Reality Dreams – My Sixties Surreal book – Chapter 15 – becoming very surreal and controversial. Shock!!

Jumping ahead a bit. This is where it starts becoming surreal and controversial. No holds barred. I was twenty when I wrote this. My mind was raging. I remember wanting to shock people into thinking. I was being deliberately offensive and provocative.

15.

Tuesday was going OK – nothing out of the ordinary. A famine swept through Africa on the heels of the drought and the Middle East war was still going strong. It was very much business as usual.

From where he was up here, God could feel the tingling pleasures of a billion prayers sweeping over his ethereal body as he lay back on his celestial couch. His name was being exalted in every language on Earth. It was very pleasing and comforting. It was a feeling that never ceased to be monotonous even after thousands of years.

Of course, there were the displeasing niggles of millions of curses that were a source of irritation as his name was abused in every name he had ever been called. But god was easy. You win some you lose some.

God was having a quiet time. He had no great calamities planned, no universal disasters. He’d toyed with an apocalypse – a nuclear war, or maybe a comet strike, but to be honest he couldn’t be bothered. He was feeling lethargic and needed to chill. He just wanted to lay back and let things take their course without any exertion from himself.

God was philosophical about it. He was getting older and needed his rest. He couldn’t do all that gallivanting around like in yesteryear, kicking up disasters, winding up prophets, initiating religions. He’d had great fun. But it all seemed so pointless now. He’d got bored with it and moved on. For the moment he was content to allow things to take their course.

He was jolted awake by what felt like someone jabbing a finger in his side. It caught him unawares.

‘Ouch!’ he muttered irritably. ‘What the hell was that?’

He focussed down onto the planet below to see what it was that had woken him up so rudely and disturbed his drowsy contentment.

Messny was tacking up a sheet of paper on the main university notice board. A small crowd was hanging round, checking out the board.

Messny was feeling proud of his notice. He had thought of it yesterday, typed it up on the computer and taken a lot of trouble with the design – the font, colours and border. It had worked well.

Messny had started at the University with his mind raging like a combine harvester heading downhill without a brake.

He stood back to admire his work. He thought it looked good.

‘We, the undersigned

regard God as a mass murderer who should be punished for his crimes against humanity – whether intentional or through neglect!

He, as an all-knowing and all-powerful being is purposefully causing the agonising deaths of countless human beings through drought, disease, starvation and warfare. Furthermore, countless more deaths can be attributed to him through the less obvious crime of ‘natural causes’. On top of this he causes people to be horribly maimed and suffer agonies.

‘Throughout history billions of innocent people have suffered incalculable pain when at a flick of his finger he could alleviate all suffering.

To allow such atrocities to occur we must conclude that he is a psychotic, sadistic Madgod.

As such we would demand that the authorities should have him removed from power and put in a place where he can no longer practice his wicked ways.

He should be replaced with a kind, thoughtful god, duly elected by the people, and behaving in a democratic, pleasant manner – a God who will put an end to separation by race or creed – a sensible god who will not induce sectarian hatred and war in the name of religion – a god who is good , who will organize things to create no misery.

We demand a god who will allow plenty of conflict but no hatred.

A happy god for a happy life.

Down with death, pain, misery and affliction!

DOWN WITH HATRED!!

DOWN WITH GOD!!!

The crowd of people, of every nationality and religion, stared at Messny’s declaration. They muttered darkly. The numbers began to swell.

Messny was delighted. He had never envisaged so great a response. The crowd was becoming thicker with every passing second. They pressed forward in their attempts to read his notice. Soon the foyer was jammed to bursting point.

Messny could not believe his eyes. This was beyond his wildest dreams. He had expected a minor response from a few people – maybe to outrage a person or two, but nothing on this scale. It was ridiculous.

But it hadn’t stopped there. The numbers were still increasing. They were pushing and crowding in. There was a loud hubbub and anger. Messny began to feel uneasy. This was peculiar. It was only a little notice. It might be a bit controversial but should not be attracting such a huge reaction. He’d never seen anything like it.

