance was the corrie he had lived in. All the colours of the heather, bracken and gorse glowed in such vividness that they brought tears to his eyes. What a beautiful world to have lived in. He looked up at the sky and imagined falling into that vivid blue. Gentle clouds drifted in the distance. The sun’s warmth was on his skin. It was a perfect day.

At that moment the time arrived.

With a shrieking whoop of delight he kicked the horse and sent it careering down the hillside towards the troops below. As he stormed towards them with one arm raised bow in hand shouts rang out, the loudhailer blared and he could see the gun barrels pointing as the troops raised their weapons to their eyes and sighted. He roared a great defiant whoop, gripped the horse tightly with his knees and tried to fit an arrow to the bow-string.

A series of cracks rang out. Messny felt as if he had slammed into a brick wall. He was smashed off the back of the horse as it careered madly on.

The media had a field day. There were photos of the painted madman who had killed the supervisor. There was even footage of his last stupid charge towards certain death. The whole world was enthralled by the ridiculousness of the White Indian and his war against the machinery. There was speculation about drugs and mental illness as well as conjecture and recrimination for his heartless killing of the poor foreman. The pictures of a painted Messny mounted on his painted horse became a common sight. Magazines and newspapers wrote endless articles as they delved into all the aspects of his life and picked over the remains of his campsite. Some environmental groups even adopted him as a symbol of rebellion against the madness that was destroying the world.

The road was built without further hindrance and in the days to come the traffic zoomed past oblivious to the spot where Messny had made his last gesture.

 

 

My weird Sixties book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 24 – Contentment

Posted on by Opher

I was definitely in my mystical phase here – unity with the cosmic flow that runs through us all and the universe – the universal vibration. I’m not so mystical now but I can still taste the vibe.

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Despite the passing of the years Messny never tired. If anything his affinity to the Earth had grown. He praised its wonders with every step. For him the truth of life resided in the mighty relationship with the universe around him. It had never let him down and he returned his energy to its cosmic dance to make it all the greater. This was where he belonged. This was his only home. He was rewarded and cared for in return for his energy. Nothing was ever wasted; everything belonged. He did not recognise any god nor believe any religion that man had invented, but chose to live in relationship with the unknown that could be felt with every breath and stained every sunrise with its majesty. The world was his church, the sky his holy book and the spirit of the universe moved through him, around him and was all he saw and dreamed. There were herbs to gather knowledge from and ways to clear his thoughts and enable him to penetrate deeper. He could stare into the void to gain guidance and clear his vision. It always brought him closer to himself and the electric hum of which he was part. It always filled him with more than he put in and filled him with a strength that can only come from knowledge and contentment.

My surreal Sixties book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 24 continued

Posted on by Opher

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At first Messny’s camp-site had been sparse. When he had first come to this place he had carefully selected a sheltered spot to put up his tent – a tiny one-man bivouac of thin waterproof canvas. He had chosen a small corrie for the start of his new life. The sides were steep and offered protection from the cutting winds. The area around was overgrown with bushes and undergrowth forming a natural oasis in the midst of the barrenness of the moorland.

The green of the corrie was hidden from the purple haze of the moorland by the rocky outcrops. His tent nestled invisibly in the undergrowth, its faded green merging in perfectly.

It took Messny a full season to swap that flimsy tent for a warmer tepee of hide formed from the deer and rabbit that he had learnt to successfully hunt.

That first winter had been hard and his fur lined home a whimsical notion. But he had known it would be and planned for it. He had brought the provisions and clothing to see him through. They had not lasted long, but long enough. His body had thinned and hardened and he had paid for this new toughness with much pain and suffering. Messny had despaired and nearly given up. But his determination won through and he was glad of it. He had resolved to sink or swim and there was no quarter given to his wretched body. Starvation and freezing cold drove him to the full extent of his powers of endurance but he discovered new limits that he had never known he possessed. His strength surpassed his own expectations. Against the odds he not only survived but prospered.

He had equipped himself with skills but had soon discovered that putting them into practice was a different kettle of fish.

He learnt to hunt and snare the plentiful rabbits and deer, to track and trap and read the signs, to tickle or fish for trout in the streams. He learnt to seek out the roots, fruits and berries and to store food for the times of hardship. His eyes grew to pick out shapes, see movements and understand the signs. His hands learnt to wield tools and weapons, to fashion fire and devise ways to meet his needs. He could sit as still as a rock for hours until the time was right to spring into action. He could lunge, rush like the wind or relentlessly track down his prey. He used wood and bone, stone and metal. He made rope, clothing and bedding and created pots for water storage and cooking. His body grew strong and lean so that he could run effortlessly for hours on end and even make his way uphill without breaking his stride. He could leap from rock to rock and fall as lightly as a cat. He had mastered the summer’s heat and the winter’s snow so that while his body screamed his mind remained serene. In his head he kept an encyclopaedia of the area. In it was every tree, rock and bush, the animals and plants, streams and ponds. He knew their habits and the change of the seasons and became part of it. He lived off the land and depended on it. The land was his bounty, his friend and his bitterest enemy. He had learnt to respect it and all that comprised it, each plant and creature, and could feel that it respected him back.

The weak subhuman he had been was now a nasty taste in the past. Now he was free. Messny depended on nothing but his strength and resolve, his skill and resourcefulness. There were gifts all around him. Nature abounded. All you needed was to know how to become part of it.

Messny felt that he was at last a man. He could walk away from his past. He was alive for the first time in his life. He walked with his head high and a gleam in his eye. He now had everything that he had ever wanted and was filled with an inner strength that seemed to flow straight through him and out through that heavenly turbine to the very boundaries of infinity. There was nothing more to achieve other than to be in the moment with the majesty that surrounded him.

