All But Dead, Now What Son?

14/02/2012 09:56

All But Dead, Now What Son?


English language teaching was not something my parents wanted for me - or so I discovered. The greater continent of exploration that was my existence revealed to me that what they wanted for me was - nothing. What I learned was that I was't even their child and - to boot - not even a son to them; but a woman they wanted to abuse (to boot, as it were), because I was a married person and didn`t know my own wife.

My putative father's name was Albert Edward: 'Ben' to those in the know (All But Dead Wood; 'I Ben` them until they break' he would say) and Edna What-son (Unead, Now What Son?) was my murderous mother. I also had a sister who was called Alison Jane, who was the `chain` of meaning they all `listened` to, because `she knew what I meant`, and so my subtitle is The Tale of One Who Was Misunderstood.

 Because of their names I was able to understand the truth about my life. I'd married a beautiful woman, and they'd always known it. Even when I was a child they knew her and I was kept wrapped in darkness because they planned to steal our fortune and murder us without our being able to ever meet. This, despite the fact that we were already married, fabulously successful and wealthy, and everyone knew who we were. So far as they were concerned I was 'all but dead wood' to them and she would be, but I was useful as bait.

 The Evil Lushus were my family called - and `Dad` was prison's term for policeman-jailor. My wife - American and luscious - 'twas their plan to make her Evil Lushus. But, originally, the Lushus were a Hollywood invention. I was brought as 'William' by the woman who'd be my wife. She had the role of mother and Mrs Lushus she became as we prepared to learn the ways of English folk (our mission from the USA). We lived together until folk told her she should have a man. She explained that I was a man, and that was how it would be. We'd learn and study together and, if I needed a playmate, she'd shrink herself to fit me. But, while playing with me one day, someone came to call and went away to report these children shouldn't play at all.

 They came to call on us again and - despite her being taller - wanted to know where smaller was? And I said, 'She's her smaller.' 'Mother' intervened and said that her girl wasn't there that day, but she was qualified to tutor us. And so we`d to produce a daughter. Mom sent to America for herself, but I didn't seem to like her - and so she went away to boarders` school. To private school she went  - and left us to ourselves. And so I had a sister too (who was my wife as well). They wheedled in - did Bert and Ed - and 'twas difficult to shirk 'em. They'd foist themselves upon me - when I came home from summer hols - and `wifey` wasn't there to greet me. They'd placed her in an asylum for being alone without a lover. She'd said that she` a man - but our marriage was a secret, and she couldn't explain me to them. And so they'd put my wife away because she was no good to 'em. When they finally let her out they'd train us not to see us; because they'd abrogated roles of foster parents to us. As time went on they'd persuade the hate in me that flowed to flow towards her while they'd vogue at her annoyance - artistically abusive.

 My evil surrogate family always came back from the dead; for it was how they travelled. As All But Dead Wood, Undead Now What Son? And yet my True Love did arrive again one night - as my long lost American cousin - so when the evil pair had gone to bed we began again our love in. Though she'd come back to me, and tried to never leave me, the problem was the evil pack of undead`s wolvish friends  that sought to shear me. I'd even marry wife of mine again - as sisterly cousin that she`d became. But, as lovers, we found ourselves with screws to keep us down and not let up again. So she escaped and left me there and promised to return - and I was shrunk to hobble me,  a babe in arms once more.

 The evil family would joke around the breakfast table: 'We've been killing you!' they'd tell me - and they' d laugh. 'Up there!' they said. I guessed I was amongst the stars in Heaven. It was only later that I heard again about my wife - and that she had a sister called `Ben`. For this was how she aimed to circumvent their programmin'. For  Ben` `until they break', was All But Dead Wood`s pseudonym as Ben` copper, policeman `benny` who they`d break; `bad penny` not worth a shilling.

