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France II, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart


I took a long last drag from my cigarette and doused it in the receptacle by the front of the doors. It would be at least ten hours till the next one. I had two hours till takeoff, but I figured I better check in now considering what happened on my last flight out of Frankfurt in 2019. Orage had dropped me off at the airport at about one in the morning. The flight was at nine, so I made my way upstairs through the deserted airport and drank overpriced beer in front of an all-night McDonalds at a table in a German café across from it. At first it was just the barmaid, an attractive young fräulein who spoke little English, and I. But we were soon joined by a very strange man who hovered at the periphery of the cafe playing peekaboo behind the copious artificial plants demarcating its perimeter. Even though the temperature was in the mid-fifties outside, inside he was wearing a heavy winter snorkel coat with the hood pulled over his face. He had a shopping bag presumably to transport the days treasures he had found while foraging the airport. When I tried to take […]

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The Real Montauk Project

The Montauk Project: Worse Than You Think

Those of you who Understand what that giant rearing stallion in front of the Denver Airport symbolizes know this world has no future. Preston Nichols used to say a time traveler from here could travel only so far into the future before he would come to a place desolate of life that’s only geographical feature was a giant statue of a rearing stallion. Now you Free Masons, you Jesuits, you Illuminati and various homespun Magi may tell us that you know there’s a future because there has been a book written about it: Library Genesis ( You are not reading our words carefully enough. There is no future in this place but there are many worlds as you have already discovered with the science of Hugh Everett III, and what little you do know about National Socialism. First you will have to find the doorway out of here and so far, we have little inclination to show it to you… – Jack.

Preston’s Final Message

Jack Hearts Podcast

Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Montauk – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Peter Pan Meets Pyramid Head II by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Peter Pan meets Pyramid Head III by Jack Heart & Orage – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Silent Hill Silent Scream… – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and friends (

Excerpted From Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan:

הוד / Majesty

Part 4

Chapter 16 

Nietzsche once said “if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” I don’t recall gazing into any abyss. I hadn’t even read a book since high school let alone anything by the master philosopher. Never the less there was an abyss dead ahead, a yawning black hole with a singularity at the center that would rend to pieces every notion by which man desperately clings to his contrived perception of reality.

It was in the tail end of June, one of those endless summer days that make life worth living. I pulled my big flatbed truck onto Sunrise Highway and slipped it into high gear. In back of me the sun was dropping like a great red fireball into an ethereal sea streaked with pastel pinks and ominous purples. I lit up a cigar sized joint and felt the air whipping through the trucks open windows. My flesh tingled with its cool caress. I had been working outside all day with my shirt off turning my complexion glowing crimson bronze with a hint of a stinging sensation. I could feel the muscles rippling beneath my skin. They were still pumped from the day’s exertion. It was a confirmation of my own virility every time they strained against the black fishnet shirt I was wearing. I was heading east to Kenny’s new house he had rented with his wife Patty, his five year old son, and his recently born baby. I got off the highway at Carlton Avenue in East Islip heading south and made a left before the rail road tracks turning into an enclave with streets named after long dead presidents. The houses were worn and run down, not as bad as Mastic and Shirley but they had long since lost their suburban charm. I made a right and another left around a sump onto a road that ran parallel to the railroad tracks and I rumbled past Kenny’s house. The lights were on and I saw Joey Baranek’s car in the driveway along with a beat up white van I didn’t recognize. It was a two family home and Kenny had the portion toward the street and the train tracks. I went about a half a block down to the cul-de-sac and made a U-turn in its aborted circle. I looked over my right shoulder at a vacant lot that stretched about the length of a football field before turning into woods and thickly tangled underbrush. The woods fish hooked from the tracks around the lot and continued through the backyards of the houses terminating at the corner with the fenced in thirty foot deep sump. Stagnant water submerged the bottom. The lot itself looked as if it was being used as an improvised dump by the Long Island Railroad. There were four and five foot high mounds of dirt, covered by weeds, and piled at impossibly steep angles as if they were built by some subterranean insect engineer. Towards the center there were charred debris strewn about in a haphazard fashion as if somebody had been burning something and then tried to put the fire out. Minus the burnt wood the overall effect was like a miniaturized version of an abandoned Mesoamerican city reclaimed by encroaching jungle.

