D*ck Pics & Decapitations

“Payne, you’ll probably burn out within a few months.” She told me that first week. And I can feel it now; the sweat beading on my forehead, the acrid bile in my throat, the gun heavy in my hand. Time stands still and Phoebe just stares at me, emotionless, the burdensome barrel pointed at her; the office behind me poised like the crowd behind the guillotine blade. “It’s what you do with it next that counts…

Three months ago: I’m standing at the front of the conference room staring at a screen, watching a grainy black and white film of a man sharpening a razor blade on a moonlit night. Looking around the room I see impressionable faces of the lost generation; the last-ditch attempt at a job that no one really wants -the last chance saloon. On the screen the man holds a woman’s head and the camera focuses on her eye; a brief cut and the razor blade slit’s the woman’s eye in one swift motion; unflinching -the camera and the woman. The film stops and Trainer Bob looks to me:

“So, fact or fake?” The impossibly tall podgy man asks, matter-of-factly. The rest of the trainee’s look as if they’ve been blanched by the horrific sight. I know better of course.

“Fake.” 

“You sound sure of yourself, Payne.” Bob didn’t need to see the obligatory name badges we were all forced to wear. (Some of the more infantile lambs had taken great pains to personalise them, drawing flowers and smiley faces on them) Bob was one of the few people who walked the walk; he wasn’t a trainer by title only. Too many charlatans had learnt their trade by book alone, he ate and slept it. He exuded confidence and cockiness and it was impossible not to like him.

“I’ve seen the film already.” I could hear the scoff’s but Bob’s wry smile confirmed I was right. “Un Chien Andalou; the surrealist masterpiece by Dali and Bunuel.”

“I can see we’re going to get on…” Bob nodded for me to sit back down again; I had passed the test and it was time for some other poor slob to walk the tightrope. In many ways I got off lightly; I recognised the film and it was an easy spot.. The rest weren’t so easy to distinguish from the real thing. 

A ‘Process Content Auditor’ sounds like an interesting job but it’s not -as I soon learnt- but when your job prospects shrink overnight and there’s no chance of a reprieve you’ll take whatever you can get… Ever heard of GeoZone inc? 

Nope – they were a brief flash-in-the-pan dot.com bust and were swallowed by Google. I believed in them and sank too much money, time and effort and it all blew back in my face; hence the Process Content Auditor job for Opaque Services. We only had one client in those days, ProCoginator Social Media Enterprises -ProCog for short. 

In the initial interview they were impressed with my staying power -I kept with GeoZone until their last day (not that I had any choice) and also my warped sense of humor; the fact that I loved horror movies was an added bonus for them too. I soon learnt that loving horror movies meant nothing when faced with the real thing.

Scott-1 stood up next to the screen and we all watched the scene unfold; bleached shaky-cam footage of another woman prostrate on the floor, blood already pooling around her. The footage was obviously from a micro-cam, somehow affixed to the assailant’s helmet because we were stabbing her. Each blow lovingly placed on her already mangled body; each swipe of the bloodied knife a caress; he’s enjoying this -the pathetic whimpers from the woman spurring on his ecstatic moans and the camera shuddered in time. The training room went deathly silent; no one dared to even breathe. I started to wonder why he hadn’t touched the woman’s face yet; and then I saw his knife start edging to her eyes as the blade got closer… 

I lost it then and had to excuse myself. I tried to be as cool and calm about it as I could but it was obvious that I’d failed this particular round; I’m the only one to have buckled under the pressure. But by leaving I’ve acted as a release valve for the rest of them and they can now laugh and feel better for their own discomfort. I no longer cared; I needed to get to the men’s room before I lost it completely. I barely got there in time. For three minutes I vomited it out never aware that I was actually being watched; I forgot to shut the door behind me.

“You have to be a new fish.” She slyly addressed me and I blanched even more. I cleaned myself off the best I could and got up to face her.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, trying to regain my composure. Her face is too hard edged to be beautiful and her eyes tell me that she’s seen everything too many times to care; but there’s a wrinkle of compassion in her forehead.

“Well… two things really.” She replied, as if she’s talking to a wayward child. “You’re vomiting like you’ve just had your first prom… and you’re in the ladies.” I blushed and apologised, my hard-nosed rookie impression shot down in smoke.

“I couldn’t handle seeing the woman being stabbed…. I’ve… never seen anything like that before. Was it real?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” She countered. “My name’s Phoebe, by the way.”

“Not really, I suppose. I failed the test.”

“You failed part of the test, Payne.”  She saw my name badge and knew enough to not make the situation any worse. “We all balk the first time we see images like that -though not in as spectacular fashion as you, admittedly- but it’s how you bounce back that defines you.” This was sound advice and I nodded and thanked her before walking back to the training room. As I left she said, “You’ll probably find you’ve picked up a new nickname. Don’t be surprised if you start getting called ‘Pained’ from now on in.”

“What’s yours then?” I countered.

“Phoenix.”

I walked back to the training room, my head held high. I knew that I was going to get schtick from everyone and there were sniggers, for sure; but most looked sheepishly at me, almost relieved that I had broken before they had.

“Ah, Pained!” Bob quipped, smiling at me. I could see concern mixed with something else that I couldn’t fathom in his gaze. “Welcome back! Have you had enough or are you here for the duration?”

“It’s not how one falls that’s the defining characteristic…” I had rehearsed this all the way from the toilets and it almost worked. “Its how one bounces back that defines you.”

“Splendid! Say hi to Phoebe the Phoenix next time you see her; she’ll be your mentor moving forward!”

First day on the job; seven in the AM, barely made it in time; but there I am waiting at the bottom of a busy but narrow staircase; and it’s obvious that the night shift has just finished. 

“Better push your way through, Pained, otherwise we ain’t gonna get nowhere…” It’s Phoebe, I feel better already just knowing there’s a friendly face and I do as she suggests; just push myself through the masses and no one seems to bat an eyelid. We get to the top and she shows me into what’s called a ‘break room’.

“This is where the breakdowns happen…” She explains. “But as you’ve already had one, Pained, there’s no problem. I just got to run through some quick rules for you.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Pained? Why not? That’s how you’re going to be known for the time being; most of us have got one.” I frown at this and she puts her hand on my arm as she sits me down. “Look… I like you, but there’s no favouritism here.”

“What do you mean, you like me?”

“Bob told me about Un Chien Andalou..  We gonna get along fine.”

“I never said I liked that film, just that I’ve seen it.

“Don’t spoil things so damn fast.” She remonstrated and started telling me the lay of the land. “We clock in at 7am every morning; two 15min breaks and half an hour for lunch. It’s best to bring something in with you as there’s no real kitchen and you’ll need to allow yourself time to queue for the toilets. You’re also allowed up to nine minutes for ‘wellness breaks’, chosen at your discretion... and, yes you will be monitored! Not by me, necessarily, but there’s always someone wanting to trip up the newbies -so don’t give them the opportunity. There’s also an additional 15 minutes to be used as a ‘prayer-break’ for those religiously inclined. Take them, even if you spit on religion -you’re going to need all the breaks you can get!” I shook my head as this was nothing I expected from the interview. Phoebe smiled and nodded sagely. “You ain’t heard nuttin’ yet. Lockers.. well, there are very few and if you don’t need one then brilliant… but if you do best get in there quick; either start earlier than everyone else or accidentally leave stuff in there overnight… 

“You’re not allowed to have any mobile technology on when you’re in the office and definitely no social media open on your desktop -although everyone uses ‘Messaged’ as a shortcut to shouting across the desks.

“No writing utensils are allowed either…” She continued and I could barely draw breath. “Just in case someone writes down a customer’s information, etc… oh yes.. they are that paranoid.” She replied to my unspoken question. “But deservedly so; someone was stupid enough in another company to write down customers details so they could blackmail them with ‘naughty posts’. They were tracked down and dealt with accordingly.”

“But how can I make notes about stuff?” I asked. “I’ve got a terrible memory.”

“You can say a shit memory, if you like -no one stands on ceremony here.” I liked Phoebe immensely.

“Ok.. I have a shit memory.”

“Use the computer’s Sticky Note facility. No one cares about that.” 

“What? Isn’t that double standards?”

“Yup -through and through… but name me a place that doesn’t have them. Know the rules and shortcuts now, it’ll be easier on you, Pained.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Get used to it…. Oh yeah – no boxes or bags allowed either. Clear plastic bags only so people can see what you’re carrying…”

“Paranoid much?” I quipped.

“We’re all paranoid here.. and its whether you’re paranoid enough. Stay long enough here and you’ll start to believe the conspiracy theories. You scoff at it now but the flat earthers sit in the far corner, the lizards in another… Personally I believe that the CIA have been running mind control operations for years and the AID’s epidemic was deliberately released in Africa to destroy the black population there. Nothing like a bit of Eugenics to get the juices flowing.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; whether she was being serious or having a laugh at my expense. “Oh… before I forget; in the event of an evacuation keep an eye on Kevin -I’ll point him out to you on the ‘grand tour’ he knows where all the escape points are. Don’t show any weakness though otherwise you might end up on his hit list when the shit goes down; he keeps a gun taped under his desk… but then we all do.”