 The evil pair always sought to wrest my heavenly love away from me. But, if my wife could transfer my false love for a father to an aunt who was for loving, she could win. She and her Ben were stars in the Hollywood firmament: but that was them on a low level. Their domain went even beyond the starry Empyrean of the Cosmos where they were using their talents for doing research all along their bloodline (and the people of their lineage had a telepathic link so could remember being them as they could remember being they) - and it was even discovered that I was with them too. For myself was there in Heaven as I was still on Earth below. Up Above we had researched ourselves as far as Earth itself (though Earth was long forgotten to us), and far from Earth and Earthers we'd developed the concept of Cosmiversal (CV) Studios. The filming of the Cosmos and it's productions for the entertainment and enjoyment in every futuristic medium imaginable for its denizens. The fantastic secret was that we had found out how to access alternative realities and we'd uncovered the astounding knowledge that what was postulated in fiction was the truth: every possible world imaginable - or unimaginable (to us) - existed in reality.

 Evil All Listen (to me) became important then. She had the gift of turning ears - make people listen to her plan: to persuade my loves on Earth that I (Robin) was the bad worm in their hearts. She planned to murder all of us and sowed the seeds of harm in us. Worse still, she trained my earthly self to be a killer too; and I'd turn upon my starry loves who'd loved and loved me true.

 So it was that here on Earth and up Above those same stars were to fall from where they were because of the dark plottings. A star here was but a reflection of the magnitudinousness of their greaterness up there - and so they rotted them down here to prepare to murder themselves 'from up' and call it preparation for a role in Hollywood. I knew one Galactica whose Earthly self was but a shadow of herself Above and - poisoned with jealousy - she was made to be until she met herself and wouldn't comprehend her beauteousness belonged to her. They'd trapped her in a bind by which she couldn't live without a man and so her man was poison when she met herself from up. 'That's mine!' went the man's refrain and none refrained from stealing from Galactica's domain.

 Monogamy was evil for it was but a ruse to trap the greater self Above. The women of the Earth were kept in ignorance as slaves while men of Earth dumbfounded them and slaved them under what were the women's own stars. Prayer was but a lie that kept them helpless - bound and gagged. For help was with themselves Above and stars were obfuscated by the men below who'd seek to claim them everywhere they could. Up Above was love and union was a love-based thing where marriage wasn't of an ordered ration. Love was everywhere and not shackled by the ankle. The evil men of Earth would seek to separate out those even in Heaven blessed to claim monogamy - so deep was their jealousy of those not shackled to kneel before them and accept that men were God. For they were not and postured but Satanically.

 The religions of the Earth were systems that could aid - bear bones of connectivity that would allow the best to meet with Heaven; but the systems were monitored by the evil men of Earth who would allow contact only insofar as it did serve their ends. Just one of the Great Myths of Earth was that of Vishnu: the god whose legend was that he transformed to become All Of Woman. He was the bride of Krishna, Lord of Creation. But, at the end of every cycle, the god Shiva would destroy Creation - and it was but a lesser plans of theirs: that All Women would be me. I was Eternal Woman, but Shiva was preparing for me in the shape of my evil surrogate family.

 The myth was actually one of self-renewal and regeneration. Only those aspects of the Creation that were deemed in counsel to be 'bloopers' - as they say in Hollywood - were to be excised. The good product remained and the process of Eternal Creation continuéd: in truth a bed quilt with different woven fabrics. Traditional in folkore: to sleep beneath such and remember oneself after slumber in the paths you`d followed and that are descried in dreams. The remembering of successive and alternative Creations is the task of a Master: and so I found myself to be. But, as I remembered, there were other telepathic minds more evil that were remembering me. And so it was that I relearned that I was jeopardising all my loves' Creations by remembering them. For loves I had (and I was loved by many) and my many loves were loved eternally by many me in Heavenly Cosmi-Verse (so it is that Earthly employers always ask for a CV because the Cosmiverse is where they want from you to be).

