The Cleansing 11 – Chapter 3

Posted on by Opher

Sorting the plot for this novel to provide twists and turns was fun. This social/political satire is a reflection on the state of the world we have created but I wanted it to be a good read too!

Chapter 3 – Control and Lack of Control

Beheggakegri called a special meeting of the United Federation of Races committee. The damn time lapse in receiving information from Grrndakegra was proving a major problem. How could he possibly control things with this degree of waiting? By the time he received updates, the situation on Hydra had probably changed. If it hadn’t meant leaving the luxury of his beloved luxoservo Lomi with its unique dainties and quality psychosynth, he might have been tempted to make the trip himself. But he knew he couldn’t justify that. The Federal Administration would start asking questions. Hydra was just a pimple on the backside of the Federation. There were countless other nifts he was meant to be frying. His personal vendetta against Commander Chameakegra and her pet judge was no justification. The central council did not share his views. To them Hydra was a minor problem. Beheggakegri had plenty more issues to oversee than one tiny planet stuck out in the middle of nowhere. He was left frustrated.

‘Why is that drangling Judge getting herself involved?’ Beheggakegri railed, glaring around at the committee as if it were their fault. His eyes locked on Sang.

Sang knew what was coming. He saturated his epidermis in preparation and met Beheggakegri’s gaze. ‘She has sent us a communique stating that this case is so interesting she has decided to take a sabbatical and participate in the experiment.’

‘Participate in the experiment?’ Beheggakegri repeated in disbelief. ‘It’s none of her drangling business. Order her to keep her snout out of our drangling stuff!’

‘Actually,’ the Achec Zenn interceded, ‘she has a right to remain involved. It is enshrined in the constitution. Our claws are entangled.’

Beheggakegri rounded on him with a glare that threatened to melt titanium. ‘What drangling constitution??’ He turned back to Sang. ‘You drangling tell that dull‑scuted apology for a Judge to clear off. We are dealing with this.’

‘I’ll try,’ Sang replied calmly, already formulating the wording of a diplomatic request, ‘but I rather feel she won’t take any notice.’

‘Just order her!’ Beheggakegri bellowed.

‘We might be on more secure ground asking politely,’ the Jerbian Debo suggested tactfully.

‘Yes, we’re on very dodgy legal ground issuing orders to Judges,’ Bark the Marlan added.

Beheggakegri seemed ready to explode. The bulging flesh protruding between his scutes throbbed like an overripe godelberry. Colours raced across his plates in a manic psychedelic rainbow. Somehow he regained speech. ‘I don’t care how you do it. Just get that drangling Judge out of there!’

Grrndakegra thought she looked suitably impressive, decked out in her finest. Her image was beamed through every TV set on Hydra. They had seized every transmitter; the alien broadcast was the only game in town. Everyone wanted to hear what the invaders had to say.

She could not have believed her words would calm and reassure the terrified population. If she had, she was utterly wrong. If she meant to terrify, the Hydran reaction must have pleased her immensely. The sight of a giant gaudily coloured lizard with a crest, fangs, a bright blue forked tongue, and piercing green eyes was enough to send Hydrans into paroxysms of fear. To them she was a nightmare made flesh. Her voice, which she must have thought soothing as ordered by Judge Booghramakegra, barked from receivers like the growl of a rabid grizzly. Far from reassuring, it sent Hydran minds into frenzy. Many fainted outright. The visual impact of an adult Giforian in full regalia was petrifying. Who cared what she said? They had been invaded by dragons. Who knew what might happen? These aliens probably feasted on babies and barbequed people for fun.

Chameakegra watched the performance from the Neff’s bridge. Feeds poured in from across Hydra. This was not going well. She shook her scaly head. If only Grrndakegra had consulted instead of rushing in. This would be hard to recover from. Not the best of starts. But perhaps that was the point. Was Grrndakegra doing Beheggakegri’s bidding?

Commander Chameakegra mailed Grrndakegra to formally inform her of her intention to visit. The response was brief and less than welcoming. Grrndakegra was available for a thirty‑minute window at 10 hundred hours. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Chameakegra accepted.

Travelling alone in the shuttle, she was cleared for docking. Her entry onto Quorma was a far cry from the reception Grrndakegra had received on Neff. As the airlock dilated, a young female Dref waited to escort her directly to Grrndakegra’s quarters. Chameakegra struggled to hide her annoyance. No welcoming committee. It felt like an insult. It was an insult.