We sat at her desk and she showed me the system I was going to use: OPA -I couldn’t even be bothered to find out what it stood for, and Phoebe grinned as the screen hummed to life.

“What do you think of my screensaver?” She asked. I couldn’t make it out; it was an abstract mass of pixels, pale pinks and vivid reds; if I squinted it was like a cross-between one of the Magic Eye pictures that had been popular some time back and a Francis Bacon canvas… “What the hell is it?” I asked.

“Stand back a bit and squint again.” I did as she said.

“Fucking hell…It’s a…!”

“Yup – it’s a cunt.” She said matter-of-factly. “Not mine… but we all have one. There’s a great website which we’ve unofficially chosen as our all-time favourite: www.mybeautiful  cunt.com.”

“Shouldn’t the profanity filters stop you from seeing that?” I couldn’t believe this; it was bordering on surreal.

“Top marks for Pained!” I’d given up trying to correct her now and she carried on regardless. “Yes, you’d think so -and you’d also think that we’d block this site from appearing on the Opaque feed… BUT it’s seen as being exceptionally positive and uplifting, would you believe? So, join the gang and get yourself a full-screen pussy like the rest of us!”

I just couldn’t get to grips with what Phoebe was telling me; I’d never heard such madness.

“Best to shut your mouth a bit, it’s hanging open a bit too wide -people might think you’re developing a fixation on my cunt; and we wouldn’t want that… just yet.” I looked at her with wild eyes. “You’re going to have to chill more, John. You smoke dope or get high?” I shook my head. “Drink? You’re going to have to find your own outlet then otherwise you will burn out. You have a girlfriend or man-toy?” I wanted to close my ears to this but it was too late now, I had to make the best of this otherwise I’d be back on the streets with no job prospects. Six months will be enough to give me a track record then I’d be able to go job hunting again. “Six weeks on the job and normal sex didn’t do it for me.” Phoebe continued. “I could only be brought off anally... It took hubby a while to get used to the idea, but he kinda likes it now.” I didn’t know where to look - I couldn’t face her but nor could I stare in front of me either; her obscene pixelated pussy just throbbed at me. “Geez; I didn’t know you’d be so square. If I were you I’d avoid the rear staircase between 11 and 12.30 then…. Let’s carry on with the training…” I didn’t dare ask what she meant. It was only 2 in the afternoon on my first day and I’d already had enough.. how was I going to make this work for six months?

For the next two hours I was bombarded with obscene picture after obscene picture; after a while none of it seemed to mean anything. Phoebe just sat me down at a computer and told me that the exercise was to select whether the photo was real or fake. Head’s split open, periodal crotch shots; child abuse, animal fellation and after the first three dozen the photo’s themselves ceased to have any meaning and I no longer saw them for what they represented… they became beautiful, surreal masterpieces and it was like I was witness to a gaudy, macabre Bauhaus art gallery…. But after a hundred I was starting to see the artifice behind them; those which were just special effects and those which were actually real. Part of me marveled at the ingenuity of the fakes whilst the rest of me wept for humanity. At the end of the two hours Phoebe came over to me. 

“How did I do?” I asked naively.

“How should I know?” I just looked at her and it dawned on me what was really going on.

“This was nothing about being able to spot a real pic from a fake, was it?” I parried.

“Well, yes… it was partly...”

“But mainly to get used to the type of content I’ll be seeing on an hourly basis?” I thrust further.

“Hourly? More like minute by minute!” Phoebe riposted. “I hate to say it, but there are some that view you as a bit of a flight risk, Pained… and it pains me to say it I’ve stuck my neck out for you. We need to get you desensitised as quickly as possible… if only for the fact that when you’re let loose on the live world, you’ll be the target of everyone’s fun & games here.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s various games that go on here -some harmless and others... less so. People message the worst pics they find to ‘easy marks’ to provoke a reaction. You’re being strictly monitored and every gesture and outburst by you will go against your probation. The one that scores the most points against you will win.” I just stared at her.

“That’s monstrous!”

“Look, we’re just 12 people moderating 120 million users; the company is trying to resolve human nature and we’re policing the un-policable!  You’ll soon feel as if the world is perpetually teetering on the blink of chaos and the only way to combat that is with gallows humour… it won’t be long before you start joining in on our daily bingo games! None of it is personal, we’re just trying to survive.”

The last thing I did on that first day was to sign a waiver; a non-disclosure agreement: whatever happened to me during my time at work I was not to tell anyone… ANYONE of the emotional toll from working for Opaque. “You’ve probably seen in your contract that you’ll be offered any ‘outreach counselling’ services you need, and it won’t count against you.” Phoebe warned. “Don’t believe it. It’ll all go down against you, one way or another…” 

That night I couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t shut my mind off from the sights I’d been partial to. It was like a stroboscope of images; beatings, rapes, open wounds, pet mutilation and among it all was the enlarged open lips of Phoebe’s screensaver. My partner, Michelle, had been aware of my discomfort throughout the night, but I just couldn’t talk about it with her; how could she understand? We lay in bed together and I just needed a release.

I turned over in bed and spooned her naked body, enjoying her warmth; she didn’t stir -she was a heavy sleeper at the best of times. I felt myself grow hard against her and all I could think of was the phoenix’ engorged pussy; opening up like a wound ready to swallow me whole; I spat on my hand and wet my penis, covering it in saliva so it was slippery enough. I didn’t even think of waking her; all I wanted was to be inside, to invade her the same way I had been… I thought about what Phoebe had said, and thrust myself into Michelle’s body. 

“What happened with the eye, Pained much?” Phoebe asked the  next day. I didn’t even care about the name anymore; I was pained. I crossed the line last night.

“I broke up with my girlfriend…” I mumbled; Michelle had been inconsolable. Her scream and the elbow to the head were instant and shocked me out of my stupor. Nothing I said afterwards made any difference… it had always been the unwritten rule and the one boundary Michelle had made me promise not to cross. I could tie her up and even spank her (which was never my thing) but under no circumstance would she ever indulge in anal. What I had done last night was tant-amount to rape and there was no way back. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Phoebe didn’t push it any further; I suppose it had been inevitable and in a way I’m glad it happened.

I had difficulty the rest of that week; I couldn’t switch off at night and consequently stayed wide awake, endlessly watching the adult channels, an eternal plastic display of desire and empty nothings. I found it hard to concentrate at work and Phoebe took me to one side.

“Get used to the coffee machine; it’ll be your best friend.”

“Won’t it just keep me awake for longer?” I asked, my eyes and speech slurred.

“I don’t care what you get up to at night… you want to stay employed here? Then stay awake.” She pressed a cup filled with diarrhea coloured liquid into my hands; it smelt just as bad. “You won’t notice it before long… it’ll make your spit taste funny and your piss stink… but pretty soon you won’t be able to survive without it!”

The first taste was the worst… and then the second taste… but by the time I got back to my desk and started to trawl through the filth of the internet I’d forgotten my initial revulsion and by the end of the week I’d become another hopeless, helpless addict. It made it much harder to sleep, as I thought it would, but by that stage I no longer cared. Sleep was for sloths, and for the dead.

It was shocking though just how blasé I was becoming about the images I was now privy to … car accidents; suicide bombings, sexualised violence… and the posts were becoming almost comical to me. There was a weekly award to the person who found the funniest post and on the second week I actually managed to scoop up this prestigious prize. The post read: “B4 & After abortion pix!! £10 lighter!! RIP Baby… but C my sexy body!!”

A few weeks later someone sent out an anonymous email from one of our sibling offices asking people to send us naked pictures of themselves so we could block any future revenge porn attempts. This was an April Fools joke, but we were inundated within the first twenty minutes of it being posted; by the time it had been retracted we’d already picked the babe of the month and the munter of the minute. I’d also found my screensaver image.

Then came the terror attacks out of nowhere; the curse of the modern age -the atrocities caught from every conceivable mobile device and every angle known to man. It was unflinching and took everyone by surprise -a series of explosions around the town; the terrorists had targeted certain offices to plunge us all into confusion. (Our office was probably too insignificant to profit from destroying…) For many of the conspiracy seekers this was seen as proof that they had been right all along; for me this was the realisation of my worst nightmares. There seemed to be no empathy to the clips being posted; no editing just raw footage of charred bodies and malformed corpses; smoke billowing out of the offices. This wasn’t special effects; this wasn’t a movie -these were people like me; walking into an office, ready to do a meaningless job… only to be unceremoniously executed in such a horrific way. 