 I discovered more as time went on; I was a Lord of Creation: a gift of sometime value from a Queen of Earth to one with an immortal line. My mind was a krater, a bowl of creation into which I poured my imagination; and behind my back all flowed forth as if it were the train of a young bride: the products of imagination made real as in the movies. A viewing podium they'd made; but secretly at back of skull to skulk (skull kings) and sneak even at nape of neck where I but struggled to perceive what went on there. Hills and valleys they'd perceive around me everywhere with scenes of delicious tempting odysseys of creature comforts. So they did grant themselves a Heaven blessed for me, and it went on each day and every day thereafter as I lived and slaved along. A new day meant a new Heaven - a scene change - and a fresh supply of evil men to stomp and bluster and - hate-filled for my love's efforts - ruin what we should have called our own.

 In Catholicism they have a pyx: a box that is defined as a portable confessional for priests along the way. The priestly box is real and solid enough; but the forgiven are granted access through the priest to Heaven: which is what was all around me. Here evil men sought to access me by forgery: the priest's hole in me became for skulkings - and kings of skulls were what they aimed me for. I thought dreams were dreams but they were real; though I could perceive but dimly what they'd saved me for. I had what men call pixies; guides to Paradise and Heaven through my boxéd head: a priestly pyx. For a priest I once was. But evil men had found a way to steal into my skull and oust the pixies there - to dominate and rule the vastnesses of my fair pixel Heaven. Computer read I'd been and all the love my true love had for me was storéd in the air about me as a programme for my happiness.

 I once was shown a glimpse beyond the veil; a billion skulls of those found out who'd sought to shelter in a pixies hole. For Heaven but looks small to the unbeliever - and once in Heaven men can only think to make it smaller. So they would hill my worlds - make mountains of the bones of my love's gooding. Yet, when it was revealed to me what they did to me in secret, I could see that piles of skulls were really skulls and not fiction.

 But still I had escapéd. I was one of those of ancient times where imagination became real in dreams of those who dreamed them. So, although all of this went on behind my eyes - and in front of me (though I could not see it) -  I'd learned hindsight and had seen how I could look - behind, within, and up above - at what was happening in my dreams: at Heavens where I always did reside.

 I began to look inside myself and could see that my imagination had produced what my thoughts of fancy told me was produceable. I'd constructed a Multi-Verse (MV) and turned it into a Cosmi-Verse (CV):  an MV is alternate realities in which the best of all worlds were postulated for Everyman's Candide by a Grand Master of science fiction - one Robert Anson Heinlein in The Number of the Beast (1980). My CV was but a postulate - but I'd intuited his reason. If men broke through to My Fair Love, I'd have escape routes planned. In cosmiversality I'd hide us where none could follow; although they'd seek to. I even had a cosmiversal vehicle to automatically save me: a science fiction Valkyrie to save me from their slaying. For their plan was to slay me and, instead of Heaven, grant me a slice of toenail and explain it was TANSTAAFL (there ain't no such thing as a free lunch). But Valkür are an olden tale for heroes slain in battle. They'd pick you up and dust you off and take you to Valhalla - and my wife was one. So what I wanted was a car to save Heaven from the victors. Valhalla isn't Heaven and there aren't spoils. I've died in battle and it's boring; for all the victors do is squabble. I've been to the Gulf and my wife appeared there. Not for long because they carried her off. She'd brought Heaven in a cardboard box. Some girlie magazines for us. For that's what we were starving for. It's just the same in ELT (English Language Teaching). It's still a desert war with no loving around you when the single sound is bore - bore - bore.

 But my love had a CV car, a modern Valkyrie's lodgings; to keep me in at battle's end: if that's what I'd been squandered on. Apart from that, I loved her and we lived inside her car; and toured the CV of our souls creatively and far. Yet touring develops ennui like illnesses depressive - and so it was that we would stop to write a while or record songs gratefully. It had been that Evil All But Dead Wood (Bert) had told her I should be a man only if I were ripe for killing; and so should go to war. She demurred but I was forced to go by him; and thereby hangs our ruin. For he'd determined that our car would be a gift for all the evil cronies he could muster maniacally. Men who'd never seen a battle would gun girls down without speaking. For Heaven isn't Valhalla and murderers cannot go there. But they'll murder cheerfully as they go for murdering's what they're lacking.