Grrndakegra’s quarters were Spartan and utilitarian. The Dref was dismissed. Chameakegra gestured to a pexi beside a low mense while Grrndakegra dealt with a ‘pressing’ matter on her comulator. After a few minutes she reluctantly dragged herself away and joined Chameakegra. No refreshments were offered.

Grrndakegra stared questioningly.

‘I thought it important that we liaise and formulate a policy on the best way to proceed,’ Chameakegra opened, keeping her tone neutral. She did not want to suggest Grrndakegra’s opening moves had been a disaster. That was self‑evident.

Grrndakegra looked puzzled. ‘I cannot see what there is to discuss or liaise on,’ she replied. Chameakegra thought she could already detect slight ripples of yellow annoyance in her scutes.
‘I think that the approach we take in dealing with the Hydrans will largely determine whether the mission succeeds or fails,’ Chameakegra insisted.

Grrndakegra looked even more confused. ‘The sequence is laid out. It is clear. We move in, take over all military, political and media institutions, and restore order. We’ve done that. Now we begin the process of moving forward. We dissolve all nations, set up a global government, begin to introduce a suitable education programme, and remove the errant Hydrans. Couldn’t be clearer. That is what I was initiating when you interrupted me.’

Chameakegra was shocked at the abruptness of the response. ‘Surely you can see that unless we actually take the population with us this will be doomed to fail?’

Grrndakegra shrugged. ‘They will either find themselves worthy or not. It’s of no consequence to me either way.’

‘Don’t you want to facilitate some rehabilitation and introduction to the Federation?’

Grrndakegra looked pensive but no pink tinge invaded her scutes. ‘Once we have removed the troublesome element, done away with the absurd archaic tribalism, and introduced a suitable education programme, I think it is largely in the hands of the Hydrans.’

‘But you are overlooking the emotional make‑up of these Hydrans. You are inviting opposition.’

‘It goes without saying that we will overhaul their energy production and industry. We will remove all pollution and cordon off areas of the natural habitat so that the ecosystems can mend. That will soon create a great improvement in their living conditions. No Hydrans will be starving or living in poverty. The air and water will be uncontaminated. The planet will replenish itself.’ Grrndakegra looked genuinely perplexed. If she was acting she was doing a good job. She appeared as if she really could not see what the problem was. ‘They will soon understand that things are far better under our control. Then we will see what they are made of.’

For a number of seconds Chameakegra sat and stared at Grrndakegra, not quite knowing how to respond. Was she really so ignorant or was she deliberately trying to sabotage the whole experiment? She had to at least assume that she was genuine. ‘We need to work together. I know the Hydrans. I’ve studied them, moved around in their societies. I understand what makes them tick. Take last night. That could have gone much more smoothly if you had consulted with me.’

The yellow ripple of annoyance gave way to a clear burst of green displeasure, though Chameakegra could see a slight pink of thoughtful consideration. ‘Yesterday proceeded very smoothly,’ Grrndakegra responded, an edge of anger and defiance dominating the clipped tones. ‘We successfully took over all strategic sites without opposition. We placed ourselves firmly in control and restored order. The first phase was completed without incident.’

‘That is as maybe,’ Chameakegra was attempting to find a conciliatory way forward. ‘But your subsequent broadcast failed to reduce Hydran fears and establish a way forward. It frightened the life out of them. Surely you can see that?’

Grrndakegra bristled, deep waves of green rippled over her scutes and her crest reared with a distinct warning white. ‘The broadcast was necessary to establish our control.’

‘Yes, but it did not need to be as frightening for the Hydrans. So frightening that they did not listen to what you had to say.’

Grrndakegra looked genuinely confused. Waves of black bewilderment began marching over her crest. If this was an act she deserved an award.

Chameakegra had to give her the benefit of doubt. ‘For Hydrans the sight of a large Giforian is a terrifying spectacle.’

Grrndakegra raised her palms. ‘But they have to get used to the sight of Giforians, Drefs, Achecs and the rest. We are here. We have taken over.’

‘But that could be done gradually. For that first broadcast, if you had kept what is to them a terrifying image out of the way, you might have had a calming effect. You could have talked to them and they would have listened. It was an opportunity to explain the benefits and reassure them that we are benevolent and mean them no harm. It was an opportunity to set a tone and allay their fears. They might not all have been won over, but it would not have exacerbated the problem.’

Grrndakegra shrugged again and slumped back with a grim look on her face. She regarded Chameakegra sternly. ‘We have invaded their planet and taken over. Do you really expect them to welcome us with open claws? They have to get used to it.’