We were on the front line and were deluged by thousands, tens of thousands of clips each that we had to veto. Even the most hardened of us were staggered by the nature of some of the video’s. People had invaded the offices after the blasts, armed with their mobile phones and were actually filming the people dying, ignoring the pleas for help; immune to the suffering of others -and we were just allowing them to post. There was nothing in our rules to stop them; this was news, true unbiased news. 

I couldn’t cope with what I was watching, and, even though I knew it would be noticed and held against me during my performance review, I left my screen and ran to the toilets. All the stalls for the men’s and women’s blocks were occupied and I could hear intermittent sobbing mingled with animalistic sounds of desperate copulation. I understood what Phoebe had said about sex; there were times when only raw sex could heal the wounds.

The only stalls that were free were the mother & baby changing and the disabled toilet; I chose the former not thinking why Opaque would have such an incongruous facility. It was occupied by an older lady I’d noticed a few times, Maude; she had taken on a motherly role to many of the younger interns there which had earned her the nickname of Mother Maude. I blushed and tried to excuse myself from her presence, but she bade me to come in and shut the door.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise this was occupied. I’ll find somewhere else.” I blushed and made to walk past her but Maude shook her head and motioned for me to sit down on the toilet. Shutting the stall door behind her she walked over to me, undoing the buttons on her blouse. I’d never really paid any attention to Maude in the weeks I’d been there; she managed to keep her head down and just get on with her work with the minimum of fuss. But now facing her, watching transfixed as she manoeuvred her left breast out of her bra, I could see that she was truly beautiful, an Earth mother. She stood there, her ample breast inches from my face, and placed her hand on the back of my head; easing me to suckle on her kindness. “Shh, it’s all going to be ok… It’s all going to be ok.” She whispered to me, rocking me in her arms.

“The sheer volume of work is enough to screw anyone up, John.” Maude comforted me later; she was the only one that ever called me by forename. “The recruitment drive maintains that there’s no such thing as quota’s… but you try bringing that up during your performance review!” She sat on my lap there for another five minutes, putting my mind at rest until it was time for me to go back.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, as we parted.

“Yes, I’m here every day about this time; it’s a service I offer people.” She replied. I was shocked at this. “I’m surprised that it’s taken off the way it has, actually.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean like that….” I stammered.

“I know… and that’s sweet of you. I’d like that.” She kissed me on the cheek and we walked back to our desks. That night, for the first time, I slept like a baby.

For the next week or so I saw Maude each day at the same time. She never again suckled me and I never asked for it; I’d found someone more important: a friend, and she a kindred spirit. Maude had already been a supervisor but the sheer volume and the ever-changing rules that she was supposed to moderate over made it impossible to keep up. She was also spending more and more time away from her children which worried her.

“Couldn’t you have left them with a child-minder?” I asked.

“Not really – I’ve seen too many videos of baby-sitters raping those in their care or ransacking the properties that I just couldn’t trust anyone with my children anymore. I’m sure Phoebe has told you that it’s not whether your paranoid that’s the issue, it’s whether you’re paranoid enough!”

The next day I spoke to her about something that had been bothering me since the first week. “I don’t understand the double standards here, Maude. How have you managed to juggle these diametrically opposed ideas?”

“Wish with one hand, shit in the other… see which one fills up quicker, I guess.” She wanted me to lighten up; she called me her angry young man.

“Come on, Maude. Posts like ‘Autistic people should be murdered in utero’ aren’t taken down … because it’s not considered a ‘protected characteristic’ but anything that’s labelled black… even if it’s the colour of a pool ball… it’s taken down immediately! It’s crazy!”

“One thing I’ve learnt is this…” Maude explained, “The 90 page document you were given on your first day regarding the standards and principles can be summed up in two lines: dick pics and decapitations are bad; no insides should be seen on the outside.” I smiled, but she continued: “Posts such as ‘Kick all people with red hair’ and ‘burn all fat kids’ would never be flagged as offensive because it’s not deemed a credible threat. It’s just an outpouring of emotion, apparently! But if you were to post: ‘stab all Zionist’s’ or ‘Someone shoot the Queen’ it would immediately be removed! How crazy is that? Stop looking for sense, John. If it still hasn’t sunk in think on this…. Why are animal abuse images never taken down? They’re used for awareness and educational purposes…”

I sighed and nodded; there was no discernible rhyme or reason, Maude was right. As we were about to return to our respective desks I turned to her and said, “I did find a great post this morning: ‘If oxygen was discovered in 1783, how did people breathe before then?’” We laughed all the way back.

And for a couple of weeks the world turned as normal; I found my feet and, with the help of Maude, even managed to sleep a couple of hours a night. I increased my hours as the weeks went on because I found I had difficulty functioning in the other world around me, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore. One by one the people I once saw as friends became less defined and mere cyphers, just another social media avatar; but that didn’t matter to me either.

Then Michelle knocked on the door, totally unannounced. I wasn’t really paying attention and just opened the door without checking to see who it was; there was no way I’d’ve let her in if I knew it was her! I must’ve looked pretty gaunt and withdrawn by that stage because she kept commenting on it.

“What’s with you? No one’s seen you in weeks, and I can understand why! Have you even looked at yourself recently?” She moaned.

“Have you? I mean, why are you here at all? I didn’t call you here.”

“No… your mum did. Your mum – when was the last time you called or even spoke to her?”

“I can’t..” I tried walking away from her but she wouldn’t let me. Wherever I walked she followed after me.

“I shouldn’t have run off like that; I know that now.” Michelle explained, trying to hold back the tears. “I had no idea what you were going through… how could I? But look at you now! Whatever this job is, whatever you think it’s doing for you, it’s not -it’s slowly destroying you!” 

She forced me into the bathroom, cleaned the mildewed mirror and made me look into it. I stared into the eyes of a no-one; gaunt and bloodshot; pale and waning. This wasn’t me; this wasn’t who I wanted to become. How did I let things get this bad? But what choice did I have? I turned to Michelle who was now crying with me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. 

“Come back to me, please.” It was just one sobbing sentence, like a mantra, but all I could hear was one of the first things Phoebe said to me: ‘Chances are you’ll burn out within the first three months…” It was her; it was the company that had done this to me… No longer; enough was enough.

I don’t remember leaving Michelle, or how I got out of the flat; I just remember entering the offices of Opaque; it was clear to me what I had to do. Finding the gun was easy; it was exactly where Phoebe said it was and Kevin did nothing to dissuade me from taking it; I thought he’d fight me for it, and I was ready for the conflict. Part of me was actually disappointed that no one tried to stop me, they just looked on; pretending I wasn’t actually there. Phoebe had her back to me, but I could see her reflection in that perfectly formed, obscene vaginal blow-up screensaver of hers. She knew why I was there, could see the gun  at her head. She swiveled round and just looked at me.

“We all burn out within the first three months, Payne.” She said to me quietly, that last time, each word measured. My hand started to quiver, each second the gun felt heavier and heavier, but I had to pull the trigger; I had to end it. It had to end. 

“It’s what you do next that counts….” She whispered. I just stared at her, saw the smile in her eyes, remembering her nickname and I knew what I had to do.

The Final Judgement

<Translated into English>

For over a hundred years humanity has been dreaming of contacting an ‘intelligent’ species outside their own measly little planet. One look at their media and ‘cinema’ shows just how dissonant their view of reality really is. Of those films that deal with ‘alien invasions’ they are always war-like or feature conquests or persecution and even dissection in some cases! Why would any one visit such a backward planet?

The irony is that the hostility they display is not just limited to the infantile fantasies they create; for such a young species they are truly schizophrenic and one could almost say suicidal… which brings us to the current situation: the human race: should it be allowed to spread its disease to other worlds; should it be confined to its own planet or should we simply treat it as a failed experiment and sterilise the Earth and start again? The evidence is very simple and my case hinges on two angles: the desecration of the planet and the subjugation of the human race… by the human race. I’ll look at each one in turn.

The planet Earth is roughly 4.5 billion years old (give or take a few million) and humans have inhabited it for only 200,000 of those and in the course of that heartbeat they have drastically changed the face of the planet; granted for the first 198,000 of those very little had changed. Man lived in harmony with the planet; sought to understand the mysteries of the worlds around it but did nothing to drastically alter the landscape or damage her in any way. With the advent of a reductionist way of thinking man started to place itself on a higher plane of existence than the rest of the species that lived around it. One could say that, as it was still in its infancy it was still growing, allowing its ego free reign; exploring through its senses. But nothing has changed in the following years, if anything it’s gotten worse –rather than maturing and losing its sense of self-importance it has become even more egotistical!

With the advent of technology it has developed so many ways to rape and defile the planet; scourging the seas and polluting the air; literally defecating where it eats, never thinking about any of the consequences of its actions. It mines the land, scraping out the mineral deposits for no other reason than to pollute the land and make a desperate gamble for immortality. Are these the actions of a rational, mature, intelligent species? If this were the behaviour of an individual it would surely be considered suicidal!