 So I lived with my love immortally and each one of multiplethoral me was all in Heaven, but automatically saving from Evil's Come became 'take me after evil's slain me'. For that was what Valkyrie's did, or so they did explain it to my love; and so my cosmiversal vehicle (CV) became a feeder of my headbox pyx: a slave to pixel Heaven. My car had been a transport tool, to take me around my Heavens; but hijacked by the Evil's tools it was but just a coffin. For one more great secret did I but possess: my car was big and small - as I could be. Enjoying what my love gave had been enjoyment unimaginable. I could be humungous in size and Heaven was there for me, or I could be the size of atoms and heaven was around me. So I'd moved about me tiny and imperceivable but happy, and humungous I was anew unseen and blissful. But that's not all; for in my car was also Heaven: a record of all the Good I'd done. My Heavenly Blissful Home all separate from Valhalla. 'Twas not for Valhallerians but the Good Won Peace of Valour.

 But Albert Edward (All But Dead Wood) had a plan for My True Love (the 'all but dead wood' he had wanted us to be). One day in childhood he'd approached us with schemes of invisibility. He'd make my love invisible to me and give her Heaven, and but a child in childhood she'd giggled in reply; so now I'm blinded to my Heaven and all is memory. But she was strong; 'stronger than death' is how once she'd put her love to me: and still she found a way to promote me secretly. We'd become captives in the grip of Evil's Come. For I'd been born spermatazoically to he and she'd not known herself to be. She was not blood related and yet he claimed her daughter; 'You don't understand but he is you,' he smirked and thought he'd court her.

 For this is what the Evil do; make Evil daughters of their sons and Evil sons of their good daughters. For we were one. He'd pimp us on the streets often and offer us for slaughter. We'd think ourselves Above it all and seed the Heavens with our seed but Evil's Come would find us there so we'd escape form Evil's Layer by cosmiversal vehicle; our flying car inside which was a Haven from the Evil. Yet still he had an Evil Plan for us; he'd squat inside still lying in our head boxes: a bent one bending us still further. 'Til hellbent, driven crazy by his viral self inside us, we'd hate each other and ourselves as he was what we hate inside us - and he was unrecognizéd 'til I was able to spy us.

 A gender bender's what he was, and I'd been his daughter; so as a boy he'd plague me with tales of what a fairy was and how I wasn't. Men aren't fairies he would posture - in knowing I was married - and introduceless to my invisible wife he'd mock me with his phobias. The phobia being I'd find out his 'daughter' was my wife, and he was making us a pair that he could screw for life. Immortality was what he sought - and seeing we were many - he'd be a bent copper screw in the 'all but dead wood' that was us to him and exchange our eternal love for his being an immortal pain.

 A sex police he'd organize to stifle all our loving and punish us for orgasming and call it his Big Game. For his mother once had told him that he had a Big Game game - and all he did was set us up for killing in our domains. So every time we orgasmed he'd be inside of us to see it and call for murdering of us as punishment for our doing it. 'Ben's Won!' was the chorus around us because his mother'd sworn he would. I'd and she'd (my true love) have great success, but Ben's Won was the all of it. Perhaps his mother was cleverer for I was Ben to spite him. But truth does win and the sister of my love was Ben not bent, and Ben was not her nickname. 'You're nicked!' is the policeman's game and she's the one that nicked it. She's Ben's Won because she's Ben for real. My true love - though invisible to me - had planned for this. Her secret was that I was her and Ben was but her younger heir. So I would be her sister and her Ben, a blonde and not a doormat.