‘No, I don’t expect them to welcome us, but I don’t believe we have to terrify them into submission,’ Chameakegra asserted, meeting Grrndakegra’s disparaging stare. ‘I am not thinking about the immediate situation. I’m projecting further into the future. If we handle this right and they come to see our take‑over as beneficial and short‑term, then I think we have a good chance of creating what I would consider to be a good outcome.’

Grrndakegra glared at her, daring her to put that outcome into words.

‘I want them developing their positive side and shucking off the negative attributes so that they can legitimately find a place in the Federation.’

‘Why?’ Grrndakegra seemed genuinely bemused.

Chameakegra gathered her thoughts. ‘Because I believe that at their best they are more than worthy. They are vibrant and creative and have a great deal to bring to the Federation.’

Grrndakegra seemed to consider that. ‘Hmmm, you are truly an idealist,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t say that I’ve seen any of those positive attributes that you speak of. They seem rather a weak, craven race to me, but I’ll take your word for it.’

Chameakegra took that as a step forward. ‘All I am suggesting is that we work closely together and you allow me an opinion in how things are carried out. I think that’s important.’

A distinct wave of mauve amusement flowed across Grrndakegra’s scutes as she smiled across at Chameakegra. ‘Alright then. What’s there to lose?’ They rattled claws.

‘I am sorting the arrangements for the separation. The techs have nearly completed the lunar facilities. I am going to start the process of extraction. Any suggestion on how that should proceed?’

Chameakegra ignored the condescending tone. The process of extracting the abhorrent elements was going to be ugly. She knew that but could see no way around it. They had to extract the poison before the wounds could heal. She had no advice to offer.
‘No. I don’t see any way of carrying out that operation painlessly. We have identified the individuals for extraction. We have furnished you with them. We just have to do it as quickly and painlessly as possible.’

Grrndakegra looked surprised. She had been expecting some kind of namby‑pamby protest.
‘I would like to draft a broadcast though. Something that will set out clearly what we intend to do and lay the groundwork for a future relationship,’ Chameakegra added.
‘I’ve no objection to that,’ Grrndakegra smiled.

The Cleansing 9 – Chapter 2 continued

Posted on by Opher

This novel provided me with the opportunity to examine human society and the crazy way we have been behaving. Questions we have to ask ourselves are whether violence, greed and lust for power are embedded in our DNA or learnt behaviour. Can we become civilised or must we always have Trumps, war and Musks?

Chapter 2 continued:

Chameakegra reread the judge’s mail with mixed emotions as her initial elation receded. She was retained. She still had a role. She could oversee the operation. That was the best news, particularly as she knew it would not sit well with Beheggakegri. She allowed herself a chuckle.

But a joint command? Could that work? She found it hard at the best of times to work with others. Graffa would attest to that. Her second‑in‑command was the most even‑tempered Minorian in existence, yet even he had found it nigh impossible at times to work with her. She knew it. That posed the question: could she work with another commander on a joint project — particularly one in which she had been so deeply involved and fully responsible? What if they did not agree? Who took control? Did either have a veto? She had severe reservations. Even so, a blue wave of satisfaction flowed across her scutes. She was staying on Hydra. That could not be bad.

Then she thought about her crew, the ones who had chosen to remain. She was exhausted, and she knew they were too. The extended assessment had drained them all. She was buoyed by emotional involvement, but what about them? Could they summon the energy and enthusiasm required? Many had families and commitments. They had already given far more than intended. The expedition was far longer than planned, and they were psychologically prepared for return. The news they were staying on for another indeterminate period had gone down like a greffotum’s bum. Could they pick themselves up to do a good job? She thought not. That needed addressing.

Judge Booghramakegra, I am delighted to assume a joint leadership role in this venture and am sure my knowledge will be of use. However, my crew are exhausted. Many have chosen to stay on out of loyalty. However, they have been away from home for an extended period due to the burden of the added assessment. I would suggest we arrange a shuttle to send home all those who wish to return and replenish the crew. — Commander Chameakegra

Chameakegra pasted Beheggakegri into the exchange but refrained from informing the crew until she heard back. There was no need to unsettle them. Graffa was the only one she took into her confidence. They discussed the situation at length. He too was torn. His larvae were nearing metamorphosis back on Gestor, and she knew he wanted to be with his partner for that enormously important transition. Yet he wanted to stay.

Two messages arrived in quick succession:
That sounds like a sound proposition. I will inform the Head of UFOR that you will assume joint leadership on the execution of the project and I will ask him to arrange replacements for the crew who wish to return. — Judge Booghramakegra
This is preposterous. We cannot have two commanders on a mission like this. We require clear leadership. — Beheggakegri, UFOR

Chameakegra regarded the two messages with satisfaction. In matters such as these the Judge held sway. This was a fait accompli. A wave of blue satisfaction ran over her scutes at the thought of how irate this must have made Beheggakegri, but it quickly faded to green and yellow as she considered the implications of upsetting him further. He was a powerful enemy. There was no telling what trouble he could cause.

