Yes, it was always you

Yves Klein-Fire 5-1961

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You were always on the lookout for trouble and if none came your way you created it. At school, if the teacher ever left the class you were the eye of the hurricane, calm and unmoving while all around you the other children were screaming, crying, rocking anxiously in the corner and you were the cause of this chaos. All it took was a look, a clenched fist, a snarling threat of violence that you were only too happy to follow through with at the slightest hint of non compliance. You had a way of making people do things they really, really didn’t want to do. Yes,it was always you.
You dreamed of terrorising the clever ones with all their book smarts using fancy words in their plum posh accents. So polite, always ‘Yes Sir’ this and ‘No Madam’ that. Teachers’ pets them all, how you hated them and their self assured ways. You were sturdy, slow moving and you had trouble following the inky squiggles and peculiar shapes against the too white pages when the sadistic teachers picked you, yes it was always you, to read to the class, self consciously stumbling over the syllables, your ears pricked, tuning into the inevitable sniggers, whispers and giggles that accompanied this object lesson in humiliation. As your clumsy tongue faltered over the sounds you were thinking that one day you would make them pay, big time and with dizzying rates of interest, like the interest that the heavies of the loan sharks made your Dad pay that time he lost big at the track. One day you thought.
Then one day while holding court with your bully boy friends at an abandoned barn you discovered the power of fire to install a bowel loosening fear in people. You weren’t afraid however, no not at all, with you it was the absolute opposite. Never had you felt such pleasure, a nerve tingling, tension releasing wave of intoxication came over you as you watched the tongues of fire adoringly lap the dry tinder. A wall of heat caressed your face and you smiled. You loved the way that fire consumed only, the purity and intensity of its singular nature. You were awestruck by its immense force but you were the master of this destruction.
Your craven, idiot friends had run away at the first sign of trouble, of course. You found one of them hiding behind a tree, gibbering to himself. You pulled him away and told him to get a hold of himself and then you smelt the excrement. You asked him if he had shit himself but he only babbled. You punched him hard in the mouth in disgust and that made you feel better. After the delicious aroma of the fire the stench of his panicked defecation was unbearable to you.
People around town said that you would end in jail or the madhouse or an early grave, but they were wrong. Because it was people like you who began to run the show and suddenly book smarts and the right accent didn’t mean automatic success anymore. It meant that you would prosper in your dream job of burning books, watching the print fade to grey before the pages curled into a dense mass of ashes and all the time with a never dimming smile upon your unblinking, incurious face.

We, the Oh-Oh-Oh’s

Manuel Bowman-Lux 2017

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What you have heard about us (if you have heard anything at all because we have gathered only in the shadows, shunned all publicity, aimed indirectly at our targets, followed the Angle’s dictum of ‘To Know, To Dare, To Will and to Keep Silent’ faithfully to the last letter), is only whispers, rumours, exaggerations, misinformation, only ever a vague approximation of the truth.

We, the Oblates of the Order of Obliqueness or the OOO’s or even indeed the Oh-Oh-Oh’s feel that any attempt to explain ourselves to others outside, including the ones who approach sympathetically, can only result in mystification. Only those who have heard the calling, those whose hearts are hammering furiously inside their chests for a vast change, an upending of all the old certainties will begin to have an inkling of what we are about.

It is said that we are the followers of the Alpha Angelic Angle, blessed is He, who ascended bodily to the 33rd Heaven. While it is true that some of us were there that fateful night when the agents and spies of the Hidden Masters of the 4th Decadency launched their attack, transforming an innocuous apartment tower on the outskirts of Agarttha City into a veritable Golgotha, only those who know can understand that he bequeathed us a New Dispensation to bring about a Great Reconfiguration. And the Dispensation had nothing to do with Him and everything to do with Us. The Angle was merely the midwife helping to bring about the birth of a new Universe.

