Category Archives: Uncategorized

Sniffing The Funny Stuff

I had been sniffing the funny stuff again, which proved to be a bad mistake. It is set up a reverberation in my head that wouldn’t go away. A bad reverberation. ‘I’m the man’, I said, ‘I’m the dude…’ Then the reverberation would come to bite my head off. The reverberation was my own echo, and it was ruthlessly negating everything about me. Before long I was trembling with fear, afraid to make a move lest I be punished. This too was an action however, this was also an action and as such it too was punished, instantly and irrevocably. That was the way of things, in this new and terrible reality that had now come my way.


‘The Great Negator is biting my head off’, I said to myself. It’s biting my head off every time I think a thought. Every time I think a thought (a thought like this one, for example) the reverberation comes to punish me. I am in the Hall of the Dead, undergoing the trial that awaits us all. I had misspent my life, I realised, I had spent my time lying to myself on what can only be called an outrageous scale. Somehow, I had chosen this as my preferred life activity, the activity of lying to oneself on an industrial scale. ‘Sounds good to me, good buddy’, I told myself, ‘I like the cut of your jib. You’re going to go far young man. You’re going to go far for sure. Good buddy good buddy good buddy…’


In my defence however, I never knew I was lying. I swear to God I didn’t. I lied to myself about my lying you see – I told myself that I wasn’t lying, I told myself that I was telling the truth and I believed what I told myself. I believed it without question. I believed this story in all innocence – I had no way of knowing that the whole time I was lying. I had no way of knowing that the whole time I was stitching myself up like a kipper.  ‘You’ve played a blinder there my friend’, I told myself, ‘Please permit me to shake you by the hand!’


Echoes in my head, echoes in my head. Everything is just echoes in my head. Nasty, mocking echoes, you understand. All echoes are nasty and mocking but we don’t see it this way. We think the echoes are good and that’s why we chose to live in the Echo World. That’s why we choose to live in a world that is made up of them. Stale, rotten echoes – frighteningly hollow echoes. Sinister echoes. We all echo each other on a constant basis, and this is called society, this is called ‘fitting in’. Who can echo the best, we ask? Who will win the prize? Who will gain the kudos?


We echo each other’s echoes and that makes us feel better about ourselves, that makes us feel good about the ‘life’ we lead. We find someone who is good at telling lies – better than we are, perhaps – and we hang around with them, applauding their words, applauding ourselves for our good taste in friends. Applauding ourselves for being on the right path. We are drawn instinctively to the ones who are most convinced by their own lies – this is what passes for truth in the World of Echoes, after all. That’s how we get to be a leader or a guru you see, that’s how we get the wonderful adulation that we desire so much…





The Man Who Says ‘Yeah’

I was sitting on the bench next to The Man Who Says ‘Yeah’. I didn’t know then that he was The Man Who Says Yeah but I was – in time – to learn this. He sat silently, not saying yeah, not saying anything, and there was nothing about him to make you look twice; he was just a guy. He was just another guy in a park, in a park just like any other park, in a city just like any other city. This is real life that I’m talking about here you understand, not fiction or fantasy or anything like that – it’s strictly autobiographical. It’s the true story of my life and all of the events I am about to describe actually took place, although you may not believe it. People usually don’t.


I was sitting there on the park bench, inventing new words, inventing words that no one had ever heard of before. This was a hobby of mine you might say, even though I am very well aware that no one actually has hobbies anymore, not in this day and age – certainly not in this day and age. It was my ‘hobby’ to have a hobby when no one else did. It was my affectation…


I would spend all morning inventing words that no one had ever heard of, and then when the afternoon came, I would forget all about them again. If you were to ask me for an example one of these words, one of the words that I myself had invented, I wouldn’t be able to think of any. I have forgotten them all. You’ll just have to take my word for it. I’m an artist of sorts you see, brimming over with all sorts of extravagant neologisms – neologisms that the world just isn’t ready for. I am so full of innovations that I hardly know where to start. I don’t know where to start.