I parked the truck in front of Kenny’s house and leapt the three feet from its cab to the street. I walked around the front of the truck and up the entrance to the two car driveway towards the house. Pausing I took one long hit from the last of the joint and flicked it into the street watching its burning embers scatter into the evening breeze. I studied the van trying to figure out who it belonged to and I noticed through the closed windows that the front of its cab was partitioned from the back by a jet black curtain. The borders of the curtain seemed to emit a faint glow that was illuminating the cab but I couldn’t be sure because of the overhead street light that had just come on. The glow seemed to flicker as if someone was burning a candle in the back. The van was motionless which was kind of creepy because I was sure it was occupied. I cleared my lungs of the pot and inhaled deeply seeking the reassurance of tasting the sweet summer air. There was nothing, no fragrant lilies and fresh cut grass, no sounds of children laughing and playing on the edge of evening. I listened more intently and noticed there were no chirping crickets or sounds of anything else except the far off forlorn whistle of a train. It was as if I had stepped into some coterminous world where what I was seeing didn’t really exist but was only the residual impression of the world I had left behind. I was startled by the long whistle of a train thundering by on the tracks not fifty feet away. I had never heard it coming.

Regaining my composure I barged through the unlocked front door without knocking. Kenny had been my best friend since we were thrown out of Catholic school together. I was the only one, including his brother and sisters that was allowed in his closet at his parents’ house when he wasn’t home. I remember opening that door and having bags of Quaaludes swallow me up in a pharmaceutical avalanche. Joey and Kenny were seated on the couch at the far side of the room. In front of them was a table supporting a small mountain of coke. Kenny immediately began cutting me a line and Joey said “where have you been? I haven’t seen you in Mo’s Place for a while.” I answered him like it was a chore “Steve and I got a divorce and I’m tired of you people trying to get me to get you coke at all hours of the night. As a matter of fact I just gave Dawn a bag of coke to sell in the bar. But I guess you haven’t seen her or you wouldn’t be here.” I looked at Kenny grinning and said “woops there goes another ounce. You told me to give it to her.” “I know” he said. “She’s my problem. She’s my sister. I want her to make money but then she doesn’t give me mine. She’s about to get cut off.” I replied “you better not do that. I ain’t acting as a drug liaison anymore, I’m a landscaper, besides” I gestured at Joey “these junkies are mainlining it in Al’s van in the parking lot of Mo’s.” Joey denied it of course but everyone knew.

Joey started to fidget on the couch. His slightly goofy face was accessorized by string straight platinum blond hair and buck teeth, all supported on a pear shaped body. The goofy face contorted to a look of confusion as he glanced at his watch. “Ten O’clock” he said. “How is it Ten O’clock? I got here at about eight thirty. It doesn’t even feel like I have been here a half hour. That stuff must be even better than I thought it was.” I was incredulous. I asked him “What time did you say it was?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I was probably already up on the running board of my truck by the time he gave it. I turned on the lights and looked at the dashboard clock; sure enough it was Ten O’clock. It was just getting dark when I got there. I was at Kenny’s no more than two or three minutes by my calculations. I walked back in and as I passed the van I saw it was now rocking rhythmically back and forth. When I came back in I wasn’t saying anything about the time. I looked at Kenny still seated on the couch and said “what’s with that van in the driveway it looks like someone’s going at it in there?” He flashed me that knowing white smile emphasized by his twinkling green eyes and said “my new neighbor the dyke and her girlfriend. They’re not allowed to do it in the house so they do it out there almost every night.” I said “you think they would mind if I watch?” He laughed and said “you don’t want no part of that. They’re both fat disgusting pigs. That is one strange family. The mother seems like she’s their prisoner and the family’s run by the sixteen year old son who looks like he just crawled out from underneath a rock and smells like it too. They all call him Chief. Never heard them call him anything else. Then there’s the little one he’s the weirdest one of them all. He’s supposedly a deaf mute and you only see him at night. I don’t think he even lives there. Every night the fat dyke goes out and picks him up. He must live close by. She’s never gone more than five or ten minutes. Funny I never see her leaving to drop him off. He’s only about twelve years old. I don’t know what a kid that age is even doing out that late.”

A grin crossed my face. I figured he had to be putting me on, sure when we were little he used to like to set things on fire and watch them burn but he never told lies nor did he exaggerate. I said “what the fuck are you trying to tell me you are sharing a house with the Adams family?” He told me “you ain’t even heard half of it yet. The kids in this neighborhood are like a cult or something, like we used to set fire to things when we were kids these kids crawl through the walls of these houses and watch the people inside them. And that Chief character next door seems to be their leader.” This sounded like a case of cocaine paranoia but Kenny was practically immune to cocaine. He could do a huge line eat a ham sandwich and go to bed five minutes later. Besides Kenny didn’t do all that much coke, not every day, not even every week. Like I have already said Kenny was good at dealing drugs. “That’s crazy” I scowled at him. He answered indignantly “I’ve seen it myself and all the people in this neighborhood know about it. A few days after we moved in I was walking my dog down at the lot on the end and this guy comes out and starts talking to me. He said that burnt wood over there is from when these kids burned down their own clubhouse while they were inside it. One of them got third degree burns all over his legs. That’s the kid that lives next door to me; Billy. The fire department had to pull him out of there. Then he tells me that a couple of days ago he’s sitting there watching TV in his living room when the ceiling caves in and three kids come raining down between him and the TV. They just got up and walked out. When he called the cops the cops told him there was nothing they could do about it, since he couldn’t identify who the kids were.” He was starting to get my attention when I asked “He didn’t know them?” As if he knew what he was implying he took a deep breath and said “He said it was a couple of boys and a girl but it was like the police didn’t want to know about it.” “The kids must have come through the attic.” I said. “You can’t crawl through a ceiling, unless you happen to be rodent or something.” “No.” He said. “I asked him that too. He said it was in the living room on the first floor. He can’t figure it out either.”