But let us turn our view one hundred and eighty degrees then; let us look at the subjugation of the human race by the human race! Here we look at a schizophrenic entity with delusions of grandeur. Caught between the blind alley of what it calls ‘science’ and the sheer lunacy of it’s religious credo the human race has no real way of extricating itself. The religions are all juvenile attempts at controlling the mass population and the worrying thing is just how willing people are to be led. For such a ‘scientifically advanced’ species, they seem to enjoy being told stories no better than fairy tales and then go to war against those that hold differing views (equally as pathetic and fantastical).

Place a handful of humans in a room for more than twenty four hours and you will see violence erupt between them. Even though they are all alike it is amazing at just how many differences they see in themselves. From these ‘differences’ stems the other, and anything that is ‘other’ is feared and then hated. Human history is rife with this, but we must also factor this into the equation –one can only recognise that which rests in oneself. How can you hate something in someone else if it does not first reside within yourself? Therefore all of the hates and fears are down to mankind’s deep loathing of itself.

There is, of course, another factor that needs to be taken into account as a motivating force behind religion and that is power and ‘wealth’. There are certain humans that seek to rise above the norm and establish themselves as something superior –they do this by subjugating others; amassing great wealth at the cost of other’s who are their equals. These are the people behind the wars, behind the religions and though they might hide behind other excuses there is but one reasoning: fear. Fear of their own ineptitude; fear of their own mortality; of their own inequality and from that, again, breeds hatred. These are the ones that wield power like an unruly child in a temper tantrum –destroying the earth around them so they don’t have to look at the pain and fear that festers within.

There are those that follow neither creed; that live in accordance with the natural laws and should the decision be reached their souls will be taken in the balance and they will not suffer.

We have given the human race over two thousand years to improve itself; more than enough chances to reset it’s global karma, but it has snubbed these continuously.

From what we can tell there are three future outcomes for humanity – it will either pollute the planet and destroy it from within; destroy it from without through increasing conflicts and literally go nuclear or it will spread like a pestilence and infect the rest of its immediate galaxy when it finally works out the key to interstellar travel.

None of these are acceptable and each of these are equally as probable. There is but one solution therefore to this question but only you can make the judgement.

The 90% (Or All is right in the world)

She had to prove him wrong. Time was fast ticking away and it had been a disastrous day, but she had to disprove his damn worldview; had to. Yesterday was a different story, a view of the world that made her happy: all was right with the world and people were generally good. The he joined her team at work, had the audacity to sit next to her and over the course of the day turn her life upside-down.

John, from Hassocks, was 24; barely out of university and so green he could have been a walking advertisement for the Vegan brigade. Tall and sickly thin, freckles, ginger hair and glasses were an unfortunate combination which, coupled with the medical complaint known as ‘running at the mouth’, made him an annoying shit.

Why was it that those that went to university felt the need to rub it into everybody else’s face; justify their existence and piss everyone off with their new found wisdom. They saw themselves as superior, and experience had taught her that they were anything but!

Of course, she didn’t know any of this when she first met him; she was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt; it took just her ten minutes of his elitist crap to come to that conclusion. She was a quick study, being a firm believer that a picture is worth a thousand words and first impressions were never wrong. It took her ten minutes to decide that she didn’t like John from Hassocks at all. His ego rankled her and they clashed on everything. He was staunchly anti-religious (especially regarding Christianity) whereas she was a Protestant and proud of it. She was the vegan and he was a lapsed, but still very keen, fisherman; enjoying the occasional trip with his father. She believed in turning the other cheek, seeing the good in everyone and England for the English. Good and evil; black and white.

“So you’re a racist.” John replied, upon hearing this.

“If that means being proud to be English then, yes. I am.” She replied, unnerved by the reply. She was, actually, very racist but that wasn’t something she wanted other people to know.

“Yes, then… and a hypocrite as well.” He challenged. “What does it actually mean to be ‘English’? We’ve been invaded so many times that the original inhabitants of the green and pleasant land were either butchered or bred out a long, long time ago.”

This was infuriating. She saw herself as being essentially cool, calm and collected; but in the first half an hour of talking to him she had almost lost her shit completely. She was also due to go on jury service in the next couple of weeks and made the mistake of mentioning it in conversation.

“I have a dislike for the judiciary system...” He jabbed at her.

“Why does that not surprise me?” She countered, really not wanting to get into the conversation. Where was a large polo mallet when you really needed one, she asked herself.

“The whole system is corrupt.” He replied, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come on; that’s total crap.” She snapped. She tried her best not to let her feelings get the better of her but his whole attitude just annoyed her so much!

“Look – discounting the fact that the whole system is pre-dictated on the facile agreement that everyone swears to tell the truth on a fictional document; it’s not up to the lawyers to ascertain the guilt of someone, it’s to find a way to justify their massive salary. The lawyers are paid to understand the law, not people. If they can get their clients off on a technicality then they will do whether they’re guilty or not.” She let the words ‘fictional document’ go over her head; now was not a time for a religious debate, so she said:

“But that’s why there’s a jury, surely...”

“Oh, please. Look, it’s like this: people are selected at random on the basis that everyone is created equal and it’s a jury of their peers, right? Well, I hate to say this but we’re not all equal. It all depends on economic, sociological and intellectual biases for a start. I’m not the same as you.” You can say that again, she thought and really wished that she hadn’t started the damn conversation. “By putting me on a panel with a 44 year old Sun reader with the intelligence of a used teabag is ridiculous. There is no average person.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” She snapped back.

“Harlan Ellison once said that 90% of everything is utter shite… and he was right, you know. If you look at art or music in terms of quality, or even people on a graph you’ll get a bell-curve. You’ve heard of that, I’m sure. The peak is always in the middle and that’s called the average. So those that exceed are in the top 90%...”

“Ah – so you think of yourself as one of the top ten percent, I take it? Riiight.” She snapped, incredulous at this attitude.

“Ok – let’s take an extreme example. Serial killers.”

“What?” She asked, curious as to where the conversation was now leading.

“Well, take people’s perception of serial killers; look at all the films about them. They’re perceived as ‘different’ to us; and much is made of their perverted nature… In fact, anything further that people can do to distance themselves from serial killers the better. But you want to know the real rub?” He didn’t even wait for her to answer, John was on a roll. She got the feeling that he’d got this patois down through countless retellings. Perfect for chat up lines… “Your ‘average’ person is one bad day from becoming a serial killer… if only they knew.”

“I can’t believe that for an instant. What you’re saying is that there’s no innate difference between…” She shook her head, trying to take it in. “..between a Joe Nobody and a serial killer?”

“Think about it – most of these serial killers had diabolical upbringings. I mean, really, really shitty.  I’m not making any excuses and can’t generalise, obviously… but a case could easily be made. Most people turn round and say ‘I could never do anything like that!’… but had they had lived the life of, say, Ted Bundy or Charlie Manson, then I can’t help but wonder how they would’ve turned out.”

“Bollocks. I’ve known people who have had far worse lives. I mean, how many people are walking round with a life that is just as bad, if not worse than Ted Bundy, and have not become serial killers?”

“It’s impossible to know what the triggers are for each person…”

“Look, I’ve read up on serial killers too, and from my experience these people were just projecting how bad they felt onto others so they didn’t have to take the rap for it… or they felt that their behaviour was justified because their victims were ‘asking for it’.” She couldn’t believe how this conversation was unfolding. One bad day or not, she really wanted to smite John at that very minute!

“That’s such an oversimplification!” John replied, almost mimicking her objection earlier.

“These… people, these serial killers always try to play the victim.. “ She pushed back. “‘Poor me, my childhood was terrible’ ; we could all say stuff like that! But it never adds up to anything, if you ask me, as their crimes were always premeditated!  It’s rare for these killings to be spur of the moment. These were clear thinking individuals making clear and informed decisions.”

“I said nothing about ‘playing the victim’;” John replied. “And I actually agree that their crimes were premeditated.. but that’s not the point…” She was having none of it though, she interrupted him.

“When something is carefully planned in advance… and the person knows it’s illegal then they are totally responsible and should be held accountable. I had some really bad experiences but that doesn’t mean that I want to go out and kill, kill, kill!” Although at that particular moment there was one person that she would happily have throttled. “When you start talking to people you find that it’s actually quite common!”

“Ok – so maybe you’re getting confused by my argument; getting bogged down in semantics. I’m saying that you can’t say for certain that you wouldn’t end up like them if you lived their life. You’re saying that’s not true –you would never kill like that. How do you know that for certain? Talk about living in a glass house! Life happens in increments; each incident stacks up; you never know what’s going to break the camel’s back. People can crack up in two ways, you know… suicide or murder.”

“That’s such an oversimplification! How you can come up with such generalisations without the slightest bit of evidence is beyond me! I wonder what the stats would show us: comparing those men who have been abused by their mothers and chart how their lives turned out. How many of them turned out to be psycho’s.” She wanted this conversation over, but there was only one way out: admit that he was right, there was no way she would let him have the final word.