I don’t actually know where to start and this is the whole problem. The field of possibilities is just too wide, the scope of my imagination too great for me to settle down to any one idea, any one innovation. To be limited or tied down by any one single innovation would be frankly suffocating to me. It would be too limiting, and I can’t bear to be limited. Who can, after all? No one likes to be limited but we put up with it in order enjoy the benefits that we’re being offered. The so-called ‘benefits’, might we say, the so-called benefits we falsely imagine we are going to receive…


No one likes to be hemmed in by other people’s dull preconceptions, by their crassly stereotypical expectations, by the unspoken game rules that govern what we can think and what we can do. It feels bad – it feels bad because we can’t help knowing that we’re selling ourselves short, because we know we are making ourselves into grinning compliant fools. Grinning away idiotically to ourselves as we rush to do the bidding of our loathsome masters. What have we got to grin about? What benefit do we imagine that we are going to accrue as a result of turning our backs on all that is honest and true? What is the Grand Advantage which we think we stand to gain? These are all rhetorical questions, of course – rhetorical questions are the only questions worth asking. Anything else is too tedious.


I was not to find out that the unassuming man sitting next to me on the park bench that day was The Man Who Says Yeah until many years had passed, but that’s another story. Perhaps that is a story that I might some day tell you. Or then again – perhaps it isn’t.





All My Words Were Wise…

‘Always excel at what you’re best at!’ – that was my advice to myself. ‘And does that advice help you?’ I hear you ask. ‘Do you find that this advice supports you in difficult or testing times?’ It does in a kind of a way, is my considered answer, in a limited kind of way there is a feel-good factor involved. For example, it may create a transient ‘mood-lift’ if one makes sure not to dig into it too much. If one is reasonably careful not to focus on what one has just said. If one is careful not to focus upon it unduly, so to speak. Or only very lightly, at any rate. ‘Always excel at what you’re best at…’ I told myself again, not quite so sure of myself this time. My voice quavered uncertainly; it quavered in a way that took away a lot of the reassurance that I would normally have obtained from this hearty statement. I came away short in the reassurance department; I came away short in the type of reassurance that I would have otherwise expected. And not just expected either, I might add, but positively relied upon. Yes indeed – I came up short, I came up short. Always excel, I told myself dubiously, always excel. Fine words, inspirational words – words to conjure with. ‘Always excel, my friend’, I told myself, ‘Always excel, because if you don’t then that’s bad’. Not excelling would be bad, most definitely bad, and once badness gets into the mix it has a habit of staying, it has a habit of contaminating everything else in the pot. Turning it bad too, you see – turning it rotten. ‘Expect badness from badness’, I told myself, ‘For from badness only more badness can come…’ My words were wise, my words were pertinent and to the point. My words were robust and insightful. My words were all these things, but the one thing they were NOT was reassuring. ‘Where is the bloody reassurance when you need it?’ I moaned, unhappy about this most recent turn of events. Unhappy and not at all reassured. Troubled, you might say, troubled in my mind. Once you let the badness in at all then you’re done for, you see. You’re finished. That’s the general rule of thumb here. Say no to negativity. You simply can’t afford to have any truck with that rotten old badness and that’s all we can say on the subject, I’m afraid. Keep that door firmly shut my friends, keep the hatch battened down…







Smoking My Special Pipe

I was smoking my special pipe, puffing away on it as hard as I could. “Smoke the special pipe, smoke the special pipe”, my mind told me urgently. I was puffing away, puffing for all I was worth – my face was going purple with all the puffing. Smoking the special stuff in my special pipe.


And all of this was occurring within a hallucination, of course; smoking the special stuff that was in the bowl of my special pipe caused me to hallucinate like crazy and the outcome of this feverish hallucinatory process was the situation that I now find myself in. Which is the situation that I have just described to you, in fact.


I was puffing away madly on my special pipe, drawing the rich fragrant smoke deep into my lungs and then releasing it again, expelling the dense hallucinatory vapours through my nostrils, creating thereby the hallucinatory world within which I lived. The hallucinatory realm within which I am indeed obliged to live, there being – as I could say – no actual alternative to this particular arrangement. Given the lack of any viable alternatives, this was the arrangement that I had settled upon.


“Smoke the special pipe!” my mind told me sternly, but my mind was just another of the hallucinations that were billowing madly out of the glowing bowl of my special pipe. “Smoke the special pipe, smoke the special pipe, smoke the special pipe…” came back all the echoes, in a sudden confused tumble of words. My ego was fragmenting fast, which is a thing that often happens to me when I get carried away by my smoking obsession and start smoking my own smoking. That’s when you know you’re really in trouble – when that happens.


“Smoke your own smoking,” my mind advised me with great authority, taking the reassuring form of an elderly, angular psychotherapist from one of the older analytic schools. My mind – disguised, as I have said, as old-style Freudian analyst – regarded me shrewdly over the top of a pair of steel-rimmed glasses. “You have regressed back to the oral stage, it informed me, “you have an incest fixation and you think everyone else is sick when really it’s just you.”