The emotions seemed to be boiling up. The crowd were milling round and creating lot of noise. Some had begun shouting. There was a whiff of violence in the air. Messny’s eyes were darting here and there, taking in the distorted faces and fury. Sweat was breaking out on his brow. His heart was racing and he wanted to get out of there. But he couldn’t. He was trapped. The crowd were pressing in so hard all around him that he found he could not move.

The atmosphere was angry and hostile. They were becoming like a football crowd out of control. A raucous baying was rising up all around him. Fists were raised in the ait. It was heading towards hysteria.

As if a switch had been clicked someone ripped the notice off the board and people clutched at it, ripping it to shreds

The frenzy seemed to be growing and rising to a crescendo.

Following an unseen signal they turned as a man and focussed on Messny. All around him the furious gargoyles of faces sent incandescent barbs of venom towards him. Messny cringed but they were all around, lips curled back in vicious snarls, teeth clenched, saliva dribbling, hands reaching with fingers hooked into claws. Terror welled up as Messny clawed to escape, but they were tearing and ripping at him with their talons, no longer human at all, crazed monsters. He screamed as the fingernails tore at his clothes and flesh. He screamed and screamed but they were relentless. They wanted blood. He felt himself go under as a tsunami of primitive savagery flowed over him and the fists, boots and teeth, ripped, thudded and bludgeoned.

In response to another subliminal cue the crowd went quiet and began to withdraw, moving backwards to form a space around the bloody broken body that had been Messny Krapbutt. Towards the rear people began silently dispersing. Within minutes the foyer was empty and all that remained with the pummelled gory corpse scattered with shreds of paper like confetti.

God sat back with a sigh and went back to his drowsy contentment.

My Surreal Sixties Book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 8 – Discovering sex

Here we are – we aren’t really into the surreal parts yet. There’s a lot of strangeness to come. This is Messny discovering sex.

8.

At school Messny worked exceedingly hard at avoiding work. His brain was besotted with the imagery of girls. He sat in lessons feeling his body ache and yearn. Focus was impossible. During lesson after lesson he learnt to gaze intently as if alert and enthralled while secretly residing in his head analysing his feelings of frustration. He decided that it was always as if he were being sexually stimulated, tantalisingly aroused. Who could expect any rational function in such a state?

Messny had discovered the delights of masturbation and rapidly become an addict. It temporarily relieved the frustration, but never for long. He analysed the art of masturbation as if it was a science. He recognised that it was all psychological. What was the neuronal difference between the jellifying heights and a neuronal twinge? Why was novelty such an important ingredient? Why was the female induced orgasm so greatly different? He set out to explore the subject in depth. There had to be a reason behind what made one experience intense and satisfying, and another merely a release. The main focus of his investigations was the female induced orgasm. Everything else in life was secondary.

To further this scientific project he spent much of his free time in school talking to groups of delectable young ladies, practising his techniques and nurturing his status. The rest of his time he spent thinking about them. He teamed up with Oz Groinburger who had a similar outlook on life and set of preoccupations. Together they were a formidable team. The double act of wit and repartee was highly successful. They were pure vaudeville with a routine that couldn’t miss. There motto was – ‘never ventured – never gained’.

Sometimes this was awkward. Girls had a habit of going around in pairs and often one was attractive and one not. Oz was quite cynical on this but Messny often found himself naturally inclined towards more retiring of the two. He found the prettier girls were arrogant and manipulative. Yet to maintain status it was essential to be seen with the prettiest girls in town. If you let that slip the supply dried up. Life was about having a good time for an hour or two. Nothing else mattered.

Frustratingly Oz was always the most successful with the prettiest girls, who he treated incredibly badly. Messny trailed in his wake picking up the debris and consoling the distraught.

