People don’t like truth.   Far better to live in a sleep induced dreamlike existence where everything (has to) fits their illusionary reality.   If truth ever comes up (and they all religiously pray at night that it doesn’t), then it is either ignored as if it never happened or was said.   Everything must fit.   And if it keeps coming up, and ignoring it is not working?   They kill it, one way or another.   If it won’t die?   Then they move, far, far away… drifting on a wind… floating gently on a sea… until they find rest again.   Sleep again.   Sleep my baby, sleep.  All is well……….

The end of the World

“Look at this darling, throwing axes, only £15.”

“Mike, will you just please, please, STOP spending our money on crap, just in case the Zombie Apocalypse happens.   It isn’t, and we need the money.”

Mike’s head dropped in a sulk, but he bookmarked the page anyway.   He’ll order them – several – when Sheila wasn’t around.   She had no idea, he was spending the money so they could survive, and she blindly thought the world was just going on like a lovely fairy tale.   Okay, there wouldn’t be Zombies, that was his joke, but there would be gangs of looters roaming around, looking anywhere and everywhere for food… especially human flesh…

Ha!  No dear Reader, you are not going to get any more story.   Buy the book, it has a very unexpected storyline……. when I write it!


Another day in Hell

Igor the terrible was in a bad mood today.   A Very bad mood.   As he stomped along the corridor of the CIA buildings, deep underground and headed for the council meeting room, he was already thinking “Who shall I fry?”  Not a good start to the day….

As he entered the council room, everyone else immediately stood – which included the “Official-Public head of CIA”.   Outside of this room, no-one realized (though many conspiracy theories conjectured) that CIA was run from the depths of Hell…..


I got dem Friday Blues,

Oh, Ye-eah,

And it’s Drumming again today (yeah hit dem skins, c’mon beat dat hide, I say…)

I got dem Friday Blues, Oh yeah,

And it’s time to beat some skin….

Fridays we (I) do/have African drumming.   Or Therapeutic drumming.   Depends what mood I’m in.   Sometimes, it’s ‘let’s just have a laff’ drumming.    Of course, there is no borderline, so we just have drumming, with African Drums.   It’s fun, therapeutic, primitive (back to roots brain).   Yes, Primitive.   Always 4/4 time, repetitive, and literally; it reaches those parts of the brain that other ‘music’ cannot reach.

Now close your eyes… Imagine it’s night, the jungle behind, the fire in front.   The nightly gathering of the tribe.   BOOM boom boom boom, BOOM, boom boom, boom… you start to drift – to somewhere.   Where?   Who cares…  It’s nice, calm, trance-like; the primitive beat takes you off, but you carry on drumming; BOOM boom boom boom…

See you in the Otherlands……..

Once upon a time…

I have this theory.   Of course, it’s an unprovable theory.   Even if the word unprovable does not exist.

Anyone can write a book.   Anyone.   Well, okay, so not babies, but they wouldn’t be reading this.   If you can read this, you can write a book.   Even one that sells, and you make money from the sales.    And the comma before but should be there.   And this and the last sentence should start with “and”.   But that’s beside the point…

I want you to write a book…   Scare me….