It is rumoured that the Order is open only to females. Although we are predominantly female we do not exclude on the basis of gender. However any man seeking intuition to the order must accept that the current Platonic Great Year that commenced with the destruction of the matriarchal societies across the world, most notably the great Minoan and Chinese cultures, is nearing its inevitable end. The Alpha’s were for a time first and we the Omega’s, last. But the cosmos turns as the cosmos must and the last shall become first. Truly the wretched of the world will inherit the earth.

It has been suggested in certain quarters that we are allied with the cult of the Rapturous Ascendancy. This is a spurious defamation from ignorant and malicious enemies. Just as we have nothing to do with the casual brutality and conspicuous corruption of the louche monsters of the 4th Decadency sprawling in the mansions and palaces of Shamballah, so we have even less to do with the flagellating zealots and repressed puritans of the Rapturous Ascendancy. Their vision of a theodicy of pain is not one that we, the Oh-Oh-Oh’s, could share in this lifetime or indeed eighty four thousand lifetimes.

It has been whispered that we indulge in all sorts of bizarre rituals and blood soaked rites. There is not a single depraved perversion or outre sacrifice that hasn’t been linked to the Oblates of the Order of Obliqueness. However as the same has been said about the Christians, the Jews, the Gnostics, the Muslims and the Pagans not to mention the Communists, the Capitalists, the bankers and even Presidents we shall pass over such unworthy accusations in silence.

We have reported that we are variously a religion, a cult, a sect, a trade association. We are all of these things but the Order is so much more. We are the Way, the Road and the River, the One and the Many. Within ourselves we find unity and outside of ourselves we discern the plurality of the myriad things. The Oblates of the Order of Obliqueness is a reconciliation of all opposites. Within is the still centre and without is the incessant flow.

The individuals who state that we dress all in black, in the manner of the Alpha Angelic Angle have been sadly misinformed. As he prophesied the time of the Alpha is passing and we the Omega Oblates dress in blue:, the blue of the skies and sadness, the blue of oceans and sex. The blue of strange piercing sounds followed by an infinity of silence as worlds spin, stars burn and angels soar towards the 92nd Heaven.

It is an exaggeration, to say the very least, that we, the OOO’s, are a secret society closed to new members. It is not only open to those who left their previous existence behind to follow the Angle down into the underworld of Agarttha; to those who suffered the trials, tribulations and persecutions of believers in a faithless world;, no it is open to all those who realise they is another, better way. To those, we the Oblates say, come and help us bring about the destruction of the old errors and the restitution of the true life.

Anyone accepted into the Order must undergo many rigorous tests before they are ready to be initiated. Only once they have glimpsed beneath the surface of things can they begin their apprenticeship in the Oh-Oh-Oh’s, to become one of Us, to become one with Us. A simple question such as what is the meaning of O is designed to open the mind and rouse you from your drugged slumber.

Because O is more than just a letter or a number.

O is a null set.

O is the last

O is the perfect form

O is a exclamation of surprise

O is a symbol of the female sex

O is an encompassing emptiness that generates all life

Contemplate on this, but this is only the beginning.

Once you have completed the initiation there is no longer a you, you have become a we, one of the nameless Oblates of the Order of Obliqueness, and we are everywhere, as school teachers, police officers, soldiers, nurses, doctors, gardeners, cleaners, surveyors, drivers, politicians, lawyers, waiters, bartenders, spies. Before the apparent world knows it we will have subverted their institutions and their way of life will disappear and be forgotten like ancient cities in the shifting sands of the desert. Then we can begin again.