Her claws clicked across the comulator:
I am pleased to assume joint command and look forward to working with the Commander the Head of UFOR appoints. I am certain we can bring it to a suitable conclusion. — Commander Chameakegra

She pasted Beheggakegri into her reply, then set her mind to informing the crew of the changes in plans and providing them with options. She urged them to take up the offer of leave to be with their families, thanked them for a job well done, and wished them well.

Another thought occurred. Perhaps this was the moment to broach her other idea. She quickly rattled off another message to Judge Booghramakegra:
As the nature of Hydran minds is yet to be fully understood and the positive effects of the rehabilitation programmes have yet to be assessed, I would suggest we hold back on the extermination programme. It is possible we might rehabilitate them too.

She paused before sending. This time she refrained from pasting Beheggakegri in. She did not want him clawing into this nest of kiddgers.

Everything had been buffed to perfection. Cleaning bots had worked overtime, staff likewise. All immaculate in full dress regalia, assembled in a welcoming committee.

Commander Chameakegra presided, standing to the fore ready to greet her counterpart. In bytes the two commanders were on a par. In practice, parity would be hard to achieve. First impressions mattered.

As host on her own turf, Chameakegra was fully prepared. Her best dress uniform, usually reserved for the highest ceremonial events, accentuated her physique — a Giforian female in her prime. Extended shoulder pads broadened her frame, the low‑cut back revealed vertebral spurs, and the cut‑away front flaunted her large ventral scutes. With crest fully extended, insignia on display, and scutes flowing with iridescent sheen, she presented an impressive figure. Her forked iridescent blue tongue flicked over her scaly lips in anticipation. She was ready for Grrndakegra.

The massive H‑craft, the size of a city, emerged through the maw of hyperspace precisely to the nanosecond. Even with shields deployed, it was perfectly visible to Neff’s surveillance equipment. The vast sister ship slid close, Commander Grrndakegra’s Quorma drawing alongside so airlocks aligned — a masterclass in docking. The two monster craft dwarfed the shuttle craft lurking nearby. A sinuous connecting tunnel deployed, and within seconds they had docked.

The portal dilated. Commander Grrndakegra strode through with her entourage in tow. Once inside the Neff she halted, haughtily surveying the crew. She too cut an impressive figure, matching Chameakegra in every respect. The deep orange of authority cloaked her crest and scutes. Her eyes roved up and down Chameakegra with arrogant air.

Chameakegra thought she detected a faint tinge of mauve amusement on the Commander’s plates, as if she saw the charade as a game, as if she were above it all.

Chameakegra stepped forward to rattle talons, her eyes taking in the stern‑faced entourage of reptilian Achec and Giforian, with the odd Dref and Jerb. She began the formalities, welcoming them to the Neff, introducing her second, Graffa the Minorian amphibian, then proceeding through the department heads. She noted that the presence of mammalian Jerbs, Marlan avians, and Solarian amphibia seemed to spark more waves of mauve. It made her keenly aware that the Quorma’s denizens were predominantly reptilian. Was that chance?

With formalities complete, the Quorma crew dispersed to be entertained by their counterparts, and Chameakegra took Grrndakegra to her quarters.

Grrndakegra took a pexi without being offered and declined a beaker of synth, commandeering the servo to choose an aromatic juice instead.

Chameakegra sipped her synth and took the initiative. Alone now, the vying for position was inevitable. As host she had the upper hand. She detailed their assessment and findings on Hydra, expounding on the many creative virtues of the Hydrans. Grrndakegra sat back, perfectly relaxed, studying her intently but not engaging with the issues raised. She let Chameakegra proceed without interruption. Only when the report concluded did she deign to speak.

‘My mission is quite clear,’ Grrndakegra fixed Chameakegra with crystal green eyes. ‘I have been charged to take control of the planet. There are Hydrans allocated for extermination, others for rehabilitation. The remainder are to be reorganised into a more harmonious system. When those under rehabilitation are deemed suitable for reintroduction — or irredeemable — they will be reintroduced or exterminated. Once the planet has settled into its improved arrangement, there will be a period of embedding followed by further judgement. On that basis the Hydrans will either be granted probation before Federation entry or eradicated as pests. Isn’t that the essence of the orders we have both received?’