There came a moment where Messny woke up to the fact that going with girls of lesser status made him less desirable. He had to raise the bar.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

or

537 Essential Rock Albums Pt. 1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/537-Essential-Rock-Albums-first-ebook/dp/B00OEMO7TA/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474902569&sr=1-3

Opher’s tributes to Rock Geniuses

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ophers-World-Tributes-Rock-Geniuses-ebook/dp/B00U0NLP4W/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_32?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474967124&sr=1-32

If you would like some of my Sci-fi I recommend Ebola in the Garden of Eden or Sorting the Future to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebola-Garden-Eden-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0116VXVIY/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886688&sr=1-19

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sorting-Future-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533082669/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-10

If you would like a sixties novel I recommend Danny’s Story or Goofin’ with the Cosmic Freaks

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dannys-Story-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533487219/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-9

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Goofin-Cosmic-Freaks-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00MT3GWIK/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886872&sr=1-18

Happy Reading!!

My Surreal Sixties book – Chapter 7 – The wretch is broken.

The pathetic wretch was broken and reinvented.

7.

Messny lay awake at night and cried. He prayed to a capricious god that he did not believe in but his most heartfelt prayers were never answered. He never again believed that life could be perfect or dreams could be answered.

The adults ridiculed him. They thought this forlorn show was amusing, a passing phase.

P1120112 (2)

Messny had never learnt to cover up his emotions but now it became essential. They laughed in his face at his sadness so he learnt to hide his emotions deep within. Only in the darkness, in his bed, did he take them out to inspect. They were still every bit as raw.

Further tragedies were imminent to widen the wounds and build a wall between his older self and the halcyon days of childhood. He changed schools. The first lesson his new ‘friends’ taught him was the devastating importance of physical appearance. If you were not attractive and tall you were not worthy. Messny was definitely not worthy. Attributes that had previously been inconsequential were now crucial to his status. As far as that went it was apparent that when it came to status he did not hold much of a hand. He became the outsider and butt of jibes and minor cruelties.

Within a short time Messny Krapbutt became a joke, so he decided to play up to it; to become the class clown and at least salvage a position in society.

For many years a sad guy played the fool and inside cracked up at every sneer he shrugged off so well – an insecure, pathetic creature with a hard shell. With girls he had become an embarrassing bumbling idiot and the epitome of shyness. All roads led nowhere.

Then one day the clown sat down and reviewed his pitiful situation. There could be no worse fate that the lonely pathway he was inexorably heading down, lower and lower. A realisation hit him that the only way out of this dilemma was boldness. When you have nothing you have nothing to lose. He resolved to change – which is easier said than done.

Fortunately for Messny his hormones proved stronger than his learnt behaviour patterns. An inferiority complex can be overcome with a single success. He resolved to change, to become a confident, aggressive lad with a swagger. He donned the mask and rehearsed the role, deploying all the skills and quick humour of his clown persona.

Outside the girls’ school, at the youth club and parties, he selected his targets. He was the bold marauder and they responded. There were times when he felt he was making a fool of himself, he almost choked on his lines. But the girls did not seem to notice. He began to get a reputation and assume the arrogance of the perfect extrovert. Casanova Messny was born, intent on making up for lost time.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

or

537 Essential Rock Albums Pt. 1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/537-Essential-Rock-Albums-first-ebook/dp/B00OEMO7TA/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474902569&sr=1-3

Opher’s tributes to Rock Geniuses

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ophers-World-Tributes-Rock-Geniuses-ebook/dp/B00U0NLP4W/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_32?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474967124&sr=1-32

If you would like some of my Sci-fi I recommend Ebola in the Garden of Eden or Sorting the Future to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebola-Garden-Eden-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0116VXVIY/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886688&sr=1-19

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sorting-Future-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533082669/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-10

If you would like a sixties novel I recommend Danny’s Story or Goofin’ with the Cosmic Freaks

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dannys-Story-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533487219/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-9

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Goofin-Cosmic-Freaks-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00MT3GWIK/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886872&sr=1-18

Happy Reading!!

My Surreal Sixties book – Chapter 5 – Messny Krapbutt’s first love.

Well I started Messny as a sperm, followed him through as a foetus and birth. Now he’s experiencing his first love. Ten years old and smitten.

5.