Life was full. There were never enough hours in the day to achieve all the tasks that needed doing, yet there was always time to sit and stare. There were whole days set aside to appreciate the changing panorama of beauty that was the natural world. It was a show unrivalled anywhere. Nothing was more important than the clouds as they created artworks in the sky in a gallery that was free to all who cared to look, or the stars that shone with a trillion years of wisdom; nothing was better that the taste of fresh meat cooked over an open fire. Messny was no longer detached – he was part of everything that existed.

Comfort and the promise of a million delectable pleasures had melted quickly into the past. They were no more than an idle thought. Messny had no hankering to return. He did not even wish for a brief glimpse of the past to act as a comparison. He had achieved inner contentment that sated every urge. Not even the aspects he was aware of lacked seemed important to him. He had enough.

Comfort, pleasure, pain or extreme discomfort were all merely states of mind. Pleasures were no longer confined to brief interludes sandwiched between lengthy periods of mediocrity. Happiness existed in being. It was complete and never left him. He had no need for more.

Even so there were things he missed. The main thing that he missed was the company of others. It was hard being a lone Indian in a strange land. A wife and friends would have made it complete. But Messny knew that he had chosen to cut himself off from the rest of humanity and would never share his life with another human being again.

But he was not alone. He could never be alone.

My weird surreal Sixties Book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 24 – Freedom

Posted on by Opher

This is a long section – so I will split it up into smaller sections for easier consumption. I first wrote this as a short story called White Indian. It was inspired by a character in one of those comics I used to read as a kid – a guy who lived in the wild on the Yorkshire Moors. I was taken with the idea. I have a desire to live as a hunter/gatherer in harmony with the landscape.

Of course I know that our nomadic forebears were not anywhere near as much in harmony with nature as we’d like to think. Everywhere they went they killed and plundered. All the megafauna were wiped out in no time at all. We’re working our way through the rest!

Still – I can dream. Maybe my dreams will become reality?

24.

The moon still hung as a complete orb in the sky, racing through the hazy clouds and every now and then disappearing altogether as it played ‘hide-and-seek’ behind the curtains. On the distant horizon of the domed canopy of the sky was revealed as a curve and the first fingers of crimson flame were clawing at skyline sending drapes of orange and mauve to stain the heavens and send warning to the darker hues that the sun was about to rear its head above the ground.

Rapidly the darkness was being driven back from the sultry hills to crawl into crevices before being forced underground again. That inky black was oozing from the sky, and all the land, to seep back to its daytime lair, streaming organically from everything to briefly accumulate in pools and ragged shadows. Skeletal trees remained silhouetted in the darkest pitch against the vivid colours of the brightening sky as a last defiance, as if shouting out that darkness has its beauty too, their sharp contrast a futile battle as light flooded the world bringing its warmth and colour and giving life. For without the sun nothing lives.

The frost that swaddled the land in a brittle film of crystalline icing sugar immediately began to melt. As if in welcoming delight the hills and rolling landscape began to slowly warm with those first delicate rays and give forth their own radiance with all the passion of nature’s own heather mauves and bracken green in an unmatched impressionist masterpiece. The foliage was left with a million glistening globes of dew each mirroring a tiny reflection of the eye of the sun creating a panorama of sparkling beads.

On the gorse the spiders sit in quiet frustration as their days work is displayed for all to see and avoid, as a perfectly arranged string of pearls, waiting for the sun to do its work.

The hills are silent except for the chatter of birds, singing from the highest branches to lay claim to all they survey, and the babble of the brooks as they tumble across the rocks.

The day world has slept while the more ephemeral world of night has acted out its part. Yet each reawakening is different. Everything is rehoused with a new coat of paint and fresh memories with which to ponder the lives that never were.

The solitude is broken by the tremor of a new sound which rises incongruously on the crisp morning air. It is the swishing of legs through the vegetation and the fall of feet on the soil. The faint drumming sends a quiver through the ground that alerts all creatures. They listen for breath of a predator on the breeze.

On the horizon a new figure lopes into view standing out in the desolate landscape and making no attempt to conceal himself. It is a solitary man running with a steady gait through the undergrowth, effortlessly following the trails left by nature across the virgin hills. He bounds over rough terrain from hillock to hillock, his arms spread as he leaps, delighting in the freedom of his body.

Despite the cold rivulets of sweat trickle down his face and are sprayed into the air as he jumps. He is alive. It is a new day and a good day to be alive.

He pauses on the brow of a hill to survey the dawn. Gentle wisps of vapour rise from his body and his breath puffs out clouds that hang in the air like steam from a train. Then he raced on with muscles, sliding, pulling and powering like well-oiled pistons, energy flowing in an unending stream and brain singing with chemistry.

His skin was flushed with the delight of life and his face was fixed into a permanent orgasmic mask. His waist-length hair flowed out in his wake, rippling in the air as it streamed after him in its attempt to keep pace.

From a distance his graceful movements seemed to make him glide across the hills in a lazy, even pace, up and down and along.

His naked feet and legs rejected the attacks of the coarse vegetation and hard ground. They were leathery and tanned and grown used to such abuse. There was little that disturbed them greatly and they seemed to have a mind of their own as they avoided the worst of the danger.

Messny was alive. His body was an organic machine in harmony with the environment around him. His racing had taken him in a huge circle during which he had surveyed hundreds of square miles of land with that first light of day. He had breathed in the nascent air, dreamed the strength of the land and sucked it in. He wanted to not only be alive but to feel it.

He returned, deep of breath, but not tired. His morning circuit had left him reinvigorated. He had breathed the spirit of the land and pronounced himself a part of it.