Chameakegra listened with mounting alarm at the emotionless exposition. Yes, it was precisely what they had been ordered to do. It followed Judge Booghramakegra’s instructions and came directly from Beheggakegri. But the way Grrndakegra presented it — as a sequence of cold facts — seemed to predict inevitable failure.

She sipped her synth and met Grrndakegra’s gaze full on, determined not to be intimidated. ‘Yes, that is what we have been instructed to do,’ she replied coolly. ‘But I have worked with these Hydrans for some time. They are highly emotional creatures. The way we approach this will determine whether we succeed or fail. Judge Booghramakegra has appointed us joint commanders and asked that the process be carried out with minimum trauma for Hydra’s inhabitants.’

Grrndakegra shrugged, scutes tinged yellow with annoyance. ‘We’ll see what Beheggakegri has to say about that.’

Chameakegra ignored the jibe. Judge Booghramakegra was in charge. Enough said.

Grrndakegra eyed her with a calculating stare, sipping her juice. She had not come all this way to play second flubert. ‘I do not view this exercise as one of success or failure,’ she remarked calmly, lounging back in her pexi. ‘Either outcome is acceptable. It is up to the Hydrans. They are either worthy of incorporation or not. If they cannot progress, they deserve eradication. That is not success or failure. That is genetics and psychology.’

‘No,’ Chameakegra protested, involuntary flashes of white crossing her scutes, ‘the way we approach this will determine how the Hydrans react.’ This was not beginning well.

Grrndakegra sipped her juice, mauve amusement more evident now. She studied Chameakegra’s emotions with detached smugness, seeing weakness. ‘I shall require a base for a rehabilitation unit,’ she stated, ignoring Chameakegra’s words. ‘My experts suggest we set up the facility within the lunar satellite. I have brought specialists to handle that.’

Chameakegra nodded, eyes fixed on the Giforian.

‘I trust you have the details of the Hydrans selected for extermination and rehabilitation. We shall need to extract them. I have the military means for that.’

‘We have the lists and the whereabouts of the individuals,’ Chameakegra reassured her. She calmly sipped her synth, scutes distinctly green. This was not going as she had hoped. She could see Beheggakegri’s claw in it, setting her up to fail. ‘I will assist in setting up the rehabilitation facilities in the lunar satellite.’ She paused to compose herself. ‘However, I have been in contact with Judge Booghramakegra. She has agreed we should pause regarding the group earmarked for extermination. They are to be afforded a stay of execution pending psychological tests. I will forward the protocols to your team. She wants a report on whether this group, despite extreme symptoms, might also be receptive to rehabilitation.’

The Death Diaries – Quantum Death

Posted on by Opher

74 – Quantum Death

Can you have a quantum death? Death in two places? Death that isn’t death?

The world of quantum is much stranger than Sci-fi. Reality is nowhere near being reality. Everything is super weird. A while back there were experiments to show that photons behave differently when being observed. Now there is serious scientific talk about all matter having consciousness, about the human brain not being the seat of consciousness (but rather an organ that tunes in to the consciousness around it, some kind of sense organ) and not only the planet but the whole universe possesses consciousness. I’m at this moment reading a scientifically based article about planets being conscious and affecting their own orbits. What the hell? Science?? They now believe that we can change reality with the power of our thoughts. It’s getting weirder by the minute. Science is outdoing religion. These theories are becoming stranger than Sci-fi.

For me these ideas resonate back to some of my youthful conversations about universal minds and being part of some great consciousness that had its basis in Eastern mysticism. I remember tuning in to Jim Morrison of the Doors with his lyrics ‘I’m doing time in the universal mind’. It sounds to me as if science is tuning in to a similar concept. All matter contains an intrinsic consciousness. Consciousness isn’t a product of the brain. It answers a lot of things, like how can organisms like flies be aware while having brains the size of pinheads? And are microorganisms aware? That’s before we get to plants! Everything is conscious and aware.

When, long ago, I decided that all religions were manmade power structures with flawed doctrines designed to promote division and tribal behaviour, doctrines that did not shed light on reality and teachings that were based on ignorance and medieval practice (that was best kept securely in the past), I also tended to put aside my views on spirituality. Frankly, I find the concept of god risible. The biblical and Koranic stories fables and the misogyny and violence repulsive. They stem from a different cultural time and place. But when it comes to internal spiritual development and understanding, as through meditation and contemplation; that I can accept. I often find myself transported by nature, a sunset or a log fire. I have an affinity for nature and oneness with the natural world. That is my spirituality.

Perhaps the universe is stranger than we think? Perhaps reality is an illusion? Perhaps consciousness is a product of matter? Perhaps the weirdness of quantum is the norm?