“How the hell can you use statistics as a comparison? If you’re saying that my views are an oversimplification then you’ve got to be doubly careful with your rash generalisations purely because of the type of measurements you make. It’s not just a case of looking at ‘those men who were abused by their mothers’ and seeing how many of them end up killing anyone…”

“It’d be far more accurate than taking ONE example, like you did, and drawing conclusions from that!” Oh, please, she thought. What have I done to deserve this? This is only the first morning; it can only go downhill from here.

“I haven’t given any examples and nor have I drawn any conclusions.” He replied snidely. “What I actually said was that I don’t agree with people’s views of serial killers.”

“No, what you actually said was ‘’People are one bad day away from mass killing.’”

“Right – remember that petrol crisis a few years ago?” He replied.  “People were killing others over a tank of petrol… other people have been stampeded in Black Friday deals.”

“I think I need evidence to back those up.” She said.

“It was on the news… In America recently there was a Chinese kid who was shot because he knocked at the wrong house in a Halloween costume! Shot for no reason at all.”

“But that’s America, surely?” She regretted saying that, and knew that she’d just added more fuel to the already fanned flames.

“I don’t think you can afford to be that blasé about it all. It’s no good saying that in America you get shot for no reason because it’s America! That’s happening over here now!”

“What are you? Some kind of pessimist?”

“Well, I’d actually call myself a realist.”

“Ha! I would describe my view as realistic; at least as far as humanity goes… and at least as far as I can make it; although with my history I should probably be the one busy cutting men into pieces.” Men like you, she thought to herself.

“I don’t see the worst in people… I let them dig their own holes.” John grinned.

“Well; I’m naturally a kind person… I feel for others. You have to lack empathy in order to hurt others in a premeditated way and some of us just aren’t built that way. I can’t take credit for it though, it’s a mixture of brain chemistry and environment.”

“So you agree with me then!” She was stunned by his conclusion, but when she later unpicked what she’d said she realised that he was right.

“No… that’s NOT what I said. You’re just turning my words against me!”

“Ok… You think that people are generally friendly and kind. Is that your world view? You don’t believe in my 90% and that only the really screwed up ones kill. Have I addressed all your concerns?”

“Yes.” She replied through gritted teeth.

“Well then; I’ll set you a little test. In one day I want you to prove me wrong. Believe me, I want to be proved wrong. If you can tell me of at least three positive interactions with people over the next... well, let’s say by the end of tomorrow then I will concede that you’re right and I’ll change my world view.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Well, nothing… nothing really. But let’s hope that I am wrong, eh?” John said smugly. Oh, how she wanted to wipe that wry grin off his mouth.

She had just over one day to prove herself. She so desperately wanted to prove him wrong and, more importantly, prove herself right. They didn’t speak for the rest of the day, bizarrely enough; save for work related questions, nor did he mention the bet or make any snide remarks but she was pondering on what she could do to make a difference.

It was no good approaching people at work; in her mind she already had a rapport built up and it would be far easier to prove kindness in people she already favoured (and John would, no doubt, dismiss them). No, the whole crux of John’s argument was dealing with the ‘average person in the street’; and that meant random acts of kindness –something that she agreed with in principle, but had never actually put into practice. Now was as good a time as any.

That evening on the platform she noticed someone drop a five pound note from their pocket and she was about to pick it up to give it back when another person pushed her out the way. “Bloody thieving bitch.” The elderly man remarked, prodding at her with his finger, drawing the attention of the woman who dropped the money.

“What’s happening?” The woman asked.

“This bloody woman was about to nick the money that had fallen out your purse.” He said.

“I was not! I was just about to give it back to her.” She replied in disbelief.

“Oh piss off.” The woman snapped and she meekly moved down the platform, drawing looks from the other passengers. On the train journey home she was treated with distrust and disparaging looks so she couldn’t try to engage anyone in conversation. Was the world always like this, she asked herself. Was John right after all? No, she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. She just had to try harder.

The next day she did her best to wear a happy face and greet everyone with a smile, but no one else seemed to share her positivity. All she got in return was lewd stares, grunts of disapproval and, when she did try to strike up conversation, affirmations of a completely different kind. She sighed inwardly and felt dejected, crippled inside.

John’s effervescence made things ten times worse. Although he never mentioned the bet it was easy to tell from her expression that things weren’t going so well. She so wanted to ram that sparkling smile down his bloody throat.

At lunchtime she gave money to a couple of charity workers waving collecting tins. She didn’t even bother to see which charities she was giving to she just wanted to feel good about herself. However by the time she’d walked to the other end of the pavement she was almost swamped by the other chuggers who had witnessed her display of goodwill and wanted to get in on the act. She ended up losing her temper at them and told them, in no uncertain terms, to sod the fuck off.

She tried giving money to the homeless to elicit some kind of response and was rewarded with a sarcastic “50p? Wow, this will go handy towards my Ferrari! Bloody Tories, no idea of how the world works; not everyone has a silver bloody spoon round their necks!”

She then saw a pregnant woman smoking and felt for the unborn baby inside; she couldn’t stop herself and said something. The woman looked shocked and she thought for a minute that she’d actually done something worthwhile; made a difference. A slap in the face made her realise that the woman wasn’t pregnant… just fat. A crowd of people had to drag the two of them apart in the end. It was all put down to a misunderstanding.

At the end of lunch she finally had her chance; a young girl came up to her sniffling away. She’d lost her purse and needed some money –just 50p- to call her mummy. Deeply touched, she gave her the money and it was worth it just to see the look on the little girls face. Five minutes later she realised that whilst all that was going on some other little shit had stolen her wallet.

Back at work she had to ask one of her friends to lend her the money for the train home; the only act of kindness in the whole day, but she was beyond caring now. John was staring at her with a knowing look in his eye and she just couldn’t return his gaze. In fact she did everything she could to avoid talking to him, even going so far as to listen to her I-player for the rest of the afternoon. At the end of the day she dashed away without speaking to him and stood on the train platform sobbing inside. Had she really worn blinkers all these years? How could this fucking university freak make such a fool of her? It wasn’t fair.

“What’s it like living in the 90%?” She heard the voice and didn’t want to turn around, but there he was; large as life and twice as ugly. John. “Still believe that people are inherently good? Still live in fairy land?”

That was enough. Something inside her finally snapped; even though it went against everything that she had ever believed in, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She didn’t believe in cliché’s but as the red mist descended she coolly and calmly took him by the shoulders and just pushed him on to the railway tracks as the 17.22 to Brighton entered the station.

All was right again in the world.

Kindred Spirits

And Joseph said: “Power only corrupts those who fear it or do not deserve it.”  I used to be so unsure.

I joined the Beacon because my life was at low ebb. I’d lost my way after a very misguided relationship with a lady, over twenty years my senior, had left my confidence shredded; alongside whatever masculinity I had previously laid claim to.

After a disastrous twelve months Elaine had dismissed me from her company for a younger buck and I was left cursing my naivety. All my so-called friends had called me a fool and I had fallen out with them over it; and it seemed as if they were right all along. I lacked the strength of character to go back to them; it would have meant admitting I was wrong; and I couldn’t have borne that. Admitting to myself was bad enough, but admitting it to others?

A new shop had opened up in town called Wishing Well; it was a ‘new age’ shop that sold your heart’s desire for twenty pieces of silver. The window was a textbook display of dragons and fairies and crystals and spirit guides and dream catchers and witches and angels and tarot and reiki and and and. It was the spiritual equivalent of a MacDonalds –lots on the menu but nothing to leave you fulfilled or sated.

What made me walk in? I have no idea; maybe it was simply the age old answer to any irrational decision: why not? What have I got to lose?

Inside it was like a cross between a hobbit hole and a supermarket –everything was for sale. Everything was monetized; forget karma and learning your path… buy yourself a healing badge and take part in a four week course. Want to become a druid or a tarot reader? There’s a course for that as well. I was both sickened and intrigued by it all.

I was anti-religious at the best of times and considered myself quite well read in philosophy. I believed that we were down here to find our own path and walk it; away from the temptations of other people… and this multi-coloured swap-shop was the complete antithesis of my beliefs… or so I first thought. But.. truth be told, I didn’t know what I wanted. Looking back on it I guess I just wanted to belong somewhere.

“Can I help you help yourself?” The sweet, melodic voice came from behind me. This was Rose, soon to be a massive influence on my life. I turned round and was face to face with a bundle of joyous beauty; all smiles and radiance. A gentle soul if ever I saw one.

“Both clever and cute.” I replied…  “I mean.. the play on words…it was very clever.. y’know, helping to help others.. ahem; please feel free to slap me in the face at any time… anything to stop me from making more of an arse out of myself.”

“I don’t think such a thing is possible.” I blushed.