With a countenance of satisfaction he bathed the sweat from his body in the tingling waters of an icy stream.

He had wakened to a new day – a strong day.

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My surreal weird Sixties book – Reality Dreams – gets even weirder – Chapter 23.

Posted on by Opher

Well this was an extremely weird section of the book and not one that I would write these days. I was wrestling with the nature of consciousness, reality and who we really are. There was some humour in it too.

I’m not quite sure I have got the tense right throughout this section. I’ll revisit later.

23.

Looking back now, Messny did not seem to remember exactly when it happened.

He had been sitting on the bench in the park eating a sandwich and throwing bread to the birds. The sparrows were pecking around his feet. It was one of those hot, languid days in London that feels so humid and hot that nobody wants to move. A cool breeze was stirring the trees and producing enough of a cooling effect to stop a person melting but not enough to stop their shirt clinging to their back. Not that it was at all unpleasant. The air was scented with freshly cut grass and everything buzzed in a lazy manner. It was the kind of day that was good for lying on your back on the grass, reading a little, snoozing a little, and sinking into that drowsy summer feel. Messny had been sitting on the bench eating lunch and having a break from the exertions of lying down but it did not prevent him from resting his eyes and drifting.

He became aware that a strange tingling sensation had started to spread through his body. It started as a delicate buzz around the edge of his consciousness but then it seemed to grow as if a dynamo had switched on in the centre of his body. By the time he became properly aware of it he knew that it had been growing for some time. It was accompanied by a sensation of great relaxation and lightness. Yet strangely he did not feel at all sleepy. He just was not inclined to move and although his brain felt remarkably alert it was not inclined to analyse the cause of these strange feelings. He simply leaned back and allowed them to develop. He was content to observe as they pleasantly passed through him in waves.

There was a sudden jerk followed by sensations of a most peculiar kind. Messny felt himself rise up into the air to float like a balloon. From where he was, on high, he looked down to see himself sitting sprawled upon the park bench looking for all the world to be fast asleep.

It gave him quite a shock.

The first thought that came into his head was that he had died. But he could see himself breathing. It was difficult to rationalise what had occurred. Where was he? And how was he seeing? He decided that it had to be a lucid dream or some kind of hallucination. He had probably drifted off to sleep in the warm sun and was dreaming. Even so, it was quite a novel experience to be so fully aware of himself while dreaming. It was so extremely clear and vivid. All the colours of the park were glowing. He was able to think so logically and rationally, yet there he was tens of feet in the air with a perspective down on the trees and bushes that he had never had in his life. He was seeing it from up high for the first time. He wondered if all dreams were this clear but blurred into unreality on waking?

Messny had continued to drift around looking down on birds and trees and thinking to himself how remarkably real and un-dreamlike it felt. He only found it slightly perturbing to find that he could consciously drift down to take a close look at the back of his own head. That was strange.

The fear that he might be dead resurfaced. He might still be breathing but that did not necessarily mean that he was alive. What if he had suffered a massive stroke or heart attack? He pushed the thoughts away. He did not much like the idea that he was some kind of ghost.

Messny began practicing moving around. He seemed to be able to alter his position by sheer will. If he willed himself to move he found himself going in the direction he had wanted. At first he wasn’t too adept at speed or direction but with a little practice he found he became quite proficient.

Messny homed in for a close inspection of himself. He wished to allay his fears. It calmed him down to see that he was not only breathing normally, but his colour and general appearance looked good. He did not think any great calamity had befallen him.

It was at this time that events became jumbled and out of hand. Messny found himself spinning as if caught in a whirlpool. The park and bench became a blur as reality spun. The whole world had been caught in a spin drier.

Unlike with normal similar events there was no feeling of nausea. He simply allowed himself to be whizzed around. He began to glimpse the park behind this – as if the spinning was merely superimposed on the background of normality – as if there were layers of reality.

Then as suddenly as the spinning had begun it slowed and stopped. Messny settled back into the reality he was used to, though he could glimpse the other superimposed as a hazy image all around.

When everything had settled Messny found that he was no longer floating free. He was confined to a more normal perspective, back at ground level with a fixed outlook. Yet his body was directly opposite and no longer sleeping peacefully. He was sitting up fully awake with an absurdly gaping mouth and startled expression. He was staring straight back at himself.

The force of that stare made Messny self-conscious. It was not usual for anyone to stare so hard directly at someone. To have yourself staring at you was absolutely peculiar and bizarre.

Messny had received quite a few shocks in the last few minutes but this was one of the biggest. But he took it in his stride. There had to be a rational explanation.

He attempted to move as he had been doing previously but could not. On looking down he found that he was someone else entirely. He was looking through someone else’s eyes down at that person’s body.

Nothing had prepared him for it. He was in someone else’s body. He was in the body of a middle-aged woman wearing a smart costume. She was fairly stout and not exceptionally attractive. The shock was immense.

Messny rose to his feet looked across at himself and presented a mirror image of his own shock, except that by now the startled expression on his face had given way to one of absolute horror.

No sooner had Messny absorbed this new perspective when that overlying layer of reality began to spin again and he was once again caught up in that cosmic hair-drier. When it resettled Messny had found himself standing on the path grimacing and staring towards the other bench. He glanced down to confirm what he already knew. He was back in his own body. Standing by the other bench was the woman whose body he had so recently inhabited. She was stricken. Her face contorted and eyes bulging as she stared aghast at Messny.

Both jerked back in astonishment with minds reeling, collecting their wits and vainly trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

In a complete fluster she lowered her eyes, shook her head and hurried off down the path as fast as she could manage. Not once did she look back.

Messny sat back down with a jolt.