Novelty, coupled with unrealised desires, creates an enjoyable attraction. Emotions are extremely strong and surge through the mind in unbridled turmoil. He was beset with an inner warmth that grew with magnetic intensity.

At the delicate age of ten year he fell in love.

She was dark and sensual with all the charms of an older woman – of eleven. As they became closer Messny felt a return to those serene days of peace and happiness. They enjoyed each other’s company; just lying back in the den or in the meadows and being together was enough. They grew closer with a love that was beyond their years, relishing the time.

Each day as Messny walked down the road to meet her, hands in pockets, whistling ‘Slow Boat to China’, head back with a jaunty swagger, a thrill coursed through him and electricity ran through his body. He longed to spend every moment with her and was only content when they were together. Nothing else mattered.

Both of them felt the strange, alien awakening yet it was below the level of their consciousness. They did not quite understand what was happening to them. They were shielded by their own innocence yet driven by this dynamo of desire and a wish to satisfy their curiosity.

In reality they were two small people silhouetted against the backdrop of the harsher world of adults. There was nothing to hide. They radiated their happiness and had no understanding of how badly things can go wrong.

It was that curiosity and excitement that drove them to explore each other’s bodies. They wanted no secrets between them. The fact that they knew this was the secret world of adults made it all the more exciting. There were things happening to them that they did not understand.  They knew what they were doing was forbidden but that only served to set the pulse faster. Besides they could not see why. Their pleasure was in sharing, in giving, in watching the other. She always initiated it and Messny eagerly followed her instructions.

The future was taken for granted. They sat on the kerb in the road outside her house and discussed how many kids they would have. She decided on seven. It was settled. That is what was going to happen. It was as inevitable as tomorrow’s sun rising.

The cricket and football had been kicked into the long grass. The climbing trees and wading through ponds was put on hold. All they wanted to do was to be together, holding hands, talking, sitting in the long grass, lying in the den, cuddling, kissing and exploring each other.

Their passion ignited their imagination and sense of independence. Their confidence soared. They were no longer children. They wanted more. They had assumed a maturity in excess of their years. They were not to be denied. The adult world was out there and they aimed to enter in to it.

Town became the focus of their attention. By day it was drab and ordinary but in their imagination at night it became a wonderland and they wanted part of the action. They imagined the neon lights, the crowds and excitement. It was a different world.

They began making plans, saved their pocket money, and formulated a strategy for an illicit trip. The excitement shone through their eyes as they talked about it. They would meet up after their parents were asleep in bed and walk the mile into town, buy fish and chips and soak up the wonder of this adventure.

They hatched plans, secreted clothes and planned out every detail. They would rendezvous at the elderberry tree where they’d built a treehouse, at midnight. They were going to town. They were going to mill with the crowds and sample the nightlife. They were going to stroll along with the flashing lights strobing on their faces eating fish and chips and laughing. In their minds it was the biggest adventure on Earth.

On the big night they synchronised their watches like spies. They had decided on midnight. It was when they were sure their parents would be asleep. They would creep out and meet at the tree.

What could do wrong?

That night Messny could hardly contain himself. His body shook with excitement. It felt like Christmas and birthday all rolled into one. He kept his underpants on under his pyjamas and thought about his clothes stuffed under the hedge outside. That evening he lay awake listening to the sound of the telly seeping through the wall interspersed with his parents’ voices. He willed the time to pass but it crawled. As the evening droned on in interminable monotony, he lay in the dark and thought about what they were going to do and how magical it was going to be. Tiredness started weighing heavy on his eyes but he fought it. It came in waves but he was determined to keep it at bay.

Eventually his parents went to bed and the house went quiet. The rafters creaked. He thought he could hear his heart beating. He kept checking his watch. At five to twelve he quietly sneaked out of bed, slipped his pyjamas off and crept out of the house. His footsteps sounded so loud but his parents did not hear. The back door key clicked and grated, the door sounded like a volcano erupting. He stood in the dark holding his breath. There was no sound from his parents’ room. He walked on tip-toe down the drive and retrieved his clothes and dressed.

He was free. He had made it.