“You mean, I can’t make any more of an arse out of myself?”

“Shush… What is it you’re looking for?” She said and every fibre in my body wanted to respond with ‘you’, but I managed to rein it in.

“I don’t know.” I sheepishly admitted. “Some enlightenment?” She laughed at this. “A chance to meet a kindred spirit?” At this she beamed.

“That’s a start and I’ve just the thing..” She turned and walked to the counter. Rose was dressed in long flowing robes of dark, figure hugging purple. She turned to face me again and I quickly looked elsewhere. She was short enough that looking her in the eye made it impossible not to take in the depth of her figure. I tried not to blush any deeper than her robes. “You’re interested in Celtic fertility rites as well, are you?” She said, matter-of-factly.

“Wha?” I coughed, knowing I’d been caught out.

“Don’t worry; we’re very understanding about the natural urges and going through them to the other side. You’re a truth seeker, I can tell.”

“How can you tell? I don’t even know myself…” She handed me a flyer: ‘The Beacon –For Kindred Spirits on their search for Enlightenment.’

I laughed: “You couldn’t make it up, could you?”

The Beacon was hosted once a week on a Saturday night, which was always open to the general public and new members; so I gave it a go. Why not?

I had no idea what to expect and, I admit, was feeling more than a little vulnerable and was actually regretting my decision right up until I opened the door to the hall and saw Rose.

Yes, I was attracted to Rose, but it was more than just a physical attraction. She seemed such a loving soul, very gentle and compassionate. She was of a short, voluptuousness with long dark hair and piercing green eyes. She also had a habit of wearing low cut, figure hugging, flowing gowns and that night was no exception.

Upon seeing me she rushed up and gave me such an all-encompassing hug that to anyone else it might have seemed we were long lost relatives or the best of friends.

“I’m so glad you came.” She whispered to me. I felt exactly the same. I was tremendously naïve, not very world weary and part of me thought that Rose had taken a particular shine to me; that maybe it was for more than just spiritual reasons she wanted me there.

“This is my partner, Joseph.” She said, motioning to the man standing behind her. The man that I’d absolutely failed to see, which was strange because Joseph was tall and actually towered over me (and I was six foot). He was of a slender build with a strength of presence that just emanated from him; he was also balding and at least ten years older than Rose.

I extricated myself from Rose’s warm embrace, slightly embarrassed to be caught as such and shook Joseph’s outstretched hand. His was a cold grip, but strong without being forceful. He clasped his other hand over mine and just held it. There was a sharp tang of patchouli and I guessed that it was from his aftershave.

“I’ve been told a lot about you. I’m pleased that you came too.” It was a warm smile but there was something of an almost predatory glint behind his eyes. He was a man of power and leverage and he knew it too.

“I’m intrigued to know how – I’ve only just met Rose.” I laughed, trying to figure him out. I was suddenly very wary of this man, and of this group I’d been invited to join. As a child I’d almost been indoctrinated into a cult masquerading as a Sunday school and was very aware of the various ways they used to manipulate others.

“Oh, we have ways of knowing.” He smiled back. “Hopefully you’ll be able to learn them for yourself if you choose to stay.”

“The evening is about to start.” Rose said in earnest, sensing the tension. “Rob and Judith will sit with you and show you the ropes. Don’t worry –it’s all a bit of fun. Take of it what you like; anything you don’t like just let it fall by the wayside. If there’s anything you don’t understand then just ask.”

Rob and Judith walked me to the front of the seating area, which consisted of eight rows of chairs with a walkway in the centre. At the front was a make-shift ‘stage’.

“Derek Jacobs is the medium tonight.” Judith said as we sat down. Judith was in her late fifties; greying, fraying hair with thick glasses and a slightly pronounced set of front teeth which made her seem more enthusiastic than perhaps she was.

“He’s a bit showy for my tastes, but some people rave over him…” Rob was retired and relaxed because of it. He was balding as well but exuded a peacefulness. He was a gentle giant of a man with an immediate charm about him. It would be fair to see that I liked him within minutes of meeting him.

 “A bit showy?” I asked, perplexed by this.

“Have you not been to a display of mediumship before?” Judith asked.

“No… In fact I didn’t even know that was what it was. A display of.. mediumship?”

“Don’t worry – we’ve moved on a lot since Victorian times. No more table tapping and ectoplasm.” She replied. Rob winked at me.

“What Judith means is that Derek’s… style, if you can call it that, is more theatrical than most. The more times you come to the Beacon then you’ll be able to see all the different styles of mediumship. I find it all quite fascinating, really. Some of the medium’s are quite humble; others are pompous… and that’s right where Derek sits!”

I was open to the experience, if a little sceptical (however that was something that Rob told me to cultivate. There was nothing wrong with being a little sceptical all the time it didn’t stop one from keeping an open mind.) At the end of the day I had nothing to lose; and the evening would be entertaining if nothing else.

Derek was extremely theatrical; full of the Grand Guignol and totally up his own arse. His opening address had been full of pomp and egotism and was the sort of man that could give mediumship a bad name. To my surprise he picked me first and I groaned inside; but what he actually told me shook me to the core.

Looking back on it now I can’t believe how green I really was.

“Now, young man… I know you probably won’t want to hear this from me, but it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could in the relationship; you couldn’t have done any more. Every relationship is 50 / 50 and she should’ve known that.” I was shocked; no one knew of my breakup with Elaine; I’d told no one and yet what Derek was telling me was exactly what I had been telling myself these last couple of weeks. This was incredible! “Do what you can to focus on yourself now. The time will soon come when you can start again; who knows, maybe somewhere like here?”

I just nodded, dumbfounded but managed to say a muffled thank you to him, but Derek was still talking. “Now, I don’t know whether what I’ve said has meant anything to you; I only gave what I was told to say… All I know is that it was what you needed to hear.” I just nodded and Derek moved swiftly to the next person without missing a beat.

At the front I could see Rose and Joseph just watching me. Rose placed her hands together as if in thankfulness for what I’d been given and smiled. Joseph smiled slyly and winked.

After the mediumship display we all mingled and had coffee. Rose came up to me and gave me another all-encompassing hug.

“What did you think?”

“Couldn’t fault the message… wow!”

“Just the messenger?” She smiled at me kindly.

“Well..” I tried to find an excuse, anything than say how I really felt. I thought it would be churlish to be so negative; especially on my first visit.

“It’s ok.” Rose said, putting her hand on my arm, squeezing it. “I think he’s a pompous arse as well. Occasionally he comes up with the goods, but he puts on a good show.” I smiled back, careful not to allow myself to get too attracted to her; but I had a horrible suspicion it was far too late.

It was then that I felt a firm yet playful slap on the back. It was Joseph.

“What did you think? Want to join the Elite?”

“I think it’s a little too early to ask that question, don’t you think?” Rose interrupted. I was unsure of what they were talking about.

“Join the church and become a man, eh?” He laughed again and I was a little nervous now. What was the context behind the question? Was it linked to his wink earlier? Was there something else going on that I should be aware of?

“Joe!” Rose snapped. “I think you need a coffee”. Hearing his name spoken like that snapped him back to reality and he just guffawed and walked into the makeshift kitchen. Rose led me outside, her arm in mine. The night air was cold but I didn’t feel it. “I’m so sorry about that.” She explained, not looking at me. “He’s had a difficult week… His father died a few nights ago and he’s had a bit too much to drink these last couple of nights… he’s normally more reserved than that…”

I left with a peck on the cheek; dismissed into the night air; bemused and troubled. Even though I was the grand old age of 24 there were still times where I didn’t understand the world of adults. I felt that they played by a different set of rules or had a book of cheat codes that I didn’t possess.

I was attracted to Rose, maybe against my better judgement; but part of me felt that maybe she was indeed a kindred spirit; the attraction felt mutual. Of course, I felt threatened by Joseph; but whether that was down to my guilty conscience I wasn’t sure. It was a troubled sleep that night with no clear answers. One thing was sure: I had to go back to the Beacon centre but I wasn’t sure of the reasons why.

All through that week I resisted the temptation to visit the Wishing Well. I really wanted to see her again, but something told me that wouldn’t be a good idea. I just couldn’t understand why Rose was with someone like Joseph, who was so much older than her. She seemed to dote on him but he was almost dismissive of her.

Emotionally I was unprepared for this; I was still vulnerable from my relationship with Elaine. I was also unsure of how I felt about the Beacon centre itself. On the one hand everyone seemed very genuine, but on the other it seemed very happy-clappy.

I was a lapsed Christian and had gotten fed up with the hypocrisy behind the bible and the orthodoxy; and I thought that those visiting the Beacon might have been of the same view. However all I saw were those people substituting one set of beliefs for another –just a different pair of crutches. Sure, everyone seemed so much happier there. Christianity always sought to break the individual before accepting them into the fold –admitting that one lived in sin before one could be ‘redeemed’ was a bit too much for me. I believed that, if there was a God then we were all equals to it.