I didn’t know what to make of what he was saying and I really didn’t believe much of it. It was second hand information. I would have just told him to cut me another line but at that moment I was plunging into the abyss. Kenny, Joey, and I, all looked at the ceiling above the couch where they were sitting simultaneously. Kenny stood up triumphantly and Joey terrified. I was already standing. I will not sit on a couch with its back to the window and that was the only other couch in the room. Across the ceiling a dragging sound began from the wall by the stairs. The sound was heading toward the far side of the house, the windowless side facing the railroad tracks. It was distinct, halting, and deliberate, no auditory hallucination, besides we all heard it. “The bastards been listening to us.” Kenny said. “I knew it! The other day he was watching Patty take a bath. I heard him behind the medicine cabinet.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. Joey said he had to go now. His pasty white complexion was a vivid red. The noise continued slowly, inexorably, across the ceiling towards the windowless wall adjacent to the train tracks. Against that wall Kenny had his seven foot tall entertainment system. On top of the entertainment system, out of reach of little Kenny is where he kept his coke. I waited till I heard Joey’s car pull away. I looked up at the ceiling and said “alright you little fuck. Are you testing to see if this is a game? Well your about to find out right now.” I went back out to the truck. By then the van had stopped rocking. I returned with my Gerber Guardian II knife. The thing had about a ten inch double edged blade that was sharp enough to shave with. I could whip it overhand like a Nolan Ryan fastball and stick an insect fifteen feet away. I said “this will go right through that plasterboard ceiling. Now what are you going to do?” The noise continued moving toward the wall and the cocaine. I looked at Kenny and said “alright you have joists running about every sixteen inch’s off center across that whole ceiling. They support the floor above and this ceiling is just the facing for them. Nothing could crawl that way. Maybe a rat that has gnawed holes through about a dozen two inch thick joists. But that’s no rat. It’s too loud and too deliberate to be any kind of an animal.” Kenny and I both agreed that Chief had to have made some alterations on the joists prior to Kenny moving in and was somehow pushing and dragging things through the holes he had made from his own side of the house, or somewhere outside, or both.

At about that time Patty came down from little Kenny’s room upstairs right above us. As her name implied she was very Irish looking. With blond hair and piercing blue eyes she was a bit heavy set but had a good sturdy body. I had always thought Kenny could have done better but Kenny wasn’t drawn to the kind of woman I was. Kenny asked her if she had heard anything upstairs. She said she hadn’t and little Kenny was asleep. “What are you doing with that knife?” She asked me. She had never liked me. I think Rick had been her friend originally. Kenny told her what was going on and she looked at us both disbelievingly. The noise which was now between the far end of the couch and the entertainment center suddenly bolted to its right parallel to the joists and right towards the bay window. It made something like a whooshing sound silencing abruptly when it got to the wall. Patty heard it and she became insistent on moving the coke to their bedroom upstairs. When she came back down she was skeptical about the whole thing again.

Kenny and I were not. I tucked the knife into the sheath in my pants and we went outside. There was about an eight foot overhang above a single step wooden porch shared for the entrances of both residents. Kenny’s side of the overhang ended about where his bay window began. The overhang had a sloped roof like the rest of the house and there was clearance for people inside it along its whole length, which was about twenty feet. Kenny went over to between his door and the neighbors and looked up at the hole where the light fixture for the front entrance should have been. “There was a light on here yesterday.” He said. “I know it was on all night.” I went over and looked up at the hole. The porch was dark and the hole was darker. I said “Chief are you up there? You think this is funny Chief? It would be really funny if I had a nail gun in the truck. What kind of chief are you? Are you an Indian chief? Do you have other little Indians up there with you? Do you have any idea what kind of insects are up there with you in the dark; wasps, hornets, spiders, who the fuck knows what else. No wonder you smell like shit.” When we went back inside Patty was upstairs.