An Ideal Dystopia

These days what’s the most we can realistically hope for but some form of ideal dystopia.
Perhaps an isolated bunker in a distant land deep beneath the surface fitted with all the conveniences that seem so essential, naturally.
We could sleep safe and soundly there and dream plastic dreams of our synthetic future as we transform into angelic androids, with our skins like vinyl that hisses and crackles when we touch, superficially smooth yet as we press harder we discover contours and grooves that activate sensations far forgotten within the soul.
We long for a fine and private place but there is none to speak of so we sneak into what passes for a sacred grove, dedicated to some degenerate local deity with one glass eye and undoubtedly an unappeasable taste for tidy hookers and neat gin.
In this dimly lit ersatz arbour made of rusting metal and fake bamboo hemmed in by tarnished mirrors we talk:
of replicants;
of organisms that ceaselessly duplicate;
of the next eagerly anticipated catastrophe;
of death and destruction as the ultimate spectator sport;
of the serenity to be found in surrendering to the spooked spiralling logic of paranoia;
of nightclubbing and nightcrawling;
of nocturnal emissions;
of the vicious inanity of Incubi and Succubi;
of the Latter Days of the Fourth Decadency;
of a corrosive inertia;
of ennui and entrophy;
of containment and contagion;
of chance encounters and happy accidents that lead to inevitable happy endings;
of the cellar door in The Very Heaven Heavenly Hotel;
of protean cult leaders;
of clairvoyant photographers;
of a vanishing star of stage and screen;
of wandering infra dig soldiers lost in the twilighting border zone;
of standing on the threshold of a room;
of skipping a vital slowed down sleazy beat;
of nonsensical impulses and randomly compelling whims;
of waylaid emotion and contaminated intimacy;
of perverse attractions;
of dream homes and heartache;
of love and sleep.

Who’s The Boss?

Jarmila Maranove-the Trial 1983

The Melancholy Lieutenant woke up immediately when he registered the sound of a key being fitted into the lock and the scrape of the door as it grated against the cement floor. If they thought that the delay was going to make him sweat they were mistaken. He felt refreshed after his sleep and prepared for whatever fate they deigned to grant him.
Two men entered, both in plain clothes. Their superiors had probably decided to pair them up as a study in archetypal contrasts, which they had then made into their schtick, their routine. Naturally there was a squat, older harassed tough guy with the obligatory rumpled brown suit that he wore like a baggy second skin. The Melancholy Lieutenant felt he had read the script that this bad cop with the good heart beneath the gruff exterior was going to act out many times before. Of course the sleek, soft spoken and ambitious young detective, impeccably turned out in bold blue stripes would be all concern until he had found an angle into which best to turn the knife. Well let them play their little games, he thought, they will get nothing out of me because I’m keeping schtum, silent as the grave, his accent alone would give him away as a foreigner. Besides even to himself his story of parallel dimensions and vast inter-stellar conspiracies sounded like the incoherent ramblings of a deranged mind. But here he was, in this room where he shouldn’t be. But he doubted he could convince a pair of over-worked and cynical policemen the truth of the matter.
Seating himself in the chair the tough cop addressed the sleek guy who had decided to perch on the wooden table, all the better to lean over and presumably intimidate the Melancholy Lieutenant.
‘So who and what did we have here Boss?’
‘Dunno Boss, no papers, no ID card, no number, nada nowt and he’d decided to clam up whats more. We know nothing about nothing about him. Which is a little perturbing, both of us…and for himself there. I mean without any solid information we have to naturally assume the worse, don’t we Boss?’
‘Another fucking ghost then.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Got a cigarette Boss?’
‘Sure Boss,’ said the good cop. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a gold case which he presented to the older cop all in one smooth fluid motion. He took two cigarettes out, handed one over, and then rifled through his trouser and jacket pockets before finally finding a lighter. He lit his colleague’s cigarette first before lighting his own. Both of the policemen took deep drags before directing heavy clouds of smoke into his face. The Melancholy Lieutenant remained impassive.
‘So what are we gonna do with this guy? Obviously we need to process the fucker, but as what? As an agitator, subversive or just some poor bastard down on his luck? Or did he just lose his mind out west.’
‘Well he looks and holds himself like a soldier, and an officer at that. Maybe he was exposed to the Black Acid at the front. Maybe, maybe. I wouldn’t peg him as one of Red’s, and definitely not as a Wrather, but unless we find out more we can’t ever really be sure, can we Boss? What is your famous gut telling you?’
The bad cop studied the cigarette for a while before answering. ‘My gut is telling me that it’s hungry while my brain is telling me that I am tired. Are you not going to say anything there Sonny Jim? Huuh? What you say and do in this room could decide your entire future. So what’s it going to be, boy?’
The Melancholy Lieutenant didn’t move a muscle and kept staring into the middle distance, though he was worried that the gathering heavy silence would galvanise them into action. Although he was trained and held the necessary detachment to resist speaking out under torture, it was something he obviously wanted to avoid if at all possible.
‘So be it then, ‘the smooth operator said and stood up from the table, squaring himself up. ‘I think we need to show him who’s the boss, don’t we Boss?’
‘Ah hold on there Boss. Let’s not be too hasty. I got a feeling inside that we have to be careful, a wrong decision may come back to haunt us; bite us in the ass big time. We still have hundreds to process yet and of all the people we have seen so far this bastard looks most likely to have connections. He isn’t your run of the mill agitator anyway. Besides I think he realises who’s the boss.’
‘O.K Boss,’ he said relaxing and standing down.
‘So where are we going to process him then Boss?’
‘Chosher Fastness I suppose, the catatonic ward seems about right for this bleeding phantom.’
‘Yeah, a better class of loony up there.’
‘Officer class mental cases.’
‘Good monitoring as well.’
‘We can see how he responses to the presence of certain problematic inmates.’
‘Decided then boss.’
‘Yes no doubt. Call up the McNally boyos and get him loaded up into the van.’
‘Can’t wait to be shot of this one, let him become somebody else’s problem instead of ours.’
‘I’m with you on that Boss.’
‘Ah well, on to the next one.’
‘Never fucking stops does it?’
‘No and it never will either Boss.’