My mind was a liar, however – it was a liar, as well as being a hallucination. I smoked faster, more determinedly, realising that I urgently needed to integrate the contents of my latest psychosis. The faster I smoked the faster I regressed however. I had become Chicken Man, an ungainly chimeric entity with the head and scrawny neck of a chicken, the dumpy body of a squat and unlovely toad, and the legs of a snake. “Just call me Snake Legs”, I said with a wink, spinning around and around on the spot like a giant hallucinatory spinning top.


I was hallucinating like crazy at this stage of course, I had gone too far and yet not far enough. I had lost the run of myself. I had become Horus – Father to my Father, Prince of the Emerald Stone. It wouldn’t be very long before the Dream Police turned up, I realised then with sudden alarm. Any minute now they would be knocking loudly on my door, shouting at me through a loudspeaker to let them in. They would tell me that they were investigating a very serious charge and that I was the main suspect. They would say that I was guilty as charged. They would accuse me of many crimes and sentence me accordingly. They are the Mind Cops, they are the Thought Police, and it was only a matter of minutes before they finally caught up with me.



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The Eel King

In my fevered imagination I had become Drongo, the Eel King, Lord of the High Escarpments…


“None shall surpass me”, I whispered, in a voice that was hoarse with intensity, “None shall surpass me for I am Lord and Master of the innumerable worms that crawl in the rich earth.”


I grew weary then – weary and morose. My arrogance turned into fear, my glee transformed into the darkest despair. My spirit – which had soared so ecstatically only moments before – plunged like a heavy stone, eventually coming to rest somewhere in the most secret depths of the earth, in a sullen and ill-favoured place where unclean things had their dominion and no light had ever penetrated.


I speak here of the dark and loathsome places that few of us will ever be unfortunate enough to visit, but which exist all the same, and which are full of the most dreadful suffering for any that do happen to visit. Perhaps you know of the places of which I speak and perhaps you don’t. Most probably you don’t, and doubtless you don’t wish to know of them either. Most regular folk don’t – they flinch at the very mention of these dreadful subterranean hell-worlds. Ordinary folk are always the same in my experience – they much prefer ignorance to knowledge, since knowledge (as we all know) has the singular property of changing those who come across it. One cannot gain knowledge without changing forever.


I could not afford to take the risk. I could not risk the armour of ignorance that had served me so well. I did not wish to surrender to the force of change; I did not wish to say goodbye to what I knew and was familiar with, miserable as it might be. I fear that, you see. My only option therefore was to strengthen the ignorance that guarded me so that I would become all but invincible. In the words of the old poem, “Invincible in his armour of ignorance, he resolutely set forth on the fateful journey that could not end in any other way than the way it was always going to end…” Taking courage from this heroic line, I resolved to embrace the adventure of ignorance and commit myself to it, for better or for worse. I would accept my fate, in other words. If one is to do anything, one should do it wholeheartedly, mistake or not.


‘Hidden videos are often unavailable,’ I told myself, becoming pensive all of a sudden, and thus the stories that they tell may never be known. I can’t exactly say how it makes me feel to learn this: wistful perhaps – wistful for the stories that, quite possibly – no one will ever hear. Wonderful stories perhaps, splendid and fantastical stories – stories to make you marvel. Stories to excite and to thrill. On the other hand, there was somehow a sense of relief mixed in there – a sense that was subtle but nonetheless not inconsiderable. Perhaps the stories that no one would ever hear were bad stories, atrociously dull stories, stories that were formulaic and tedious in the extreme. Perhaps it is a good thing that we are spared having to hear them…






Grudge Match

It was to be a grudge match between me and the Planet-Destroying Space Robot. My mouth was set in a grim line – “Today is the day that Mr Big Shot Planet-Destroying Robot gets a taste of his own medicine. We’ll see how much it likes that, I told a nearby representative of the popular press. He was, I believe, a reporter from the Daily Star. “You’ll see a different expression on its stupid face when I’ve finished with it, don’t you worry…” I bragged.