My weird, surreal sixties book – Chapter 22 – Who?

Posted on by Opher

This is raw. I’m typing/rewriting straight from the manuscript I completed in 1976. It took me six years to complete. I started it while I was at college in 1970.

I’m not sure if this collage makes sense to anyone but me. At the time I was looking to fuse ideas, cartoons, humour, poetry, philosophy and stories together in a unique way. It all gelled in my mind. I don’t know if it does in the reader?

22

‘Hey Messny, is that really us in that photograph?’

‘Did we really do all that?’

‘Did we really smoke and drink all night?’

‘Did we fuss and argue over impossible things, too tired to crawl to bed, too excited to go to sleep?’

‘Did we get so high we couldn’t talk anymore, but went on communicating in silence for hours, grinning like madmen, until we had thought enough to talk again, like a dam bursting, it all flooding out again?’

‘Is that a photo of us? Were we always so excited?’

‘Did we always run around – crazy – and live our lives in the dark?’

‘Was the music and poetry so much better then – when it was fresh?’

‘Did I really shout at people that they were dead and blind, without seeing that it didn’t matter that they were already dead?’

‘Were all those rambling discussions real?’

‘Surely it was other people acting out those dreams?’

‘Did we believe all those crazy ideas?’

‘Were we really going to save the world?’

‘Just you and I?

‘Maybe we should have – while we had the chance?’

‘Maybe if we’d have stopped all the talking and started to organise something?

‘Maybe we could have sorted everything out?’

‘Messny, you know, It seems so unfair that I should have changed so, that I should feel so empty and powerless now.’

My Surreal sixties book – Chapter 21

Posted on by Opher

I will probably publish this for my own amusement. It is the book that started me off writing – way back in 1970. I’m fond of it. But I don’t know that it will appeal to many people. It is the classic first attempt.

This particular chapter had elements of my first lesson. Boy – was I nervous. I can remember pausing outside that classroom before plucking up courage to go in. It was scary but I learned to love it.

Science for me had been dead. But I was determined to do things in a more interesting way. I wanted to try to make the kids think. I hope I succeeded.

21.

Returning from his travels the first requirement was cash and that required work. Getting by was becoming a drag. He had to find something steadier than an unemployment cheque. After much consideration he settled for a career in teaching – the main enticement being the holidays.

He thought it would be easy. Little did he know.

The closer the day came the more apprehensive he became. What, from a distance, appeared like a simple task became more daunting by the minute.

As he approached the door his stomach turned flips. He gripped the handle and turned it

On entering the classroom he put on a fixed expression and strode purposefully over to the desk, arranged his things and then looked up. A sea of faces were peering back at him, all weighing him up and appearing to not like what they saw. He surveyed the class and they looked him up and down. They had stopped talking and slouching in their chairs and were weighing up the crazy little guy who had just walked in purporting to be their teacher. They studied his every move and expression with seasoned eyes and had already, before he had even opened his mouth, formed their opinions.

Messny, clutching his carefully prepared lesson plan, stood in front of the highly critical assembly and prepared to deliver his first lesson. There was a pregnant pause as he arranged his larynx to articulate a sound and they waited, intrigued to hear what noise might come out.

As he had rehearsed he deliberately moved slowly in order to collect his thoughts and allow his physiology to settle. He knew that the last thing he wanted to project was nervousness. He’d heard how rabid they could be with new teachers. The million rehearsals had gone well. The real thing was a totally different experience. His subconscious was screaming at him – telling him that he was about to be eaten alive and telling him to run.

He conquered that and finally gained control over his wayward vocal cords.

‘Good morning,’ he began in a remarkably calm voice, ‘My name is Messny Krapbutt.’

This was met with a chorus of stifled laughter.

Messny waited for the noise to subside.

‘I will be taking you for Biology this term.’

There was no response.

He tried a smile. ‘It will take me time to get to know you so please forgive my ignorance over the next few weeks.’

The faces remained blank and watchful.

‘Right,’ he said nervously. ‘Let’s get started.’ He stood behind his bench in front of the large blackboard. ‘First of all – a question.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a small ball. ‘We’re here to study Science so let’s start by understanding what Science actually is.’ He held the ball up in the air above the bench. The eyes all followed his hand, waiting to see what he would do.

‘Who can tell me what will happen if I was to let go of this ball?’

He looked around and all the faces were wearing the same uncomprehending expressions. What was the idiot doing? This wasn’t Biology. There had to be a catch. Nobody wanted to be the fool who fell into it.

‘Come on,’ Messny urged as the class stubbornly remained silent, ‘what will happen to the ball if I was to let go?’

One girl plucked up courage to speak. ‘You mean – if you just let go, not throw it or anything?’

‘Yeah,’ Messny said reassuringly, ‘that’s right. If I just let go.’

‘It’ll hit the bench and bounce off,’ she replied with an air of triumph

‘No it won’t,’ Messny replied, cutting her glee dead.

The class shuffled uneasily. They could not see the catch, but they knew there had to be one.

‘If you don’t throw it, it will,’ the girl insisted indignantly. She was not going to be brushed off.

‘No it won’t,’ Messny assured her.

‘What will it do then?’ the girl sneered.

‘If I let go of the ball it will stay hanging in the air for a while,’ Messny explained. ‘Then it will gradually drift off sideways,’ He indicated a sweep with his hand as if following the course of the ball in the air. ‘It will then build up momentum and bounce off the wall.’

A big chuckle passed around the room. The guy was nuts.

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‘No it won’t,’ the girl insisted with a look that said exactly what she thought of him. ‘It will fall straight down and hit the desk.

A wave of laughter went round the room. They were enjoying this.