 

 

Hi-Vis, Lo-Res Ragnarok

James Cauty-The Aftermath Dislocation Principle

The idle rogue Al the Angle surveys the scene from the window of the 33rd floor apartment of a high-rise in the unfashionable north-eastern suburbs of Agartha where he’d holed up. He searches the horizons, the immediate, the distant, both the approaching and receding, for the event.
Lighting a cigarette he pauses before turning around dramatically to address his small audience.
“Well, fuck me sideways, backwards and every possible other angle, but blow me first, just after we have shared a glass of Kool-Aid Sangria. Though later my doves and darlings, my languid loves, for now I have to share my vision, the revelation at hand, and I need my cherished clan to bear witness because there are massed ranks of Powers, Principles and Intelligences seeking to crush and destroy the Great Work that we have just commenced, at every turn, every corner and from every angle. Of course every fibre of my being is flexing and straining to avoid this eventuality, but they are legion, their ways are not our ways, their procedures are obscure to the minds of man and I am, after it all, only human. So you are my heirs to whom I entrust everything, for the Process must be completed, we will prevail!
“Now hear this.
“Can you hear it?
“Here comes the drums, banging the tune to the end-times.
“It will be a hi-vis, lo-res Ragnarok.
“See the indeterminate warring factions ordering their indiscriminate followers around.
“Whose side are we on?
“Let’s not worry about sides; we have been spoiling for this for the longest time so that vengeance can finally be ours.
“They have taken us for fools for too long, first they say yes, then no, stop then go.
“To which I say enough already with your canting jargon, your cunning linguist stunts, your arrogant argot.
“The lion has awoken and that means war, trouble and more.
“The writing is on every wall for those who have eyes to see.
“For when they say peace and security then the world is lost.
“Can you see what I see?
“Apocalypse.
“Aftermath.
“A world no longer just numismatic or hypostatic or statistical.
“Time for a change
“Can somebody in the house say yeah?
“Fuck yes.
“But all this is the work of tomorrow, for now let the show start, the games begin. Let’s drink, ball and shout.
“Can I get an amen?”

(Another elliptical installment in the Showtime series. Random other parts can be found by following the links to Uneasy City, X Marks the Spot, and Rapturous Ascendancy).