But that Saturday night I found myself outside the church hall and Joseph was there, smoking a mournful cigarette. He seemed a little dishevelled and I remembered what Rose had told me the week before. I felt uneasy towards him still but I also felt sorry for him.

Joseph saw me and brightened up, striding over to me with his hand held out for me to shake. “I’m so glad we… I didn’t put you off last week. I can only apologise if my comments were a little bit off… My father…” He paused, almost unable to continue.

“I know.. Rose told me.” I said. “And I can only give you my deepest sympathies.”

Joseph looked at me askew and I wondered if I’d said too much, but he quickly smiled and clasped me by the shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back. I think Rose was right –you are a kindred spirit. I’m not sure what you’re going to think of the medium tonight –she’s a bit… wet for my liking…. But if you haven’t got to rush off later I’d very much like to chat to you, if that’s ok.”

I nodded and said that I’d like that, unsure what he wanted to chat about.

“Excellent… well, until later then.” I walked into the hall feeling strangely pleased with myself. Maybe I’d misjudged Joseph, he seemed to have warmed towards me.

Rose greeted me enthusiastically again and remonstrated me as to why I hadn’t visited the Well recently.  I simply said that I needed time to think, to which she just nodded.

“I think we could all do with that from time to time.” She sighed and then looked at me again. “Don’t be too much of a stranger though.”

The medium, Sue Bland, was wetter than an octopus’s orifice and was just as bad as her namesake. She seemed to ‘mis-hear’ everything and many of the people received garbled messages, much to their chagrin. All this she put down to the energy of the group not being high enough for her work.

I found it all bizarre, bordering on absurd and it made it all the more difficult keeping a straight face through her ‘show’. (It didn’t help matters with Rob constantly digging me in the ribs with his elbow every time she made a mistake. Rob was a mischief maker just like me.)

Sue was a complete contrast to Derek’s performance. Never had a surname been more appropriate! She was limp of wrist and attitude; mincing meekly on stage, almost scared of her own shadow. If there was a lack of energy around the place then it was down to her!

Say what you like about Derek’s pomposity at least he knew how to work an audience; and his messages hit the mark more than hers did.

I actually felt deflated by her ‘display’ and really questioned my motives for coming back to the Beacon. Nobody else seemed too bothered by the non-event, which surprised me. I couldn’t help but query their motives for going week in, week out. Were these the type of people I really wanted to associate with?

I didn’t want to sound elitist but this seemed like just another excuse for a night out for these people. It was either this or bingo, it seemed; and from Sue’s performance tonight there was a striking similarity:

“Do we have a Mark here tonight? Mark? Mark? Wearing blue? I see a blue top… who has a cat?” BINGO!!

Was this how I wanted to spend my time? I didn’t need this constant reassurance that all was well in the other world. The same faces were here this week as last and I had to wonder why. Even those that had received messages last week were hungry for more. What more could they possibly be given? It was a selfishness over those others who might have a genuine need (if such a thing existed). It can’t have been comfort that they really needed, it was just another addiction.

I had forgotten that Joseph wanted to talk to me. Had I remembered then I probably would have found an excuse or just left early; then who knows how my life might have turned out?

It was the playful slap on the back from him that made me realise just how much he had been looking forward to our little chat.

However, before I was taken to one side Rose had an announcement to make. At the start of the evening I bought a raffle ticket; the first prize of which was an hours consultation with Rose in a Spirit Workshop. To my surprise I had won. This was unheard of for me as I had never won anything before in my life. Of course, I never saw anything untoward in any of this; the depths of my naivety were limitless, it seemed.

Joseph congratulated me and then led me into the small meeting room behind the main hall. It had been set out with two chairs and a table with some leaflets on it, and there was the scent of Turkish delight in the air; probably from an incense stick. I could sense that this had been well prepared and I wondered what I was being signed up for.

“You’ve got potential.” This was so much like Joseph; no pre-amble, getting-to-know-you chit-chat. He had only just motioned me to sit down before he started. “And you know it as well.”

“Haven’t we all though?” I was uncomfortable, wary of being indoctrinated by him. I didn’t like Joseph. (I also felt guilty over my feelings towards Rose).

“Don’t try to bullshit the bullshitter.” He replied matter-of-factly. He was having none of my normal evasion tactics. “Not only do you know it but you have done nothing to develop yourself. Now why is that, I wonder?”

I thought for a second, ready with one of my pat answers but knew then that he’d never stand for it –he’d see right through it.

“Because I don’t feel worthy of it?”

“Bingo. Well –at least you’re being more honest with me this time… thank you… but you must see that even that is a falsehood… especially when you see others who possess so much less than you.(Most of the people in the audience, for example)  Less knowledge, less awareness.. and yet they seem to accomplish so much more. Now why is that, do you wonder?”

I shrugged my shoulders non-committedly, unsure whether I liked the direction this was heading.

“Some people would probably say you lack confidence and would delight in telling you so; not realising that is part of the problem. Language is a powerful tool. The words we use define us and if you are defined by what you lack then you might never overcome that. Choose your script, change the language that you have framed yourself with. In fact… destroy the frame completely!”

This was the first time anyone had spoken to me like this and, despite myself and my initial reservations; I listened to what Joseph was saying. 

“You’ve been taught to fear power. You think that by living to your full potential you’ll abuse that power... But power only corrupts those that fear it or are not worthy of it. Now we can help you on the first part of that but you are the only one who can truly decide whether you are worthy of it. There is only one right answer, mind… but it takes true belief to become it… And, as luck would have it, we can help you with that as well, but only if you wish it. You must be the one to choose. The literature on the table is for you to take away and read.”

“I don’t need to read it; I know my answer already.” I answered despite myself. Joseph must have known I’d react like this but he played his part to perfection.

“Take them away with you; read them… This is not a decision to be taken lightly. Listen to what Rose has to say to you during your one-to-one session and then let me know your choice next week.”

I made sure that I booked up my one-to-one session with Rose before I left –Wednesday evening at 7.30, which gave me time to think things through and read the leaflets Joseph gave me.

As it was I couldn’t sleep when I got home and took out one of those leaflets and started reading:

“Shaping your world – your way

“How do you define your world? Do you let the perception of others rule the way you see yourself? If the answer to these two questions is yes than you must place yourself in the same boat as 98% of the people around you. The only difference is that you have, at last, realised that this is the case.

“WELL DONE. Now we can start the process of shaping your world…. Your way!

“This 8 week course will give you the tools you need to take apart, analyse and put yourself back together again the way YOU want to be.

“At the forefront of this course will be the language that you use to define yourself. Who has given you this language? Is this how you truly feel?

“Goal seeking – what goals are you trying to fulfil? Is this your life that you’re leading or is it someone else’s by proxy?

“Throughout this 8 week course we will be looking at the prods, the pushes and the pulls in your personality. These are the techniques you use to effect change in your life without realising it –these are the things that are affecting the way you see and do things.

          Prods – Extenuating circumstances that ‘force you’ to make a

          decision

          Pushes – Positive outcomes that encourage you to make a change;

          Justifications which can come from both internal and external

          influences.  Otherwise known as incentives.

          Pulls – Negative potential futures which influence your decision

          making Process. Fear or guilt become strong influencers and will

          distort your Reality. Otherwise known as ‘should’s’.

“Learn what your trigger words are and within 8 weeks learn how to shape your world – YOUR way.”

I put the leaflet down feeling energised. This was mirroring what Joseph had told me earlier. I understood what was meant by the prods, pushes and pulls and could see how I’d allowed them into my life. There were obvious concerns –nowhere was mentioned cost or what was expected out of the people going on the course. To be fair, I’d read this kind of literature before; it was a basic salesman’s patter… but there was something about hearing it from Joseph first. I wanted to know more so read the second leaflet: “Realise your potential – YOUR way.”

“Are you making the most out of your gift? Do you dare stand with the chosen few?

“You are probably aware that we are all born equal, nevertheless with gifts that make us unique. Whilst this is certainly true there is one question to ask yourself: “Who wishes to be the same as everyone else?

“There is so much more that you could be; the gifts are so much more than a birth rite, they are a gateway to your full potential.

·         Have you ever had dreams that later have come true?

·         Have you ever thought of an old friend only to bump into them?

·         Are you incredibly lucky in life? (Do you want to be?)

“All these are symptoms of the ‘Gifts’ already trying to become manifest in your life; they are there waiting for you to realise them.

“Learn how to make these gifts a reality; learn the language to make them real. Turn your dreams into a reality.

“In this 7 week course you will:

·         Learn how to turn the ‘coulds’ into ‘wills’

·         Create a five step process of dream manifestation

·         Hone your powers of intuition.

Realise your potential – YOUR way!”