Some would say that I was grandiose, of course. Some would say that I was offensively self-aggrandizing and that I never miss a chance to blow my own trumpet. I refute that, however. I always refute that. In my own mind I’m never wrong, you see. Never never never. Never ever wrong. I am impervious to being wrong. I am completely impregnable – a really great guy. I’m right every time. “You’ll never catch me out!” I shout out defiantly to the world, “I am untouchable, I’m in a league of my own”. That is – after all – why they call me Super Eel-Boy, the Hero of his own Imagination…


My mind was absolutely bristling with questions, bristling like a veritable hedgehog. “If you could be a bivalve”, it asked me, “what kind of bivalve would you be?”  And then – without giving me any chance to answer it – it moved on to the next question. “If you could be any flatfish you want, what type of flatfish would you be?” it fired out. I had an answer to this one however and I blurted it out before it could skip on to the next question. “I’d be a turbot!” I burst out immediately, “no question about it at all. I’d be a turbot every time…” My mind was irritated by this, I could tell. It was annoyed. I had got the better of it, in fact. With my super-quick thinking I had outsmarted my own mind!


Some wise guy was going around mouthing off about how he was going to ‘liberate everyone from the simulation.’ Some complete jerk, some utter asshole. A bullshit artist, I’d say. A real Big Mouth. I find myself being very reactive about this kind of talk. “He’d better not come near me”, I said to myself darkly, “or I’ll give him what for’. I was quite content with the simulation, you see. The very last thing I wanted was for some asshole do-gooder coming along and liberating me from it!


I like to think of myself as being a ‘cut above’ the average criminal. I’m audacious, you see. Highly audacious. I’m never satisfied with what we might call the average kind of crime, the mediocre type of crime. I wouldn’t be content with that at all. I would never be content with that. My Masterpiece Crime was to destroy reality entirely and replace it with a vile parody thereof. Just like Disney Plus or Amazon Prime do with the crap stuff they churn out. Those guys are pathetic amateurs though – they got the idea from me. You might think they’d give me some public acknowledgement for that but no. They won’t. They don’t. They want all the glory for themselves…



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All Is Well In My Kitchen

It’s unlucky to be unlucky, so I’m told, though that’s probably just a groundless superstition. It’s unlucky to be unnecessarily superstitious too, as I have also heard – and on very good authority too, mind you. On the very best of authority. Although that too might only be a baseless rumour, started by yours truly (for whatever murky suspicious motives I might have hidden there in my subconscious mind). It could ALL be unlucky, in my opinion. Life itself might be unlucky and I suspect that there might be more truth in that than we like to imagine. Existence itself could be extremely unlucky, like inadvertently drawing the ace of spades out of the pack when you really didn’t want to. Existence itself might be super-unlucky, although I’m willing to admit that this could be just another unfounded superstition. We are such dreadfully superstitious creatures, you see. I rather doubt that we’ll ever be able to crawl our way out from under this particular rock. Fearful superstitious creatures we are, constantly in fear of coming across bad omens.


It’s unlucky to believe in bad luck, so I was informed, and as soon as I grasped this I immediately became relieved of a whole heap of needless worry. A veritable mountain of worry had been lifted from my sagging shoulders, in fact. When I think about the long years that I have staggered around under the onerous burden of all that needless anxiety (driven by innumerable baseless superstitious beliefs as I was) I feel tempted to give way to bitterness – I am tempted go down the path that leads on from that, the path which we all know so well. Personally, I’m deeply familiar with every single little bend in that path. I know it as well as I know the back of my hand. I could walk it blindfoldedand – in fact – many is the time that I’ve done just that!


I was making contented little crooning noises as I flapped languidly around the kitchen in my mental projection body, which was that of a toad with wings. A very large super-warty toad with spindly bat wings. ‘All is well’, I told myself grandly, ‘All is well in my kitchen today…’ I was on the lookout for bad omens you see – always on the lookout, always on the lookout for bad omens and evil portents.


It is an evil portent to be always on the look out for evil portents of course and I recognise this better than anybody. I’m always trying to dodge my own shadow and yet – as you might expect – it always manages to follow me. Naturally it does. I know that it’s going to, of course. I know perfectly well that it’s going to – not being stupid – but I keep trying to dodge it all the same. I’m always trying to escape my shadow because that’s the obsessive element that is in me. That’s the compulsion, you see – that’s what’s responsible for me obsessively trying to do something that can’t done (and cursing myself blackly when I fail). Cursing myself to hell and back when my frantic efforts come to nothing, as they always do. As they always, always do. What a life, huh? What a futile and frustrating life.