He rushed down the road on a surge of adrenaline. The road was a different place at night. The street lights created pools of illumination. In between were eddying storms of swirling darkness. Even though he knew it like the back of his hand it was spooky. He imagined murderers lurking there waiting to pounce out.  He reached the tree and shinned up into the treehouse. She wasn’t there.

Messny waited impatiently but she never came. Miserably he shinned down and scuttled along to her house. It was in darkness and as silent as a tomb. He went to her window and knocked quietly, scared silly at the thought that her parents might hear. There was no response.

Completed dejected he went home, undressed and slipped back in undetected.

She had fallen asleep.

They laughed about it the next day and planned a reprise. She promised faithfully not to fall asleep but alas the rigours of the previous night proved too much and it was Messny’s turn to fall asleep. On the third assignation his father heard him and called out. He made a lame excuse about needing a drink.

That was the end of it. They never had their big adventure.

It was probably for the best. The town was always wonderland in their imagination. In reality there were no neon lights or exciting crowds. The fish and chip shop was shut. It was a forbidding place of rowdy drunks and puke.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

or

537 Essential Rock Albums Pt. 1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/537-Essential-Rock-Albums-first-ebook/dp/B00OEMO7TA/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474902569&sr=1-3

Opher’s tributes to Rock Geniuses

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ophers-World-Tributes-Rock-Geniuses-ebook/dp/B00U0NLP4W/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_32?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474967124&sr=1-32

If you would like some of my Sci-fi I recommend Ebola in the Garden of Eden or Sorting the Future to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebola-Garden-Eden-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0116VXVIY/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886688&sr=1-19

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sorting-Future-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533082669/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-10

If you would like a sixties novel I recommend Danny’s Story or Goofin’ with the Cosmic Freaks

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dannys-Story-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533487219/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-9

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Goofin-Cosmic-Freaks-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00MT3GWIK/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886872&sr=1-18

Happy Reading!!

 

My Surreal Sixties book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 4 – Into the mundane

After starting my hero as a sperm I followed up with an embryo and the process of birth. Then I plunge down into the mundane for a little bit of narrative.

It’s a bit like War and Peace, don’t you think?

4

The egg and sperm had joined. The consciousness assumed identity and grown.

Messny Krapbutt was born in the suburbs of London. He arrived, frightened and confused, into an immense world of extremes that was full of madness and speed. He left behind the tranquillity of the womb; separated from it by a wall of crushing terror. That closeness was forever replaced by a distance too great to transcend.

He grew.

In the post-war Britain, with its bombsites and open spaces, trees to climb, dens to build, and various games to play, the years of his childhood merged into one long summer’s day. He had little and wanted for nothing.

The directions he chose reflected his richly scattered tastes. He was never aimless.

He played in the quiet roads and wild fields, under blue skies and scorching sun that turned his body nut-brown so that it would not show the dirt. He lost himself in the pursuit of nature, crawling along ditches and under hedgerows, collecting anything that moved to cherish and inspect.

He played with gangs of kids, running, leaping, climbing and occasionally fighting; hunting adventure with co-conspirators as close as brothers.

In later years he came to reflect that all of his childhood was a brief memory in which the patterns of his life were set. He was loved, cherished and given freedom and scope. What more could anyone want? But that need for contact is constant. He had experienced it with the warmth of his family and nurtured it among his friends. It was as necessary a nourishment as food.

Overnight everything changed. The games of childhood were put aside. His hormones now dictated the balance of his body’s chemistry and his mind proved susceptible to the rigours of chemical interference. It was hopelessly tossed into raging seas by the traitorous messages in his bloodstream as he became the victim and no longer the master.

He began frequenting novel areas of the locality hitherto unvisited, such as the local girls’ school seeking closeness of a different variety. He enjoyed the differences of these new relationships with their gentler overtones and stomach wrenching burst of inner excitement.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

If you would like some of my Sci-fi I recommend Ebola in the Garden of Eden or Sorting the Future to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebola-Garden-Eden-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0116VXVIY/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886688&sr=1-19

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sorting-Future-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533082669/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-10

If you would like a sixties novel I recommend Danny’s Story or Goofin’ with the Cosmic Freaks

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dannys-Story-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1533487219/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886738&sr=1-9

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Goofin-Cosmic-Freaks-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00MT3GWIK/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886872&sr=1-18

 

My surreal Sixties first book – Chapter 3 – What dormant DNA lies in the genome of our dreams?