So where does that leave death? If the direction quantum physics seems to be heading: into a mystical connection, perhaps I have to view death a little differently? An end and a beginning. Perhaps it is the end of myself as an entity, an ego, a living organism, a man? But perhaps it is a reawakening into the universal mind of the cosmos?

Wouldn’t that be nice?

So none of your religious nonsense – no heaven, hell, paradise or Valhalla, no god presiding over everything and dispensing arbitrary rules and threats, just a cosmic universality, a consciousness into which I would dissolve! Takes me straight back to my youthful ruminations!

Isn’t life wonderful?

I await further scientific investigation on the quantum intelligence of reality, nature of spirituality and the death of tribal religions!

Until then I’ll continue to regard death as an end.

In Search of Captain Beefheart – a rock music memoir

Posted on by Opher

In Search of Captain Beefheart stands out among rock music memoirs because it blends personal storytelling with cultural analysis. Unlike traditional musician biographies that focus solely on an artist’s career, Opher Goodwin’s book is a deeply personal reflection on how rock music shaped his identity and worldview.

Compared to memoirs by musicians themselves, such as Keith Richards’ Life or Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run, Goodwin’s book is more about the experience of a fan rather than an artist’s firsthand account of fame and music-making. It’s similar in spirit to books like Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung by Lester Bangs, which explore rock music’s impact on culture rather than just recounting events.

Additionally, Goodwin’s memoir is unique in its historical scope, covering major world events like the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam War, and Cold War, showing how rock music was intertwined with these moments. This makes it more than just a music memoir—it’s a cultural history seen through the lens of rock.

In Search of Captain Beefheart eBook : Goodwin, Opher: Amazon.co.uk: Books

Fighting words – Available in Hardback/Paperback/Kindle!

Posted on by Opher

Thank you all for your support,; for looking at and buying my books. Much appreciated!!

Fighting words. Fighting life. Fighting meaning. Life not death.
Fighting justice, fighting freedom, Fighting for breath.
Fighting arrogance, fighting violence, Fighting Hate.
Fighting for my principles before it’s all too late!
Fighting greed, fighting oppression, for fairness and ice-cream!
Fighting for fun, for love, for tolerance – fighting ‘til I scream!
Words are my weapons. Words have many meanings.
I’m fighting words. I’m fighting words.
These are my words.

Fighting Words eBook : Goodwin, Opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

Dad’s cancer – Bodies in a Window – Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

The backdrop for this novel was the death of my father. I am standing in the hospital room by the side of his dead body looking out the window.

In thia extract we have just been given the diagnosis.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window

We sat there stunned. I don’t know why. We both must have known it was coming. I’d known from the beginning. It was hearing it like that though. It sucked all the words out of your head and stopped you thinking. It was as if your brain stopped working. That’s what it was like for me – fuck knows what it was like for the old man. He was the one in front of the firing squad. But had that faraway look, seemed detached and did not appear to even be listening. The words were falling short. He was not taking any of it in. In fact he gave every appearance of not wanting to be here at all. I could understand that but…………

At least one of us was attentive. I listened as the Specialist told us what was what. The words seemed echoey and were coming to me as if I was in a long tunnel, but I tried to make sense of them despite the fact that I was still reeling from the impact of that first statement. Dad was dying. That’s what was going round in my head. It clouded everything. When those other words arrived they did not even seem to gel together to form any sense.

There are extensive tumours throughout the liver. I expect they are secondary. We will do further tests. I expect the primary will either be in the lung or gut. I can see from the extent that it is inoperable. Are you a smoker Mr Cooper?

Yes.

He smoked like a trooper – had done since he was a bloody trooper. He’d joined up in the war and his best mate had given him his first cig. Imagine that! You go through a fucking war with your mates getting shot to pieces, steel and bullets all around, the enemy doing their utmost to blow you to bits and you get a death sentence from your best bloody friend – killed by friendly fire! I felt like laughing out loud.

The feeling of being submerged eventually passed and reality hit home. Dad was dying. It was confirmed. He had inoperable liver cancer. There was nothing they could do. I sat there seething. This should not be happening. He was much too young. It should have been picked up much earlier. They should have been able to treat this.

What’s the treatment? Dad asked.

Treatment? I looked around at him in disbelief. He was highly intelligent. The guy had said it was inoperable. What was dad talking about? I stared at him and wondered what was going on in that head of his. The guy was telling him that he was dying. He was not stupid for god’s sake. Why was he behaving like this?