‘Well,’ Messny said with a raise of eyebrows, ‘why don’t we try it and see?’

Messny held the ball up and let go of it. It fell straight down, hit the bench and bounced up. A roar of laughter rang round.

‘Did you see it hover for a second?’ Messny asked hopefully.

‘Nooo!’ they shouted in chorus.

‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘It did that time. Let’s try it again.’ He retrieved the ball and held it up in the air. He repeated the process a number of times with the same outcome. The class found it highly amusing.

Finally he put the ball back in his pocket. ‘Will it always do that?’ he asked.

‘Yeees!’ they shouted in gleeful unison.

He held his hand up to quieten them. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked with a serious expression. ‘How many times do we have to carry out this experiment before we can definitely say that it will always perform the same way?

There was a silence while they mulled that over.

‘Come on,’ Messny urged. ‘I say that the ball will hang in the air. You say it will drop. But how many times do I have to repeat it before we can say that it will always, definitely, drop – without the slightest shadow of doubt? How many times do I have to do this before I get a fact?’ The class were completely quiet. ‘Ten times? A hundred times? A thousand times? Ten billion times?

There was no response.

‘The answer to my question is that it takes an infinite number of times in order to get a fact. You have to do it every single possible time to be utterly sure that it will always behave in that particular way. Of course we can make mathematical models, use our knowledge of gravity, and predict that it will always behave in a particular way, but it will still not be a fact. A fact is indisputable. There are no facts in Science – only a series of working hypothesis based on experimentation and observation. We predict what will happen and it usually does. But there are no facts. I am not going to teach you any facts at all. Science never got anywhere by believing things. Everything I tell you is a lie.’

There was a pause.

‘Right,’ Messny said, ‘let’s get on.’ With that he launched into the lesson.

My Sixties Surreal book – Chapter 20 – Chills and terror

Posted on by Opher

By now my hero Messny was working his way through a series of bizarre situations. I think I may have just read Franz Kafka’s The Trial.

20.

Messny felt a bit of a fool standing to attention in front of the glass sphere. He looked back down the room towards the man working at the desk. It was difficult to understand why he had to go through this fuss every single time but the secretary did not seem to care.

The man at the desk studiously ignored him. He had brushed him off as one did with a fly. Messny was an annoying irritation. His face was set and he stared fixedly at his computer screen. There was a mechanical, precise manner about him even to the uncoordinated manner in which he jerkily moved. His face was fixed in an expressionless mask. Messny would get no sympathy from that quarter.

While he was waiting Messny allowed his eyes to roam over the secretary’s immaculate suit, his muted tie with pin, and crisp white shirt. Everything was preened to perfection. He found it amusing. It looked so restrictive, boring and uncomfortable. Quite unlike Messny’s loose fitting, colourful garb. The secretary was an automaton. He was following his instructions. It was so infuriating to be kept waiting like this but a smile began to creep into the corners of his mouth. The secretary despised him and all he stood for but Messny would not have swapped a single minute. He imagined the same precise, sterile landscape on the inside of the man’s head as there was on the outside – everything uniform and in its place. There would be no hidden thoughts behind that mask. Everything was orderly and in its place.

A buzz broke his reverie and wiped the amusement from his face. They were ready for him. Messny turned back to the sphere still clinging on to the jaunty feeling of superiority that might even have contained a touch of arrogance.

It was time to present his case.

He was confident. He knew his position. This was of no consequence. He talked easily unhampered by fear and outlined his defence. They were bound to understand. Minor indiscretions were of no real importance.

At the end of his disposition he felt that he had explained it well and awaited the outcome.

There followed a short silence as his input was analysed.

Messny waited impatiently.

A section of wall silently slid aside behind Messny. Two big-set men in dark suits stepped out noiselessly. It was as if they had been stored in a cupboard marked ‘Break Out In Emergency’. They had slept and now they were activated.

Without hesitation they silently bore down on the unsuspecting Messny. Something made him turn round. He stood he ground as they came up to him. His eyes searched their faces for intent but they were expressionless, their eyes held no emotions. They wore the same fixed mask as the secretary.

For a moment Messny had been stunned but that soon turned to sheer terror when faced with this menace. He knew they weren’t going to pat him on the back and send him on his way or congratulate him on the way he had handled himself. He had the impression that their job was to break him utterly and leave him limp as a rag doll to be thrown into the bin.

He stepped back with an involuntary stagger as they reached for him.

A strangled cry came to his lips at the sight of those pitiless faces. He turned to escape and slammed into a clear glass that now separated him from the door.

Messny screamed as the hands closed on him. Their steely grip tightened as he clawed desperately at the glass and shrieked at the top of his voice.

The secretary appeared unconcerned. He carried on studying his computer screen without a glance.

My weird Sixties Surreal Novel – Chapter 19 – where it really becomes strange.

Posted on by Opher

I’m still typing up my first book. This is Chapter 19 of Reality Dreams. It is really a surreal short story about freedom and control.

I remember when I was writing the book that I could not remember having written it. It appeared out of nowhere.

I’m enjoying rewriting this. I’m not sure how accessible it is to anyone else but it is fun to reconnect with my twenty year old mind.

19.

Messny found himself in a huge hall. The roof towered above his head. The colossal awe of the building made him feel ant-like. Never before had he felt agoraphobic, not even under the open canopy of the infinite sky, but he did here. In his massive edifice he felt fear and was overcome with vertigo so that he had to fight to control his rising panic.

Messny took a deep breath, looked around to steady his nerves and set off. He had prepared for a strange and dangerous experience but this was beyond his wildest imagination. Who could have built such a monstrous hall? How was such a colossal structure supported? At any moment he was expecting to see giants entering through the portal riding huge beasts – beasts so gigantic that they would crush a man beneath their paws without noticing, as one might a small insect.