3. 

In the dark seas of many planets life develops along patterns set by the energy flow of the universe. The minds of the sentient beings direct the evolution. Nothing is other than chance. Changes are passed down and resound through the generations. Yet nothing is by chance.

The energy patterns of creatures merge with the dimensions of mind. New organisms are the result of these interactions.

There is no god – only the flux. There is nothing outside of the flux to worship or pray to. There is only the mind and the flux from whence it came. Just as matter was plucked from the realms of nothing by movement alone, directed and twinned with mind so as to be inseparable.

Yet there are many levels of existence.

The eternal paradox that man has grappled with is that reality is absolute and that man and all his knowledge is but a part. The part must become the all in oneness. There is no paradox in pure mind. For mind is part and all at the same time. It is one with the flux. The flux is what we swim in and are part of. It is all that exists.

It is not strange that life, in all its varied forms, should have the same pattern and have evolved so well together. The flux is in control. It brings harmony and pattern.

The planet is involved in delicate balance with universe to produce the environment where conditions are stable and optimum for life – not only for its creation but its evolution too. All the complexity of life radiates through the unique set of challenges.

The sun’s energy is robbed of its destructive radiation by an atmosphere produced by photosynthesis. The atmosphere is filled with oxygen. Food is produced in abundance from sunlight. Animals return carbon dioxide in a harmonious cycle.

Every plant and animal has its place in the rich, exotic food web, creating an appetising meal for both gut and eye that nourishes the mind. There is an inspired perfection of danger, interest, beauty and food – all the challenge necessary to promote the development of intelligence.

So tightly interwoven is this web that the loss of a single species resounds and echoes down energy pathways so that the whole world feels its passing. Not that the system is delicate. It is resilient in the face of change.

The culmination of this system is to produce an organism who can break free of the very system that created it by using its wisdom.

The earliest forms of life were single celled. For billions of years they remained simple before joining together into the multicellular organisms. It was from the tadpole that we came, leaving our sedentary parents in the mud.

What dormant DNA lies in wait in the genome of our dreams?

If you wish to check out my later books they are available on Amazon:

My Surreal 1960s first book – Reality Dreams – Chapter 2

2.

Day one begins and you enter.

Welcome, my friend, welcome.

You look around you. Nothing is formed. My work is just beginning.

You are frightened, amazed and mesmerised. You cannot recognise this place. It is a darkness that swells and recedes with the swirl of colour.

You float through the endless depths of the freefall fluids, cushioned and enclosed in an infinity of rainbows which softly sink to caress your skin.

The colours swirl and arouse other sensations. A tangible form begins to emerge from the void. It retreats.

Pressures bear down from all sides. You are enclosed. If you stretch you encounter a rubbery wall of softness. Within this dark prison, cushioned in the inky black waters, you feel comfortable.

Your world must be your mind, my friend. A mind that is, as yet, unknown and unformed.

Welcome, my friend, for I am here.

What dreams do you spin with no experience to base them on? Each day is the same. The past has no substance apart from the warm, hazy colours that float by. What dreams do you dream when you are awake in this pleasant solitary confinement? Do you feel utterly alone, forsaken and abandoned? You are adrift in a universe of your own with nothing concrete to base your reality on.

You are not alone.

In this watery warmth you are closer than you could ever be to anyone else. Yet, even so, you are still separated by a million miles of strange dimensions.

You listen to the distorted murmurs and vibrations that boom around you.

Welcome, my friend, can you hear me?

Day one was a blanket of weak colour. Day two was a miniscule richer. Days merge into a stream of bobbing waves and ebbing hues.

Change is the norm. Do not be afraid.