There was something almost elitist in some of the passages; almost as if Joseph saw himself above those in his… congregation (was that the right word?). In fact, he had had said as much during our chat earlier. Part of me felt repulsed by this feeling, but there was also part of me that agreed with it. There were times where I not only saw myself apart from the rest of the crowd but also above them. I was never one to follow the rest of the herd and now I was reading something that addressed those feelings. It was disconcerting to say the least. I picked up the third leaflet to take my mind off this.

“Harness the energies – YOUR way

“Do you wish to make a difference to other people’s lives? Do you feel yourself over flowing with love?

·         Learn how to become a conduit to the Universal Energy – become a SPIRITUAL HEALER.

·         Learn how to help people help themselves.

·         Learn the ancient mysteries associated with different healing energies and become a tool for a better world around you.

“In our extensive five week course you will learn many different approaches to healing, all designed to maximise your potential and harness the Universal Love that flows through you.

“Learn how to balance the mind, body and spirit of yourself and others. Become a channel for the healing and universal love – YOUR way.”

Having read all three leaflets in rapid succession I was now concerned with what I had gotten myself involved in. Joseph’s words, which had made so much sense at the time, now seemed twisted; tainted by what was in the leaflets.

The first seemed like a manifesto for change; the second elitist and the third a cheap knock off to make money. (What was strange was that money wasn’t actually mentioned at all. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was all on a ‘donation’ basis, preying on people’s sense of worth.)

This was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. It seemed to be about making money from people’s weaknesses, capitalising on their vulnerability.

I didn’t know much about psychology but what little I had experienced of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy had taught me that the last thing you should do is take the past apart! That way madness dwelt! Once you started there was no clear way to stop –a ever spiralling fractal that ended only in further neurosis (but so much easier to exploit). I was of two minds to just never go back to the Beacon centre; however there was one thing that still assuaged me: Rose.

Wednesday, just off the Hove seafront; the posh part; further adding to my growing sense of doubt over the Beacon. It was clear that Joseph and Rose were not short of money.

Alarm bells failed to stop me from walking in front of a cyclist; I was so immersed that I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings. I didn’t even remember the drive down to Hove, so lost was I in my concerns for the evening (and the prospect of seeing Rose again) that I had walked straight into the cycle lane; not taking into account the cyclist that was barrelling his way towards me –Hove cyclists not being the most forgiving at the best of times, this one barely stopped in time and ignored my feeble attempts at apologising.

I was nervous enough as it was and the lift being out of order made the situation so much worse –Rose lived on the 6^th floor. By the time I reached her flat I must have looked like one of the undead!

She smiled as I tried to gasp my apologies and waited until I caught my breath before hugging me warmly. The flat was far larger than I could have imagined; very spacious, opulent even –further adding to my growing suspicions. There was a strong scent of incense in the air, beguiling and sweet. Rose led me into the lounge and bade me to sit. There was an artist’s easel set up ready and a folder on the table to the left of me.

“Do you know what Spirit Art is?” she asked.

“I can only hazard a guess that it’s where you paint with your eyes closed and let spirit guide your hands?” I wasn’t sure whether I was in the right frame of mind for this; it seemed at complete odds with what Joseph had been proselytizing.  Rose and her spirit art –it all sounded so naïve in comparison. She looked at me before answering, her expression was quizzical. Did she sense my unwillingness to participate?

“Almost – whilst talking I’ll be in direct contact with Spirit and will be directed to draw a portrait of someone. Now that might be someone who has passed over that you knew; someone you know on the Earth plane or it may even be your Spirit Guide. Have you ever been contacted by your Spirit Guide before?”

This was going into uncharted territory for me and I was almost embarrassed to answer. Bizarrely I found myself answering anyway.

“I’m not sure whether you’d call it my Guide necessarily, but I often get a told things by a voice that I know isn’t me… and there are times when I’m chatting to someone and suddenly my voice will drop in tone and I’ll say something quite profound to that person… yet it’s not me speaking per se. Is that what you mean? Does that sound strange?”

“Not as much as you would think… it could very well be your Guide… Shall we find out?”

Rose stood by her easel, sideways on to me and for the first time that evening I could really take in what she was wearing –the most feminine of dresses that flowed in the right places and yet accentuated all the right contours of her body. In short, she was breath-taking. She had a dark purple shawl on as well, which contrasted with the pale pink of her dress.

She saw me looking at her and broke the silence by asking whether I was a fan of ABBA. I didn’t know what to say –this was beginning to sound like a farce and yet she was actually quite serious.

“Not really… well, I mean.. I like what I’ve heard but I can’t say I’ve ever rushed out and bought an album…”

“Oh.. it’s just that I’ve got the song Chiquitita in my head and wondered if it meant anything to you ?”

“No.. now.. If it was Queen’s ‘Another one bites the dust’…” I couldn’t believe that I’d just said that! How rude it must have sounded.

“Or maybe ‘I want to break free’?” I blushed hard. “It’s ok – I know how odd all this sounds to you. All we ever ask is an open mind. If you’re told anything tonight that resonates with you then brilliant! If not, well.. Just park it for a while. A week, maybe a month later then someone might say something and it might finally click for you. Take what you can and leave the rest.”

“Sounds like the motto of my life…”

“But who’s in control of that life?”

“Well, it certainly hasn’t seemed like me for a long time.”

“Seemed? No, whose fault is that?” Rose was no longer looking at me; she seemed disconnected in herself and I wondered what was happening.

“Mine? I dunno…”

“I do.. You’re afraid of taking control, of being as strong as you could be; why?”

This was somewhere I didn’t want to go; part of the past I’d tried so hard to supress. I didn’t want to talk about it but somehow Rose had gotten right to the heart of it.

“My father… well, he used to… he was a born drunk; permanently fucked in the head and did his best to take it out on those who couldn’t fight back. I learnt not to get anywhere near him when he was drunk; which was pretty much all the time… but mum wasn’t so lucky. He would take it out on her regardless.

“When I was ten years old he started taking it out on me more and it became harder to hide. Something must have clicked in mum because she then actively baited him more and more; whether it was to draw the attention away from me I’m not sure… but the beatings became more violent. One day… she pushed too hard..”

“You.. what happened?” Rose asked quietly.

“… they were standing on the landing when it happened; them shouting, screaming at each other. I was in my bedroom and could hear it all so clearly; the sound of him slapping her and then a sickening thud and it was silent. I went out to see what had happened, saw mum just lying at his feet like a broken puppet; just discarded there.

“I don’t really remember what happened next… I must have picked up something heavy from my room and slammed it against his head. He fell over the bannister and just lie there sprawled against the stairs below.”

“Was he dead?”

“I don’t know how the sonofabitch survived, but he did… but he was never the same again…”

I could see Rose fighting the urge to come over to me. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to or not, or where it might lead if she did.

“Don’t you see what happened?” She asked, looking at me now; urging me to confront something that I had been fighting against my whole adult life. “Your father abused his power.. a father should be protective, nurturing; but you never had that. He beat you both, proving to you that power corrupts.. and the only time that you stood up to him you almost killed him. You’re afraid of letting that power out again.”  I nodded, not wanting to hear this… but she was right. “He was your only role model and you have done everything in your power not to be like him. It’s far better to supress it; supress your power, your strength than be like him… but it doesn’t need to be that way.”

“But I failed her though.”

“You can’t think like that… There was nothing you could have done…. But you can now. All the time you deny yourself; your true self, then he’s won. Your father will still have that hold over you.”

I had never seen it like that before. It was like having a veil lifted from my eyes. Rose was right –I had let my fear of what had happened that night colour everything I said or did afterwards. That bastard was still in control of me; but no longer!

For the first time in years, and despite myself, I cried; not out of pain or regret but tears of release. Rose came over to me and held me. My mind was a blur; one moment I saw things so clearly but the next it became a whirlpool. We held each other; Rose kissing my forehead, keeping me close; soothing me, giving me healing. It wasn’t long before the kiss melted into something deeper, far more intense and we became one; separated only by space. For the first time I knew one thing and one thing only; I wanted her.

She pushed me gently away, careful not to break the spell between us. “Are you sure you want this?” She whispered.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“Be sure… be very sure. There will be no turning back.”

“Whatever happens happens; I want this. I want you.”

“Whatever the cost?”

“Whatever the cost – It will be worth it.” She kissed me hard then; tongue flowing into mine, our energies mingling.

I never heard him walk into the room. It never occurred to me that he’d actually be there still. It was only when Joseph started clapping that we stopped. Rose just stood there, nonplussed by his dramatic entrance.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He said in an almost light-hearted tone.

“I’m sorry.” I started to excuse my way out of this; the naughty schoolboy… but it felt wrong to do so. Joseph interrupted me before I could say anything else.

“Are you? Think back over what Rose said to; what we spoke about earlier..”

“No… I’m not sorry.” I replied despite myself. “I’m just sorry you caught us…”

“Don’t be… How do you think Rosie and I met?”