He walked slowly with his thoughts running riot. The hall was full of crowds of normal looking people which came as a relief and helped calm his nerves. They teemed across the huge open concourse as if someone had kicked down a termites nest, dwarfed by the enormity of the building, accompanied by a great babbling of voices and shuffling of feet which echoed of the high ceiling with hollow acoustics.

His state of mind calmed as he walked among the crowd who were intently heading off in all directions, rarely stopping to talk. Nobody paid the slightest attention to him as he meandered in a bewildered daze.

At first he could not discern a pattern. The place was too large to gain an overview. But then he began to notice that there was a definite progress. People only entered from the two large portals on the left. They spread purposefully out, pausing to group together in conversation for brief periods before setting off, and converged on two large portals on the left where they left.

Messny decided to explore. He had little other choice. He circumvented the entire hall. The people assiduously ignored him. There were no features or furnishings to orientate yourself with. The walls were smooth and plain as if made from a uniform plastic with no visible support structures. There were no windows and yet a uniform light pervaded the whole area. It was the scale that made it so spectacular.

The men, women and children he passed were all dressed in similar one-piece, close-fitting suits, although he began to detect slight differences in cut, colour and insignia that seemed to indicate status. Some strutted or strode with an in-built arrogance; others looked more shabby and slouched as they scurried around the place. Messny found it fascinating. He could have spent hours just studying these strange people and their behaviour. There seemed to be a law against touching. Despite the density of the crowd people wended their way through, weaving through the most densely packed regions without so much as brushing against anyone in the process. It was uncanny to observe. When not engaged in conversation they maintained a fixed expression and studiously avoided eye contact. There was no interaction. Yet when in groups they were animated and effusive, with gestures and facial expressions that were exaggerated beyond the normal. The contrast was extreme.

The lack of contact as Messny moved through the crowd was disconcerting. Nobody acknowledged his presence. They effortlessly glided past him without looking. It made him feel strangely shunned and invisible. It was abnormal and unfriendly. There was something alien about it.

Curiosity overcame him. Messny worked his way across the massive concourse towards where the crowds were exiting. He was uncertain what to expect. On the way he nearly precipitated an unpleasant scene and was only just able to avoid an incident by rapidly walking away. He had inadvertently made eye-contact with one of the people he passed. The reaction of shock and embarrassment left him in no doubt that he had offended some deeply held taboo. He could see from the reaction that there was the possibility of an aggressive response that might have led to an ugly scene and quickly ducked out and hurried away. The rumpus rapidly died away in his wake but left him feeling decidedly jittery. It had shaken him up enough to assume the same far-away stare and averted eyes of the rest of the denizens he passed and no further problems ensued.

It was with some relief that he reached the distant portal and walked through. He had no idea what to expect on the other side. At first sight it was a major city. Immense sky-scrapers towered above the hall on all sides, dwarfing even this huge building with their unbelievable size. Messny craned his head and stared up towards the giddy heights. They went upward and upward towards a distant haze and tiny patch of sky. Down at his level the light did not come from the sun but seemed to glow from all surfaces around him creating a shadowless environment.

The city seemed to be separated on all sides from the Hall by a decorative garden of neatly trimmed lawns. Every blade of grass seemed manicured into shape. Intermittently there were flower-beds with colourful plants arranged in intricate patterns – all perfectly aligned as if every single leaf had been slotted into place and wind had been banished. There were signs along the edge of the path that pictorially warned the citizens to keep off the grass. They looked severe.

Messny felt trepidation just looking at it. It made him recoil. There was something sinister about the sanitisation of it.

The orderliness of the arrangement gave him the feel of having wandered into an ants-nest rather than a city of human beings.

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The shape of everything was so geometrical and precise. The people moved in such a trance-like manner with such a purposeful air. The warning signs were redundant. The poor caged beasts of people were completely cowed and tamed. They would not have dreamt of stepping on the grass.

The place gave Messny the creeps and after watching the people trailing off towards the various buildings all around for a short while, he ducked back inside the door, working his way against the flow.

From the side he could see that the random movement of the vast crowd was in fact a very intricate set pattern. Everyone appeared to move along invisible preordained pathways. He did not know how he had not noticed it before. They were behaving like programmed automatons. Messny was the odd one out. His random moves were the only ones not in a straight line.

Eventually he reached the other portals, he chose the middle door that few people seemed to be passing through, and with mounting anxiety, stepped through. He had been expecting to be met with a similar scene as at the other end but found that was not the case. Instead of an open space his eyes met with a great long corridor. Despite its great width he could see the walls merging together at a point in the far distance and people moving along like tiny ants all trailing along in the same direction. It gave the impression that the corridor was never-ending. He could not even visualise it ending; it had that infinite feel to it.

Standing at the entrance made Messny feel dizzy. He felt as if he was being sucked down into some spinning vortex. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself and peered along the corridor’s length. It seemed as if he was standing on the edge of a great hole in the ground and was precariously balanced on the edge. A force was pulling him forward and if he dropped into that hole he had the uncanny notion that he might drop and fall at tremendous speed forever. The idea came into his mind that it wasn’t a corridor at all; it was a tunnel that ran right through the planet and would eject him out into space on the other side.

He told himself he was being absurd. Pulling himself together he mastered his illogical fear and stepped forward into the passageway.

It felt solid enough. The ground did not give way before him and he was not pitched forward into infinity. Reassured he calmed himself down and began to walk forward with purpose.

There were doors spaced along the entire length of the corridor at six foot intervals. They were all the standard sliders with no distinguishing features or identification, as was customary. All the doors were uniform grey and stood out starkly in the cream walls of the corridor. Above each of the doors was a luminous sign which said, in red lettering – ‘Engaged’.