I was trying to outsmart my own mind by always doing the opposite of what it told me to do. It’s an old trick of mine. I have never actually obtained any benefit from this trick from it but that’s never stopped me! You never know, I tell myself – one day it may just work…


With the passage of time – and I am talking decades here not just years – I had learned to skate around in my bed without using my body in anyway. My body was still there – my physical body was still there, that is – but it was passive, completely inactive. It was dead to the world, out for the count. My Dream Body on the other hand was – however – free to skate around under the cover of the duvet from one end of the bed to the other in a completely frictionless way! My Dream Body was very small in those days and it could move exceedingly rapidly, but only within the limited domain of the bed. For whatever reason – and I have to admit that I’m at a loss to account for this – my Dream Body was extraordinarily small – microscopically small in fact. It might have been six or seven microns from tip to tail, and so the area beneath the duvet was like a vast, uncharted territory for me, full of both wild adventure and unknown dangers. As I skated around this world – at impossibly high velocities – I would marvel at the richness and sheer diversity of the environment I found myself in. ‘What a strange and truly magnificent territory this is,’ I would always say to myself at these times, overcome with wonder, ‘what a remarkably strange and utterly magnificent territory this is…’




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Playing The Distraction Game

Self-distraction has long-since become a way of life for me. It’s just got so I literally don’t know how to do anything else! I really don’t. It’s like some kind of sick joke – my mind has become some kind of relentless distraction machine and it never stops. It never ever gives me a break. ‘Play the distraction game, play the distraction game’, my machine mind tells me insistently, ‘quickly distract yourself before the bad thing happens…’ It barks orders maniacally and I scurry to obey. I literally can’t obey quickly enough! That is the order of things around here, squalid as it may sound…


It’s got so that playing the Distraction Game is literally the only thing I do! I sit here in my bedroom with my Distractomat, frantically pushing the buttons, obsessively watching the screen, trying to achieve the maximum score. I’m sick of it at this stage. I’m nauseated to the core by the loathsome filthy thing and yet I’m still unable to do without it. I’m horrified by the spectacle of my own existence. That’s addiction for you though, isn’t it? It’s the old love / hate relationship. Longing combined with disgust. Greed mixed with revulsion. We call it ‘love’ even though we know full well that it is nothing of the sort. It is nothing more than need – frighteningly desperate need. Naked need, as William Burroughs puts it. That terrible, terrible state of need that we all know so well. You can’t really blame anyone for what they do when they’re in that state because you know you’d do the same.


Nothing else exists – just me and this terrible terrible need, this appalling, frightening need that can never be satiated. Sometimes I think that this must be what we could call ‘the ultimate abusive relationship’ – very often it occurs to me that this must be what we could call ‘the ultimate abusive relationship’. A lot of good this observation does me, though. I can’t say that it exactly helps me to feel any better about things – I can’t say that because it isn’t true…


When we were very small and entirely innocent of the wretched evil of this world we were sent to Constitutional School – we were sent to learn the constitution and we wouldn’t be released into the Outer World until we did. We won’t be released into the light of day to skip and dance and play until our souls have been suitably darkened! Then – of course – we won’t want to hop and skip and dance anymore. You can be sure we won’t. That’s just the way of the world, however. That’s always going to be the way of the world. You could very easily spend your whole life wondering why it has to be like this but you would be wasting your time. We learn to submit to the yoke; we learn to accept without questioning because just as long as we continue to ask questions we will be punished. That’s the lesson we all have to learn and learn it we do. And by God do we learn it! We learn it good and proper…


That’s why we have to sit for so many years in the Darkened Room, learning how to please our grotesque masters. That’s why we have to study the Constitution for all those weary years – we have to learn the evil ways of our forefathers! The young are light and inclined to be skittish, whilst the old are dreadfully heavy and frighteningly dark, persisting in their evil ways until the very end. Until the bitter end, as we could say. And bitter it most surely is…


A long line of the dead come walking blindly through the living room towards me. An endless procession of them. No one can see them but me – I have the Sight, as you have probably already surmised. I can tune into the dead, unlike the average person. I have – as you might say – a strange affinity with them, just as they have an affinity with me. The dead are drawn to me – in their blindness they have no direction of their own and so they piggyback on the awareness of the living. They need someone to release them, someone who isn’t like them. If they are lucky then someone will release them from the awfulness of the fate that they themselves have created; otherwise, they must continue to walk the earth, each in their own private hell. They haven’t the words to tell of the horror that they are forced to endure, you see – they haven’t the ability to communicate it. They are trapped by the precedent they themselves have set…




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Strange Experiments That Will Change You Forever