You are crushed on all sides, painfully in a rubber vice, crushed with no explanation.  In terror. Then released. Then the pattern is set and you, betrayed, can never fully relax again, never trust the world.

Welcome to the beginning – the big squeeze.

You finally burst into blinding light.

Welcome, pea from a pod. You are released to grow in alien lands that you will never fully understand, far from the primeval soothing softness.

Goodbye to gentle.

Welcome to the harshness, the shrieking rush of atoms, the velocity of worlds.

p1140348

Welcome to the light my friend.

Welcome to the reality of movement, change and screaming energy.

And if in dreams you were to return to the swirling colours, the warmth and peace, all the patterns of before, will you remember what it was? And my friend, will you make judgements on which was the most real?

For here in the mind we create the reality dreams. Should you believe them and wake – what then my friend?

For, with your eyes closed, your mind wandering through the formless patterns within, you are nearer to the truth you seek than at any other time.

Welcome my friend, for reality dreams, and you are a star, and a star is born.

p1120111-2

 

 

 

Reality Dreams – A surreal Sixties book – Chapter 1

p1120111-2

1.

He was dimly aware of his existence, irritated by a sense of incompleteness, feeling lonely and lost, as if the bulk of himself was missing.

He had very little sensation. He could neither see nor hear. He knew not that he lacked senses with which to probe his surroundings. He had no comprehension of senses. Yet sensations of a kind did filter through to his cloudy awareness. He felt safe and warm. He felt the touch of a caring companion. There was no need to worry. He knew he was a tiny cog in some huge machine. It did not concern him. He was cared for and maintained but ultimately he was of no importance. His loss would pass unnoticed.

He flexed his body and felt joy at the pent up power that he felt. Yet he was not yet free to move. He lay quietly and attended to the flow within himself – waiting.

All around him he could feel the presence of others. They pressed in on him from all sides; their thoughts were impinging, crude and inexpressive, like those of his own.

He was patient. He awaited his destiny.

As his awareness grew he developed a feeling of being apart from the millions around him. His life was full of dreams in which he felt incomplete; there was a greater self to which he was only half. His other half, the half he sought, was not to be found among these similar beings that surrounded him. She was far away. The huge distance of their separation haunted him and aggravated his sense of incompleteness. He could not imagine her and wondered if she was able to conceive of him. They were separated in some colossal abstraction with an overpowering longing to be united. It dominated his life.

He waited, poised in the darkness of his existence with vague feelings that he and his companions were part of some greater consciousness, something huge and distant, which drained his own cognizance as if it were a mental flea, amalgamating them into something more substantial.

A change came. He had separated from that he had been and felt invigorated, purer, with more purpose. The energy coursed through him and he was filled with impatience. He could taste it in the currents around him. The potential to move welled up inside him and he felt restrained. Unfettered he would have sped through the fluids in which he floated, but he was moored, still waiting to be released. His overriding desire was to locate his other half so that he could be complete. Nothing else mattered. The tension within him was building.

Out there in the distance his other half felt very much the same. She too was clearer and more alert, certain that fulfilment would be soon. She too had separated and was overcome with a sense of imminence. Unlike him she could not move and had no desire to. Instead she produced subtle alluring chemistry that she scattered in the fluid around her. Patience was her game.

Her world was rocked by a huge convulsion. She was ejected, buffeted, rocked and spun madly before finally coming to rest. She drifted lackadaisically on the currents, waiting and luring with her secreted messages, seeking that uniting where-in she might become one.

All of a sudden he was rapidly moved along in an overpowering current, to come to rest in a huge chamber, crammed together like fish in a net, silently waiting.

It came! He was shot down tubes at huge speed. Chemicals and fluids were poured on him as he was helplessly propelled forwards in a tidal wave of blurred movement. He gave himself up to it as it boosted him onward, helpless in its terrible grip. Yet even as he was buffeted and pounded he could feel the chemicals bringing him to life, activating his latent energy and flooding his body with power. If he could only free himself from this irresistible torrent he knew he could move like never before.