We will give you palliative care, the specialist said kindly. He must have been used to delivering speeches like this and the reaction of patients to the news. There will be some pills for the pain. But there is nothing we can do. I am afraid that the tumour is inoperable.

Dad nodded. He latched on to the pills. They were going to treat him with pills. That’s all he needed to know. The shutters went down again.

We will have a better idea of the state of affairs when we get the bloods back. They will tell us a better picture of what time we have left.

Dad was satisfied. He’d heard all he needed to know. He did not need to know the duration of the death sentence – they were going to treat him with pills. There wasn’t much more to say. It was as if he had blotted everything else out. He did not want to hear it. The specialist told us to check in with the receptionist and book another appointment. He would send a prescription through to Dad’s own doctor. Dad allowed himself to be shepherded out through the door. Our appointment was over – except it wasn’t quite over for me. I needed to know more. I waved dad off to the receptionist to see about his follow-up and stayed behind for a quiet word with the specialist. He seemed prepared for this, even glad. He must have done it a thousand times.

‘How long?’ I asked.

‘Two months – maybe four’, he told me. ‘The bloods will tell us a bit more. It is hard to be exact. Everybody is different.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ I asked – I mean I had to ask, didn’t I?

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘There is nothing we can do. It is much too advanced.’

‘Would it have made any difference if he had come in three months ago?’ I had to know. If I had done something about it back then, at Christmas. If I had noticed.

‘I doubt it,’ he said diplomatically. ‘The symptoms are largely silent on this type of cancer until it is far too late to do anything about it. It is rare for us to be able to treat a cancer of this nature.’

That did not make me feel much better and certainly did not let that sad excuse for a doctor off the hook; he had been utterly reprehensible. Something needed doing about that smug git. I thought I might just be the person to do it.

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

Fighting Words – an extract

Posted on by Opher

I think this one has to be recited out loud!

Too Much News Blues

I’m drowning in news

                Coming at me from all corners.

Plenty of views

                Trying their hardest to warn us.

Putin is dying.

                Trump is bound to lose.

Gaza is frying.

                I’ve got the too much news blues.

The planet’s heating up.

                Trump’s turning up the gas.

Drinking from an evil cup

                Dancing to rotten jazz.

Can’t turn on the TV

                Without blown up tank crews

Death and destruction:

                I’ve got the too much news blues.

The Tories left a black hole.

                The Republicans are all mad.

Results wrong in every poll.

                Feels like we’ve been had.

Wallowing through the info

                Trying not to blow a fuse.

Seeking out the truth

                 I’ve got the too much news blues.

Billionaires spread disinformation

                Manipulating us.

Brain inflammation:.

                Thrown under the bus.

Scratting a living

                Paying all our dues.

Life is unforgiving.

                I’ve got the too much news blues.

Opher – 15.11.2024

Never has a world been so full of news and reporting. Never has there been so much disinformation. Various factions vie to tell us lies. Governments and politicians, businessmen and media. Most of it is wrong; some of it is deliberate misinformation meant to confuse us.

Algorithms kick in to boost whatever view we take.

Our beliefs are magnified, nurtured and distorted.

We’re being manipulated by devious people for their gain.

Nothing is clear. Nothing is black and white.

We’re being lied to.

We can’t believe anything.

Conspiracy gets dafter by the minute.

It threatens the very fabric of society.

                 I’ve got the too much news blues.

Fighting Words eBook : Goodwin, Opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

Fighting words. Fighting life. Fighting meaning. Life not death.
Fighting justice, fighting freedom, Fighting for breath.
Fighting arrogance, fighting violence, Fighting Hate.
Fighting for my principles before it’s all too late!
Fighting greed, fighting oppression, for fairness and ice-cream!
Fighting for fun, for love, for tolerance – fighting ‘til I scream!
Words are my weapons. Words have many meanings.
I’m fighting words. I’m fighting words.
These are my words.

I believe – 53 and imploding

Posted on by Opher

I wrote this antinovel as a flow of consciousness. It was a spotlight into the convoluted internal world of a mind. All life and death. Everything. This represents a position on a map, fixed in time. Nothing more.

Excerpt – 53 and imploding:

I love those Neolithic mounds, shrouded in mystery.

I believe in love, laughter, awe, wonder, friendship, fun, respect, empathy, craziness, sex, help, friendliness, highs, contentment, change, responsibility, tolerance, kindness, happiness.

I believe that if we were able to build a mound based on these sorts of things it would be a truly happy fulfilled mound.

It’s just a list but it’s what I build my life on. I don’t have to think about it, plan it out, or strive towards it; it comes naturally to me. I don’t have to form a sect, join a cult or follow anybody, believe in the divine or the mystical – I merely stand back and look around me.