Suppose you had to play a game, and in that game you had to be this thing that isn’t you. You have to be this thing that isn’t you and there’s no getting out of it now because the game has got a grip on you. It’s got you by the short and curlies. You’re too frightened to ever change, too frightened to break the rules. You’ll play along with anything rather upset everyone. You’ll agree with whatever they say. Your spirit has been broken you see. Your spirit has been broken because that’s what the game does to you. That’s what games are for – they’re there to break you. You have to play the role that has been allocated you and nothing new is ever allowed to happen because that’s the rules of the game and you can’t ever disobey the rules. You don’t really have to play the game of course but you don’t know that. You don’t know that it’s only a game because you think that it’s for real. We all know the name of the scientist who invented Chicken Nuggets – his name will live forever in the Halls of Fame. He will be remembered forever in the Halls of Greatness. His name is synonymous with Genius – Genius of the first degree. Children are taught about him in school. His name is synonymous with Very Great Genius. And you are that genius! It is you. It is you and no one else and so you rejoice in the glory which is rightly yours. You are part of the Inner Circle. You are famous for being well known. You are exultant beyond all measure – you’re soaring so very high. No one ever soared higher. Your name is synonymous with Genius, your name is Genius. Insects like you on sight. They like you a lot. You like yourself just fine too. You admire yourself greatly. You admire your own exploits from afar and you are exultant beyond all measure. You made mistakes – and plenty of them – but that wasn’t your fault. That was never your fault. You were a machine for making mistakes. You didn’t want to be you, but you had no choice. You ignored your inner greatness – you ignored your inner greatness and that was unfortunate because you really could have been someone. Or maybe not. Maybe you couldn’t have. Maybe you never had a chance. Maybe the odds were stacked against you right from the very beginning and so it wasn’t your fault. Or maybe it was your fault and you won’t admit it. Maybe it was your fault but you told everyone that it wasn’t. Entropy got the better of you and you painted yourself into a corner. Life moved on and that was that. Entropy set in before you knew it. It’s never too late to start again, though. Or is it?




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Worshipping Random Thoughts Is Your Religion

Thinking the bad thoughts, thinking the bad thoughts. Thinking bad thoughts about the bad thoughts. Getting in bad form about it. Thinking bad thoughts about myself for having all these bad thoughts. For keeping on having them even when you know you shouldn’t. Evil begets evil, you see – that’s something I’ve learned. Evil always begets evil – it opens up the floodgates. It unleashes the torrent and then you get swept away.


Looking on the bright side, don’t you know! Sunny-side up, if you please! Having positive thoughts. Speaking the great and powerful words of splendid affirmation. Breathing in the wonderful, lovely, sweet-tasting positivity and breathing out that rotten old lousy badness. Let someone else have it.


Suppose we get lost in the Infinite Expanse of Endless Space? Could that happen? Could that really be a thing, and just what would happen to us if it was a thing? How bad would it be? Would it be very bad? Should we be frightened? These are the questions we have to ask ourselves, you see. We can’t escape from these questions. No matter how fast we run they will hunt us down. The Big, Big Questions. The Ultimate Questions. What will happen to us if we get lost in infinite space? Are aliens real? Does Satan control us?


Punishing the bad people. Making them pay. Making sure that they suffer like they so richly deserve to. Punishing them vigorously – delighting in their terrible pain! Judging the evil doers, judging them extremely harshly because that’s what they deserve. Exulting in their misery. Dancing on the graves of your enemies! Doing your specially spiteful little victory dance…


What’s it all about, huh? Do you ever ask yourself that? Naturally you do, of course you do. Why wouldn’t you, after all? That’s what makes us Humin Beanz, after all – ‘asking ourselves what it’s all about’. Staring blankly at the wall, asking yourself the Big Question. Wondering what it all means. Thinking stupid random thoughts. Some folk will tell you that it’s all about God, of course. They’ll say that God made everything and so we have to pray to Him. They’ll explain it to us in nice simple one-syllable words that you can be sure to understand. That way you can be sure you do the right thing by Him and don’t get punished.


‘The least said, the soonest mended’ – isn’t that the way of it?  And the thing is that I’ve already said far too much! I’d take it back if I could. Me and my big mouth, huh! I was always like that though. ‘Talk first think later’ – that’s my motto. Yap away like a goddamn blathering fool and then wish to hell you hadn’t. Stony faces looking at you, wishing bad things for you. Wishing you harm…


The Great Mystery of Life, huh? What does it all mean? What’s the point in it, anyway? And – above all – asking ourselves just what good thinking about the Great Mystery of Life will do us. Wondering whether we should wonder about it or not. Thinking about the Infinite Vastness of Space. You could easily get lost in it, you know. You could so very easily get lost in it and then what would you do? Ask yourselves that, my friends, ask yourselves that…