Eventually it came to a halt. Yet he was not free. All around the fluid had vitrified to hold him in place. He was trapped. It seemed to last for eternity but then he could feel it melting him to free him from his prison and he was free. He flexed and raced in delight, exhilarating in the freedom and giving full vent to the locked up power that had been held in check for so long.  He had been released.

He became aware of a new sensation. Something from outside filtered through to him – a scent drifting on the currents of his new world, an alluring aroma that was the most exciting sensation he had ever experienced. He instinctively knew what it was. He recognised it immediately. It was his other half. They were now close. He could sense her. It was what he had dreamed of through those long lonely aeons of time

Yet he sensed that those around him had noticed too. They were equally agitated and eager. The waters were churned as they turned and swam. A terror consumed him as he gathered his determination and swam the currents with all the force at his command. He had to reach her first. He raced to beat his fellows and gather the spoils for himself. To fail would leave him without hope or purpose. He knew she waited for him.

He swam until his body felt exhausted and yet he could not afford to stop. He had to prove himself the stronger. The scent was so strong now that it consumed his consciousness with a raging desire which drove him frantically on beyond the limits of his overstretched resources, yet he refused to lessen his pace. Around him others slowed and dropped behind. The numbers around him lessened and that served to drive him on even faster. The scent was unbearable. He knew she was close.

He arrived and pressed up against the wall that kept him from her. All around him others were fighting to get through. There was a surging melee. They were releasing their chemicals to break down that barrier. He could feel it dissolve. He joined in, thrashing for all his might to force his way through. All around hundreds of thousands were doing the same. He was desperate. He had to prove himself the fittest and the best. He dashed himself against that last barricade and strove frantically with all his might.

He broke through into a world of peace. He had won the prize. Behind him the others could no longer enter and were doomed to thrash away in futility until overcome with exhaustion. Their wittering counted for nothing. He alone would be fulfilled.

He moved across to embrace, merge and become one; to live and grow.

They became whole.

Reality Dreams – A surreal Sixties book – The Preface.

p1140348

I used Pete’s incredible poem as the preface.

Preface

When I take all the time in the world

Me, you and it are all one –

Time agoes, roundabout whirls

Along distances never run.

 

If I think at the speed of light in my brain

And if my thoughts carry any weight

They’ll have infinite mass

And now and again

I’ll be able to speak with some gravity –

Which won’t be dependent on brevity

‘Cos infinites, infinite infinity.

And what about now? When? Now – then.

 

The monodimension

Mu-meson dilation

Of infinite extension,

Red shift relation,

That memory retention

Is fade out dependention –

One way ticket down entropies gangway.

 

When I take all the time in the world

And think it all into a second –

Has been and will be,

Old man and baby,

In coracle hairy

Of knowledge and mystery;

The facts and the fantasy

Of matter and energy

And Einstein’s light

All might

Be the same

But for name

 

In the rhyme

Of old tyme

……Dancing…….

When I take all the time in the world.

 

Pete Smith 1973

Reality Dreams – A surreal Sixties book I started writing in 1970 – The Introduction

I thought I’d get this typed up. It is very strange. I’m wasting my time, right?

p1140347

Introduction

I started to write this book back in 1970. At the time I thought I was creating something quite revolutionary. I was writing a collage of a story incorporating poems, cartoons, spirituality, biology and philosophy.

I eagerly sent it off to publishers who, for some strange reason, did not get the weird counterculture entity I had produced. I think they were looking for something that conformed to a more standard format. I put it down to their lack of ability to understand.

Only with the passing of time, many rewrites, and greater objectivity did I realise that the writing was rubbish and the narrative did not carry the reader.

So why am I bothering to resurrect it now 46 years later?

Well I ask myself that too. But I am attached to it. It was my first foray into writing and I find it fascinating. It is a mass of all the ideas going through the head of a twenty year old veteran of the sixties scene. It’s full of weirdness and naivety. Rewriting it is like communing with the person I used to be forty six years ago. It’s like meeting an old friend. It makes me smile.

I am addressing the writing but I can’t do much about the structure. It’s a sixties thing.

 

Opher 23.9.2016