 We'd be together she and I, for she could travel wide and far. I'd be with her - the love she'd give for - and know that I was her Ben and not the 'All But Dead Wood' Albert Edward sought for us to be. She'd score a run at least. A run it was they called it when on a battlefield I'd lie and visibly blonde Ben'd take me from the trauma. Heaven was ours forever we'd think until espied by spies: then on they'd come like flies to fester our good flesh in piles.

 Roben was how they'd spell my name when - teaching English - I'd lost sight and memory of my love in Sudan anonymous; and Robin Lesie it would say on my bankcard in Saudi. So I'd known it was a game; my self as Ben the blonde would love a penis for a while before she turned around and sought the love of women. For penis love is but a con for women who can orgasm. Orgasming with a woman long is much preferred by them. So my hawk's eyed love would watch over me to see when I'd be ready and steer my love away from her to give me lesbian love aplenty. For she knew that I loved her true yet had to learn the formal, and so a penis she'd bestow on me; for to my loins adorn. As Ben I'd love a penis and as woman I'd love women.

 Once when I was but a child Bert'd said to All Listen (to me) 'He is your car!' I'd to understand misery. For she would sit at my controls - a time car she was driving - to take them in and roundabout to skulk and deprave in. They'd use my car to travel back and forth in the history of my lovings; to force the seals on gates of Heavens. For my love had sealed me in them.

 Her histories were tales of me and the love of me was in them, but when Evil's Come it's traitor time and gatecrashers were taught by Albert Edward. His son and daughter he would bring to foist himself upon her. A dupe of Evil then I was - a crasher of my own gates - and evil still was the knowledge that the God's men were for breaking us. I'd swallowed whole the Christian theme of oneness for their screwing. As God was indivisible and invisible so I was indivisible and invisible (to the naked eye of them). The truth was even that. My true love she could not be seen and she was multplethoral as I - as I was multiplethoral and invisible to my eye - though Heaven went on around us. So it went on; the lies and the betrayal. 'I'm a polygamist!' I'd say. While they would say I'm single.

 Yet she herself could still appear and score another run. 'Ben's Won!' would the cry go up as I had been successful. But it was Bert they meant had stole it. I'd married my true heart and yet again he was against it. She'd found me somewhere else but - stealing within and without me - they'd call it Heaven with an elf. An inner hell of Heaven they'd make for us - and an outer for us both - while in reality we'd live and be unhappy with a slice of toast.

 For in my head was Heaven - fore and aft and Above too - and my cosmiversal vehicle (CV) was inside our Heaven too. As it grew small and big to access big and small, so inside it was Heaven copied for us to enjoy it all. And so the sneak thieves that stole in would seek to steal in - to take my car away - and so I couldn't visit Tolkein. For my good car containéd all that story proferred and everything outside and in of me that imagination coffered. So I was blind yet not so deaf as I couldn't hear them taunting. How they'd made hell in Heaven of me and raped the elvish in Lothlórien.

 What was being done behind my back came to my consciousness as I remembered I was but a car for a sister - All Listen (to me) - who would seek to do me ill. Inside my head was a control cabin with a console for directing me - myself - about the world as all around me plotted my eventual course. So I was kept in poverty bereft of consolation that a magic car can bring. Because, to tell but more of what is truth, in front my eyes - that could but see and could not see what there was really there - were what they called the hoods of all the folk that I had been; in the multiplethora of persons I could be: in my imagination in the cosmiverse of alternate reality. My childhoods, and my womanhoods, my adulthoods - and other hoods besides. Evil was the consequence of All Listen To Me because - in front of me - I could not see the contents of my selfhoods and they had turned my frontiscreen into an ogre-ring of ghouls and evil doers who - disgusting in their knowledge - could view the contents of my Sees (for this is what hoods are - the Empires of True Love's Empress for the Emperor of her heart) containing all that love would shower upon the good that I had done with my imagination. So there they'd seek to murder all the loves that loved with me in the secrecy of my loves' loves for me.