I am the watcher.

I used to believe in spirituality but that’s been replaced by a sense of wonder and mystery. I try not to hold it against anyone but I don’t want it shoved down my throat or imposed on everybody. I am angered by the blatant indoctrination of children. If you believe it then accept that it’s a personal thing – write it in a book, talk to anyone who enquires but shut the fuck up when you’re on my doorstep, in my schools or running my mound! Keep your fucking endorphin rushes for your own junky heaven leave me to my own dope!

I don’t believe in violence or retribution even though I feel them strongly enough within myself. I often want to kill the people who are carrying out the barbarous acts and not one of them has killed one of mine! I can’t imagine. I am infuriated constantly by cruelty and selfish greed. I am infuriated. WHY WHY WHY!!!! There has to be a better way. Hurting doesn’t make you happy. But it seems to for a lot of people. We love pain!

I repress my anger because I have no wish to be consumed by hatred. I have no wish to become violent.

I hate religion. Religion is probably equal with nationalism as the joint most evil inventions of mankind. Sure it would be nice to have a purpose in life. But a special, personal relationship with God – the chosen ones, the true believers, the spawn of the deities – come the fuck on! Hasn’t history, littered with dead religions, chosen ones fallen by the wayside, decapitated statues of gods, taught us anything? Religion is made by people for power.

It makes me laugh when I hear the twats talking about the mighty Allah giving them victory, God wills it, and all that ridiculous shit. You don’t hear them asking why God hates them when someone else bombs the fuck out of them and they lose. You don’t hear the ones in the mine say ‘why me?’ – ‘Were my prayers not good enough?’

Ha.

I love friends, conflicts and argument but I feel the need to be alone a lot of the time.

I’m 53 and have discovered that age brings some perspective but not necessarily any greater clarity. The complexities you discover cloud the certainties you used to hold dear.

Every second ticks. Every step is closer to the final step.

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

Caving in to Putin!!

Posted on by Opher

Orwellian Double-Think

Posted on by Opher

I can’t believe the level of double-think. It is very Orwellian.

The American people actually believe a convicted felon with a long history of law breaking is completely innocent and is a victim of political chicanery.

They believe a businessman who has had multiple bankruptcies, business failures and has lost millions is a great businessman who will lead the country to prosperity.

They believe a morally corrupt individual with a conviction for rape, multiple sexual offences and a known friendship with paedophiles (Epstein and DiddY) a history of cheating on wives and a relationship with porn stars (Stormy Daniels) is a moral man.

They believe a man who has been caught out lying more times than Pinocchio is the only purveyor of truth.

They believe a man who has married two immigrants and who employs cheap immigrant labour is the only one to stand up against mass immigration.

They believe a obviously greedy multi-millionaire conman, who uses every opportunity to sell tacky shit and exploit squalid business opportunities, for huge personal gain, has the interests of working people at heart and is working in the Whitehouse for free.

They believe a tax evader who has been brought up with expensive private education, private healthcare, private security, cares about the services provided to the poor.

They believe a man who spends most of his life on the golf course or banqueting with the wealthy is working hard for America.

They believe that a man who hangs out with billionaires, gives massive tax cuts to billions, is one of the working people and understands them.

They believe that a man who lives in a grandiose mansion with a gold toilet, a private jet and multitude of flunkies is one with working people.

They believe that a man who associates with and admires tyrannical, authoritarian, despotic leaders like Putin, Netanyahu, Kim Jung Un and Oban, who has tried to overthrow a legitimate election and instigated an insurrection that killed people, is a legitimate benevolent democratic leader.

They believe that a man who actively spreads conspiracies about global warming being a con, covid being a con and vaccination being dubious, that all the media is giving out fake news and every institution is completely corrupt, is the best person to uphold, truth and the state.

They believe that a man who is putting the future in old polluting industries, instead of investing in new non-polluting industries, will move America forward into the twenty-second century on a firm basis as world leaders. Drill baby drill.

They believe that a man who sides with extreme ultra-right, White supremacist, Nazi groups – like the Proud Boys, empowers right-wing groups, deploys them to march against the capitol, whose father was in the KKK all his life, is not a racist Nazi.


This man is obviously the most crooked, immoral, greedy, self-serving, lying, cheating conman in the United States. What does it say about the morality, education, thinking abilities, ignorance and delusional thinking of the American people? Is it total moral decay? Is it a collapse in intelligence?

It’s called Double-Think. It’s what Big Brother did in George Orwell’s 1984. They’ll probably ban it!