Oh to go back to visit with old friends.

Another Excerpt – 53 and imploding Kindle/Paperback

We have rich social lives – all those friends, all weaving their strands into that tapestry, changing and going their own ways. We have shared many seconds, many values and much fun. It would be so fine to go back and be there again. These memories are so flawed. I would like a taste of the real thing to savour one more time.

Events seen from different perspectives can seem incredibly dissimilar. Taken together could they possibly reveal a greater view of those seconds of reality? Would anything alter your own subjective experience? I hope not!

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

Conexion – A Sci-fi novel – a drug that enables you to journey through your DNA back into the distant past – strange discoveries.

Conexion

 

In the future it is still all about power.

General Secretary Rheen holds the reins but does he hold the power?

What about the members of the shadowy Consortium who supply the money to get him elected? …

The separatists who are prepared to use violence?

The Unification Movement who would bring the opposition together?

Or the people who democratically vote?

What of the stranded Starship?

And what of the new drug Conexion that opens genetic memories to unlock an unexpected past?

The new Gaia religion?

Or the three massive spherical objects heading for earth?

How will it all come to a conclusion?

Extract

Chapter 1 – As it was

James Hendrix, better known as Jimi to everyone who knew him, noted the first indication at precisely 2.37 and 37 seconds on May 30th 2249.

It was a date that was to go down in history as one of the most auspicious events ever recorded, even though at the time Jimi thought little of it and paid it scant attention.

That was not surprising. Warnings went off routinely as every lump of rock or piece of space junk that was heading anywhere near an inhabited planet was flagged up. Most were of little consequence and would simply burn up in the atmosphere but a few were big enough to cause concern and had to be dealt with. That’s why the agency had been set up.

Jimi assigned the latest intruder a signature code – JHUMA91074 – then he left it to its automatic tracking system and went back to playing Solum with the station’s computer.

JH were his initials, UMA stood for Ursa Major, the segment of space from which the object was first recorded coming in. It was quite an unusual one as could be seen from the low number of recorded warnings, 91074 indicated the number of objects that had originated from that sector.

Once assigned, the computer continued to plot the trajectory and that was normally where the whole matter ended. Most of the debris was considered of no risk and was merely monitored, never to be heard of again. People like Jimi performed the mundane task of acknowledging the warning just as a fail-safe. The Public did not like the idea of there not being a human touch somewhere along the line. They felt that humans should make the decisions even though it had been well proven that computers were far better at it.

There wasn’t a great deal of excitement to be had in Jimi’s work. Being an astrophysicist had sounded great when he’d opted for the training but wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Jimi worked for the AEWC – the Asteroid Early Warning Centre – in its favour, it paid well and at least got one up into vacuum even if that’s as far as it went. For the most part his work consisted of spending long tedious hours on his own every night, pointlessly acknowledging things of no significance that the computer had already done, and vainly hoping for an event of significance to finally take place so that there was at least something to get excited over. The sad fact was that even if a major event did occur then all Jimi had to do was ensure that the computer had passed the information on to his superiors, which it routinely did anyway – so even that wasn’t exactly thrilling.

It was not a pleasant thing to realise that one was in effect redundant and surplus to requirements, so Jimi tried not to think about it too much, which was why he spent most of his time playing games with the computer. Even that enterprise was futile – about as pointless as checking space junk. He knew the computer could beat him hands down every time if it had not been programmed to limit its capabilities in order to give him a fighting chance. Still, it whiled the hours away.

Jimi had not paid too much attention to this particular intrusion other than to note that the object was far too far away at this point in time to be of any importance, so he did not have to register it into his consciousness or grant it a moment’s speculation as to what it might be. A minor niggle did reach the surface of his thoughts; if it was far away and yet had registered it had to be big. But hey, space was full of lumps of rock and the majority of them were of absolutely no significance. Space was big. As long as they did not cross routes or threaten planets they could be disregarded.

It goes to show, doesn’t it? There’s no limit to how wrong a person might be!

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Poetry – Frozen in time

Frozen in time

A warm breeze stirs the long grass in the meadow.

There is a heady scent of dried hay and flowers in the air.

The blue sky goes on for ever.

The sun never ceases to give its heat

And I feel it on my skin.

The bees continue to hum.

The long dead swallows still swoop

Over the fields plucking insects from the air.

I still lay on my back in that field

Feeling the vitality of that same day

As an electricity frozen in time.

It is a moment that never dies,

That I revisit time and time again,

As long as I have the mind

To summon it back to life.