 I was hijacked by Computer Gamesters for their shoot-em ups - a nogger ring, so it was called from times so long ago when evil men were known for what they were: ogres to the beautiful. The car inside my head became a seating room for crews of Satanists who sought to murder me in the secret Paradises my love provided for me in the hoods of my good selves. The `Merry Men` they called themselves and I was but their Robin; the one with the beautiful hoods that they would turn into the hood of one prepared to die: and my Maid Marian - the true love of my soul - would perforce be ousted from the Paradises she had kept for me and she to dwell in secretly for our eternal pleasure.

 Because my eyes face outwards I was blind to what they did there; and I could see into the back of me but blearily - as one awoken from a dream state. But those states I did dream of; the countries near and far away as cosmic space: these were also dear to us. So I remembered Grand Master Robert Heinlein's car - a four-seated tourer. The cosmiverse (CV) was all around me and - finally - I'd understood it. The car inside my head had four seats - two facing forwards and two aft. I'd craftily discovered it. So, though I'm blind to what goes on, I still can but remember it. The love I have cannot be lost, 'cause the time-space car can repair of it. As it gets big and small enough to see all that does go on, so I rely on Faith alone to keep me from Evul. For Evul is what I learned to say when horizontally and flattened. Evil Comes into my very sleep to make me think of It; so I have exorcised the I and speak of Evul to effect a compromise. Evul reminds me of the vultures that gather for my health. But, because I'm Evol-utionary, I believe in the development of my good self. Evil reversed is Live and Love is Evol backwards. I stay alive and plod along and don't accept their trap. I know my stars in Heaven and I don't believe claptrap.

 Into the car, meanwhile, of car thief evil All Listen (To Me), they'd take my true love and abuse her all continually. While I remained a helpless victim to her fate they'd make her evil as they were and I'd be with them too; forced out of love and into their depravity: to spoilage and to ruin - as they did thieve and rape and torture (as they would) to force us into handing over what good produce we had made from nothing - unto Heaven and beyond.

 Although I had remembered all around me, I was blind to what was there (All But Dead Wood - to me - having decided to punish me for being loved and having family in Paradise and Heaven by separating my true love from me and tormenting us with visions of her beauty rare to trap me in a layer of masturbation and blind me to the comforts she still sought to give me all around and everywhere).

 Here she laid a layer of Heaven; invisible to me - and another layer of Heaven there - raised to infinity: with stars once here on Earth raised up to such a magnitude of Hollywood dimensions it beggared belief that they should ever fall or falter. But Evil All Listen To Me, All But Dead Wood (as we were to him) and Dead, Now What Son? (and Edna Watson) had formed a plan to torment me with blindness as self-loving was a crime to those that lovéd nothing.

 So, all around me too were wonders also rare that I could view in my mind's eye because I could remember being there. The outside world was but a screen saver and - behind it - there were fantastic scenes of starships and worlds of fantasy: without number that they concealed and hid from me. To make me blind to what they did as I travailled the dismal course that they'd plotted for me. And I remembered too that I had wrapped about me - though invisible - a starship of a kind that (unbeknownst to me) travelled upon the surface of the humdrum world in darkest night with stars and planets that I - hooded and be-noggered - couldn't see. I also had a crew - or crews - as I recollected I inhabited  cosmiversal reality (with multi-alternative possibility) in which one starship as me became an infinity of ships with personnel for me. So, as I ventured forth along a boring road, the Heavens opened up around me and my ships would voyage out and crews step out upon planetary worlds of glorious alternates in fiction - and story. But evil had a plan to wreck my love for Thee. They'd sell us to a ring of hate and murder us for free.