It was intriguing. Messny was immediately beset with a compulsion to seek out a vacant room. The feeling was so strong that it drove everything else out of his head. He set off in pursuit of a vacant sign, striding along and glancing at each sign as he passed, his eyes constantly darting ahead to the next. They were all red ‘Engaged’ signs, but that did not deter him.

Hours passed and he must have walked many miles down this uniform corridor without finding a single vacant room. Every single door was adorned with the same red ‘Engaged’ sign, yet ahead of him he could see a steady stream of people going in to or coming out of rooms. The same was true when he looked behind. They were all finding vacant rooms. Why couldn’t he? Perhaps it would be a better tactic to stand outside of a door and wait? But nobody else was doing this and he still felt compelled to walk, so he pressed on. Messny had the feeling that there was just one door that was his. He had to find it.

The sight of all the others finding their doors was making him feel persecuted. Perhaps he did not have a door? Perhaps, as a stranger, there was not a door for him at all? Yet something told him that there was. As he strode along e was plagued by the thought that he would never find his door; he might be doomed to walk along this passageway forever on an utterly futile task. He cursed himself for having started out on this senseless journey in the first place. What had made him do this? It was mad. But he had come this far and consoled himself that there were many others around him who had walked just as far looking for their doors and very now and then one of them seemed to find their vacant room.

The hours passed and still the corridor stretched ever onward without the slightest variation. Messny’s determination had not diminished even though his mind was actively churning over the stupidity of what he was doing and the peculiarity of this absurdity. He had walked many miles by now and yet had not passed a single sign of any maintenance crew. Yet the walls were all completely spotless despite the thousands of people who were walking down the endless passageway. It began to prey on his mind. A wall of this length and colour had to show signs of wear and tear yet there was not so much as a single blemish.

Messny stopped to examine the surface carefully. Whereas the grey doors appeared to be made of a plastic substance, the walls appeared painted. They were smooth and, even on close inspection, utterly pristine.

He walked along further, pondering this aspect. For some reason it rattled him. Something snapped and he swung a boot at the wall. His boot connected and skidded over the smooth surface leaving an ugly dark scuff-mark on that light coloured surface. A feeling of horror and guilt bubbled up in him threatening to choke him. He glanced round guiltily to see if his act of vandalism had been noted by any of the people in his vicinity. Nobody appeared to be paying him the slightest bit of attention. Looking back at the wall he found to his astonishment that the scuff mark had completely vanished. The paintwork was unblemished.

This was indeed a strange experience. He had been walking for hours and hours and yet he neither felt tired, hungry, thirsty or in need of a lavatory. Yet the oddness of this hardly seemed to connect with his brain. Somehow he was able to reconcile it. Even so, the monotony was beginning to get to him. It had moved from merely irritating to thoroughly maddening. Messny felt an anger brewing in his belly and sweat broke out on his brow. It was becoming an effort to act normally but the sameness of this endless corridor was beginning to get to him. He needed a change.

Messny tried speaking to the people he was walking with. They completely ignored him, looking straight ahead and striding along. He stood in front of some and they looked straight through him, veering to the side to pass him. He even went as far as grabbing hold of one by the shoulders and forcing him to stop. The man merely waited to be released and made no response. As soon as he released him the man walked off as if nothing had happened without the slightest hint of emotion.

It irked Messny. He craved a reaction, a change of some kind, even if it was merely a hostile response. The people around him were simply not behaving like human beings. There were more like androids. It troubled him that, despite the duration of this marathon, he was not suffering the normal bodily needs. In a fit of rebelliousness he came to a stop and boldly prepared to urinate against the wall. It was not that he needed to but more in the hopes that it might provoke some kind of response. In that he was sadly wrong. He might just as well not have been there. The urine trickled down the wall and seemed to flow directly into the floor without leaving the slightest stain. As soon as he had finished he noted that the moisture on the wall instantly dried up leaving no indication that it had ever been there.

He resumed his journey with the corridor stretching forward interminably and his mind reeling in disbelief.

It seemed that no matter how many people went in or came out of doors there was always exactly the same number.

It was just one more fact that he slotted into his catalogue of peculiarities.

Messny hurried on working himself into some kind of panic. He was beginning to feel doomed to wander this endless passageway forever. He was lost in a maze consisting of one path. Even if he turned and went back he was no longer confident that he would find the beginning. He convinced himself that the portal would have disappeared. He was lost and a sea of hopelessness rushed over him. All that was left of the world was an endless corridor, stretching on like a hamster’s wheel.

He propelled himself forward into a jog, and began running and finally sprinting, knocking people aside in his desperation. His mind was shrieking inside his head, tears were welling up and he felt as if he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. Forces were battling for control of his mind. Armies were fighting behind his eyes. He was bombarded with a series of different emotions and conflicting thoughts. It was driving him mad.

‘Go back to the beginning while you still can.’

‘You will never find it.’

‘Go forward.’

‘There will be a door.’

‘No. Go back.’

He came to an abrupt halt, panting and shaking his head from side to side, leaning against the wall, bent over. He raised his eyes and saw it.

It stood out from all the other doors. Above this one there were green luminous letters that said ‘Enter’.

A surge of relief flooded through him. He knew that this was his door. He had found it.

He stood in front of the door with great trepidation and timidity. This was precisely what he had been looking for, yet now he was reluctant to find out what was on the other side.

His eyes slipped over the surface in search of a mechanism. There was none.

Then it silently slid open.

Messny briefly hesitated before stepping in.