Opher – 1.5.2019

It is a powerful childhood memory. I am alone in a meadow of long grass on a beautiful summer day. I am lying on my back staring up at that sky, with a stem of grass in my mouth, feeling the warmth of the sun, surrounded by nature, the butterflies, bees, beetles and bugs, the aroma of dried grass in my nostrils, the swallows swooping all around, and I am peering up into the blue. The thought comes into my head that that sky goes on forever. It is novel and powerful. My mind rebels against it. Everything has an end. But the sky doesn’t. The idea is so unbelievable that it gives me vertigo and I feel as if I am falling up into it.

It is a moment that is etched in my memory. It is real. I can summon it up at will. That moment still lives frozen in time, locked within my mind – a vivid video – still alive.

Carn Euny – Iron Age Village in Cornwall

In the midst of the beautiful Cornwall landscape there are the remains of an Iron Age settlement dating back to the 2nd century.

The remains are well preserved and allow you to see and feel what our ancestors lived like. You can sit on a stone and stare out through the eyes of the past.

All around us is the mystery of history. An underground passage and chamber (A fogou). Who know what strange ceremonies were carried out in there.

Poetry – I’m Sorry

I’m Sorry

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the things I didn’t do

And the things I did.

For the things I did not give, the things I gave

And the things I kept.

I’m sorry for the angry words, the silence

And even the apologies,

Or lack of apologies.

I’m sorry for agreeing, disagreeing,

As well as being stubborn, compliant and obtuse.

I’m sorry for what I have destroyed, built and hoarded.

I’m sorry for the way I’ve lived – the selfishness, selflessness and reluctance to change.

I’m sorry for what I could not do, as well as what I’ve achieved.

I’m sorry for my beliefs, deeds and obsessions.

I’m sorry for my mistakes and the things I got right.

It was all wrong

And I am truly sorry.

I will try to do better –

But you know –

I may just do it all again.

Opher 21.6.2017

I’m Sorry

Well I am sorry. There are many things that you think back on and realise that you could have done better, people you let down, embarrassments, injustices. Life is littered with them.

Even when you are doing things right the effects may be detrimental to someone.

Relationships are difficult. Being a man is difficult. Living is full of uncertainties. Even the certainties turn out to be wrong.

But – overall – I wouldn’t change it much!! I’m sorry.

Poetry – Calling Time on the Past

Calling Time on the Past

Travelling cross-country on a train

Past old factories and warehouses,

Relics from a past age,

Looking forlorn, drab and neglected,

In disrepair.

Yesterday’s dreams tarnished with time,

Clinging on desperately for grim life.

The drab brick discoloured and faded,

Adorned with soot and graffiti,

Amidst debris and litter,

Festooned with razor-wire –

No longer the hope of the future,

Now ageing limpets

Adhering to an eroding rock

And knowing

That a big storm is already on its way.

There is no profit sufficient to restore their glory.

They are left hanging on,

And on, and on, and on,

On a wish.

Displaced by robots and cheap labour abroad,

Yet still with full carparks of workers cars.

Workers who are disgruntled,

Ever settling for less,

Keep an anxious eye on an approaching exit;

To the days when weeds and shards of glass

Will displace the clatter of machinery and chatter.

Time to move on.

Time to invent the new.

Time to seek a different way.

Time to leave the past behind.

Time to learn new skills.

For the old ways are busy dying.

Time…time…..time…..time…….

Maybe in time to re-emerge as skeletons?

To reassume a splendour of archaeological delight?

Broken walls stark against a sunset sky

Rich in nostalgia for an age gone by

Made majestic again by time?

1.2.2017

Calling Time on the Past

I wrote this poem while travelling by train across Britain from Hull to Manchester. I was catching a flight to Australia to begin a journey that would take me through Java, Borneo, Indonesia, the Phillipines, Vietnam, India, the Middle East and home.

There was excitement in the air and sadness too. I was looking at the slowly decaying heartland of British manufacturing. I was also looking back through strata of ruins at past eras when the mines and mills ruled but are now completely gone.

I was living in Brexit Britain still clinging to the ideas of the past when Empire ruled and wealth flowed in to fill the coffers of the rich and provide employment for the exploited poor.

Times change.

I had Trump’s words ringing in my ears – how he was going to restore those decaying American industries – the coal, oil and steel – to do away with renewables and deny the future.

Times change.

Was America diving back, like Britain, into the past instead of forging ahead?

I felt it was time to call time on the past and embrace the new before we become left behind.

I had an image of those forlorn factories re-emerging at some later stage to become objects of beauty, in much the same way our broken castles, abbeys and mills have done, their ugliness transformed.

Time is change. There is no going back.