 The Kingdom it was called on solid ground and faggots were what they planned for us. For this was why they called him All But Dead Wood; for so we were to he. Piled about me - in invisibility - were the corpses of my true love stacked like logs for none to see; but they who had discovered her in her virginity. In worlds in worlds through times unknown they hunted her and me to find us and to rack us. To unkindle the fires of burning passion we did feel eternally and turn us into kindling -  to faggots. For someone wrote - in an old book - that dead wood was the people that would burn in hell; and so the faggots round about our joy sought to name us with the name the Bible gives to them. For faggotry is homosexuality and we did but love one another and sought not to be murdered by faggots loving one another in their murderous jamboree.

 Another technique they'd made for making bodies carriers of Heavens manifold; and inside each of me there lived along the spine - and in the chakras wise - the Paradisal loves that (imagined and imaginable) lived inside. But still they came to quell our love with hordes of parasites that formed as tiny teams of British SAS. Invadive murderousnesses claiming to be worming us of our viruses: while claiming that 'twas we that were unclean in our clean lovingnesses. Yet this was even so still more but yet a shadow of the truth; for we were stars in singing and recording and musics. Every song that we did sing was transformed into a spacecar; inside of which we could enjoy yet more of our imaginable love. But they would try to stop such a construction rare and make us squat outside while they did violence to us in there. Each track, each piece of song, would be a Heaven in our eyes - and we could journey there: vast distances to dwell and live in scenes of sensual splendour that the love we put into our voice made magic in the air. Gazillions of music feasts - both to the eye and ear: and solidified for delights' sake in flesh imbued exotic. We could love ourselves forever in but a single bar of sound recorded. Yet though the feast was ours we were excluded from the party we were in; because the evil wanted in and our eternity of bliss was jeopordizéd.

 We had been bent by he who'd sought to bend us till we broke. But we kept on along the way  - dents in our car's passing - and he had help from sources other. Between my love and I we'd made Heavens above by aerial fitted to the Holy Spirits of each other. The Spears of Heaven and of God they called them. Our imaginations were employed so to transmit skywards and - up further - to planes of experiential dwelling. So we poor souls down here would never know our higher lovings. But I had farsight, foresight, and some prescience - and could view into the Heaven that the Spirit had (transmitted) translated for us through the ether. It was the aerial that All But Deadwood 'Bend Us Until We Break' had attached to me - the 'car'. But Evil All Listen to Me had seen that I could look up and had - fiendishly - proposed that I become a simpler system in which my love would be promised love in circularity. My love'd be allowed to dwell inside of me and venture forth into the Realms of Realms - teleported Up Above through pyx box teleporter - but though she voyage long and far and win eternal friendship (e'en from All Listen herself) where I was time was but a second - or far less - and Evil All Listen to me'd return in an eye's blink (through self-same pyx and teleported) to be our murd`rer. For 'twas an evil thing she contemplated and imposed upon one who but loved his self as he loved one who loved him.

 In times long lost - in reveries of ancientness blessed - I was an Arab too, and Scheherezades were given me for hoods and abiyahs. But this blessing was too corrupted; as Scheherezades are known for saving women from being beheaded in the sewing majesties of their sequential tales.

 In the Heavenly Empyrean my true love had founded dynasties untold of millions of generations long and golden. The Longs were called some of us, and we lived forever in our Ages. But we had children and our days became Long Ages. When we met them in our travellings, they remembered us before them; and we discovered not that we were children but that we had selves among them. So we could see ourselves still higher and the impossible was actual; we were long-lived people who we knew and those who knew us knew because they were us. it was an amazing recollection.

 There were Long Arabians too and, once it was discovered that I had Scheherezades and djinn to help me in the fabrications of my storyworlds, the peoples of my galaxies and universes were uncovered and all the beauteousnesses of our physical embraces - our palaces, our time and space-continuums of woven fabrics (yes, for in Arabian space the foldings and gravitational pulls of space with all its wormholes and black holes appear as the warp, and weft and woof of weavings), were reduced to a barbaric practice. The evil came and beheadings began - of beauty rare and once sequestered - the hidden realms, the Jennah of the Djinn: the Realms of embrocaded story where an Arabian man keeps his Woman. But my woman was not to be so sacrosanct and so we were subjected to the indignity of lust. Our heads were taken one by one so they could squat before us - as we awaited for our turn - and stick a penis through into our skulls to take their fill of horror. They led us to the chopping block without a murmur of protest and fucked us all unholy although we were of the blest.