His heart was fluttering as if a bird was trapped in his chest. In his ears it sounded like a thud of thunder followed by the rush of a waterfall. It was so loud that he imagined it filling the room. He was deafened by it. It seemed to reverberate off the walls around him.

The door slid shut behind him and he found himself in a small cubicle of a room. It was smooth walls and bland, reminding him of a prison cell. The whiteness of the walls was blinding as walls, ceiling and floor all merged together. The only furniture was a single white chair.

A deep resonant voice spoke in a commanding manner.

‘Please sit down.’

It was not so much a request as an order.

Messny complied, searching the room for signs of a camera. There was nothing to see. It made him panicky again. He felt as if he was in a prison. That was frightening. He had actually worked hard, walking all that distance, to place himself in this dungeon. He felt trapped. Now that the door had slid back there was no exit. Escape was impossible. He could not leave even if he wanted to. There was nothing he could do other than to sit and do as he was told. He waited. Gradually his heart settled and he became resigned to his fate.

The minutes passed as Messny reflected on this strange course of events. It was unbelievable the way things had progressed. Unresistingly he had allowed himself to be led to here. It all seemed so unreal. He could not understand how it had happened. He had no idea where he was. It seemed as if a fog was clearing and he understood that he had been led here through blind compulsion. His normal rational reasoning had deserted him. It was bewildering.

He had no recollection of how he had arrived in the hall and could only wonder at how he had stumbled along through that hall and then down the corridor, all in a dream. His every move orchestrated. He had been manipulated and controlled.

How much of his life had been controlled in this way? He began to feel as if all his thoughts and passionately held views were merely deliberately implanted into his head. It was a scary thought. Was there anything that emanated from himself?

The strange thoughts swirled around his head as he sat there attempting to decipher the tangled mess of the origins of his beliefs and desires.

There was simply no way of knowing what he truly believed, how much was him and how much was the work of others?

The time passed and Messny sat as his mind idled away.

He began to wonder if he had ever had an original thought or view. Perhaps every single thing he had ever done had been programmed? He was an automaton controlled by the ‘Masters’ – whoever they were?

Incongruously he allowed himself a little involuntary chuckle.

He imagined the whole of society directed by the whims of an unseen group of people. For what ends?

It amused him to think of himself as a mere cog in a pointless machine.

Could any mind be clever enough to plan all this so carefully? What was it all about? What purpose could there possibly be?

He was beginning to relax when the voice boomed out again causing him to automatically sit upright in his seat. Messny felt threatened. He felt eyes were on him and he was being scrutinised. He listened intently.

‘You are a free man,’ the discorporate voice informed him. ‘You are able to do anything you wish.’

That did not ring true – given what he had just been through.

‘We must protect you from the actions of others, just as we must protect them from you.’ The voice explained in a reasonable tone. ‘We have to preserve the freedom that is our right. It is our heritage, passed down from our forebears.’

Messny blinked. It seemed that it was unnecessary for him to have to respond. All that was required was that he should sit and listen.

‘If people were allowed to have unfettered freedom to molest and be aggressive towards others, to do damage or destroy property, to rampage and kill, nobody would be free. Everybody would live their lives in fear of others. The strong would rule and even they would live in fear of an uprising from the many. Nobody would be free.’

This seemed to Messny to go against the opening statement. How could you both be free and yet constrained?

‘It is to ensure the freedom of everybody that we have formulated the laws that you live by.’

That sounded pragmatic enough.

‘We have created laws to protect each individual’s freedom. None can encroach upon his rights.’

That seemed fair.

‘All free men are equal. It is for the good of society as a whole that we maintain a system that provides us with security. We have standards that we live by. That is why we are subject to certain conditions.’

As Messny listened to the voice he found his mind drifting and falling between the words. Each word seemed to transform into a sinuous worm that floated in the air to penetrate his mind and imprint itself deep within his subconscious. It was a hypnotic weaving that entranced him with its melodic drone and captivated him.

The rich voice was etched with deep compassion and spoke with an unbroken depth of feeling.

‘It is necessary for everyone to contribute – for all people to work at what they are best at. That is also what is best for society. It protects your freedom and makes it permanent.’

Messny was no longer thinking about the words. He allowed them to flow over him like a soft, warm, velvety glove caressing his spirit. It was so soothing.

‘People contribute differently and are rewarded commensurate with the level of their contribution. But that does not alter the fact that all are equal.’

‘Everyone is free and all have the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Everybody is able to rule.’

Everybody was able to rule? How did one go about that then?

‘Should people decide to break the laws of our society they must pay the price; they will be severely punished. All contraventions of the law necessarily affect the freedom of others.’

‘As free people you have a say in the government of our society. In due course you will receive a message explaining the procedures of who you may vote for in order to protect your freedom.’

Messny considered the proposition. He was to be presented with a limited choice of people who had already been selected. He wasn’t sure if that was a choice at all.

‘Remember,’ the voice instructed, ‘to break a law is to defile your own freedom. If your freedom is misused it may become necessary to remove it from you in order to protect the freedom of others who might find their own freedom put in jeopardy due to your own antisocial actions.’

Messny could not fail to internalise the threat.

‘To maintain your freedom – maintain the State!’

‘Freedom is your right and must not be abused!’

‘Freedom is obedience to the law!’

The voice halted in a way that Messny understood to be the end of process.

Messny felt as if something inside him clicked back on.

He stood up and turned. The door silently slid open. He walked out into the corridor and turned right. There, two hundred metres away, was the portal through which he had entered the corridor. He quickly walked back out into the massive hall. His face was set into an expressionless stare and he stared straight ahead. He had no memory of recent experience.

He did not care.

He was beginning to feel his old happy self.

What did any of it matter, anyway?