 Thus it was their plan: to 'hill us' as we waited. A hill of planetary skulls: the wreckage of creatives. We had our cars - time-space cars: and starships with similar space-time hopping functions. So we could repair the damage done to our dimensions. But all love is built on Faith and Hope and love of what's Above us. And hatred for love on Earth is just what had outdone us. For violence ruled and sexuality was tabooed. So there was no hope in religion; save in what we could make of it: and persecutions from the narrow-minded bigot was as much as we got of it. Yet this was not what could outdo us totally. But persecuted people turn to power - as they can grab it. As love as Eros became evil in the sight of the Most Holy so those for whom Eros was pleasure turned to Satanism for a resource against the Christian haters. At first they wanted pleasure of the body or of bodies but Satanism encourages what's called Demonic possession and the essence of the 'demon' is to demonstrate to others. 'Look what I can do and you can't' is the essence of the caption. And so headfucking's demonic and a sign of what's called Satan.

 I say this advisédly because it's the same Sprite in all of us. Christians are persecutive and the Rebels rebel against it. Enantiodromia the Greeks called it; the science of antithesis. For anti-sex is anti-God and rebels go too far with it. For those who love the flesh aren't evil; they love as in the Bible: polygamy is but a step to true Agape and survival. Christians have become what they condemn; against love for the masses. Enantiodromiacally they have turned a face of hate upon us. Action teevee is what we watch with murdering aplenty; but thoughts of penis and vulva are banished from the telly. 'Oh! Isn't that too smelly!'

 So Christianity's lack of love for the erotic was the catalyst for Satanic and, though my True Love and I were blameless in our lovemaking, the Love our True Selves made was blamed by one Church and - though fostered by the other - but served to promote the lusts of poor Satanists and Christians alike. In this way we were prevented from sojourning in our Heavens and our Paradises unmolested (by both the godly and - supposédly - ungodly). Because we were imprisoned by our Satanists: All Listen (to me), All But Dead Wood (yes, that`s us to Albert Edward), and Dead, Now What Son? ('We've Murdered You, So You`ll Have To Struggle Into Your Wife's Heaven Again.' - title by Edna Watson). I was the Rob they were robbin'. Of life, love, and happiness; with the woman they all knew. They'd blinded me and took from me everything but a pen (or wordprocessor - or what you will), a quill mayhap or laptop to focus thoughts upon. So, here it is; I'm begging: I know the Truth and Heaven's all around me. The family name I bear is evil and my Trust in Man is shattered. There's only hate for me and I'm a True Believer. On their laptops they store Heavens they don't want for me to see: they use psiphoning technologie - like vaccum cleaners in the room to suck away the worlds that She'd surround me with. Inserting cartridges of records from Akashia (the Akashik record is in Sanskrit and contains the World's and My Mem'ry), they'd save us all in Heaven Above - if the evil might have let 'em - and inserting laptop Heavens like cartridges to a gun they'd snuff us out like candles with a delete and a hum.

 So, here we are all happy with a slice of toast and baked beans from a tin; while magic air cars fly about a Heaven with us in. 'Tis all around us everly and evil Bert and Edna know. They'd trained me well away from her, and this is how I trow. Once - in Oman's Rustaq I was - when Heaven came to call. 'I'll take you!' said my wife; but Edna said 'Here's a storm drain like a tunnel. Come with me and live inside and it will be a cuddle!' So Heaven bypassed me and I looked out into the rain. A gift horse - so my wife had been - but standing with another is just enough to make us nay and save us all the trouble; of leaving a poisoner who'd murder us for rubble.


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