Probably for the first time in my life I was intrigued by one of its events. This was the phantasm that had stalked me from my crib, the unnamed darkness that lurked on the periphery of my dreams. This was not just a fleeting glimpse or a random shadow that would quickly become a faded memory. This was an event that was being witnessed by others, an event that could be scrutinized. This was my raison d’être, my reason for existence, the part in me that I had by now thoroughly convinced myself didn’t exist. What had happened at Kenny’s that night could not be explained with rationalizations. But artificial me, the disguise that I was so comfortable wearing for both the rest of the world and for myself, could never admit that, at least not yet and never publically until now.

I had put Kenny to work investigating everybody in the neighborhood. In school we had called Kenny the Mayor because he was friends with everybody. That’s how he had made his current Columbian connection. The guy had gone to Copiague High school with both of us. I remembered him, vaguely. The guy was just some no English speaking immigrant that hid in the corner afraid of both the Black kids and the White kids. His only memory now of high school was Kenny was his only friend. And Kenny was cleaning up on that memory. The guy wouldn’t sell to anybody else on Long Island.

It was the first really hot spell of the year when I pulled in front of Kenny’s about a week later. I had just finished my first big job of the season but even with a pocket full of cash the Maria Regina job seemed like a thousand years ago. My landscaping business was slow again and whatever I had Jim could handle even if he had drunk two quarts of Wild Turkey the night before. I immediately got out and walked over to the soffit on the overhang by Kenny’s bay window. I climbed up on the railing around the porch and pushed against the soffit. It was secured solidly and the cedar shingles adjacent to it above the window looked like they had never been moved. I jumped down onto the porch to take a look at the hole for the light fixture. Before I did I looked across the lawn at the neighboring house. Sprawled out on an easy chair in the brilliant light of noon was a young girl basking in the sun. She was wearing a bikini and looked to be about sixteen years old. She could have been the coal miner’s daughter splayed out as the sacrificial virgin in some titillating Hollywood B movie. She was a real cracker beauty and it just didn’t seem right that she could lay there like that on her back with her legs spread in such an inviting fashion. Her crotch pointed right at me.

When I went through the door Kenny was on the couch in his usual place by the entrance to the kitchen. I said “Who’s the girl?” He gave me his little sly smile and said “that’s Kim Jackson. She’s the people next doors daughter. Would you believe she is only twelve years old?” I deadpanned “no.” He continued “She also has really bad asthma and isn’t allowed out of the house. Since I have been here the ambulances have been here at least three times for her. She could just get an attack and die at any moment. That’s the first time I have ever seen her hanging out outside.” Jokingly I said “maybe she knew I was coming.” He wrinkled his nose a little and said “naw. That’s jailbait” like I didn’t know that already. Suddenly remembering I said “I forgot to look at the Chiefs peek hole.” He said “go out there. You’re going to freak out.” When I went outside the light fixture was back in place. Kenny came outside and said “the next day it was just back on there, like it was nobody’s business. I even asked the little creep next door. He says the landlord was fucking with it.” We both looked over at the girl. She seemed like she was oblivious to us. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. But she was only about forty feet away and almost naked in a very sexually suggestive pose. I kind of doubted that she was unaware of our presence. I looked at where the bikini bottom pulled taught against her crotch. I could see the area around it was wet.

We went back inside and I thought I heard Kim’s mother over the background noise of the TV screaming for her to get inside. I asked Kenny if he had found out anything new. He said “plenty and you got to hear what happened the other day.” I was already hooked. I had to know what was going on there. “What?” I asked him. He paused and took a deep breath. “It was about four o’clock in the morning and me and Patty were sleeping when all of a sudden this screeching starts from over in the woods. It sounded like a monkey or some kind of giant parrot. It was loud enough to wake the dead. It must have been up in a tree somewhere back there.” He pointed between the lot and his house and continued talking. “The cops got here fast and they were all over the place. People were all out in their backyards in their pajamas and bathrobes. The cops cordoned off the area from here down to the lot and told everybody there was a dangerous animal loose in the woods and everybody had to get in their houses. I saw these other guys through the kitchen window. They looked like fireman. They were carrying ladders through the yards. They must of went up in the tree and got it because it shut up pretty abruptly. Then everybody just picked up their barricades and left. No one said a word about what it was.” I said “your fathers the bay constable you can’t find out?” He said “I asked him. He said the cops don’t know what it was either. Some kind of federal animal control agency came in and got it. “That would be Plumb Island.” I said. “It’s off of Montauk. That’s where the government does its Dr Frankenstein routine on animals for the whole country. That’s about sixty miles and a short boat ride away. Kind of out of their jurisdiction weren’t they?” He just looked at me and said “It didn’t take them that long to get here, seemed like they were just right around the corner.”

I asked him if he had talked to any of the neighbors. He said “yea all of them. Their all really scared but their all insisting that’s it’s just these kids. Apparently Chief over there” he gestured to the ceiling above him “is the leader of his own little satanic cult. Kim’s father next door caught him leaving all the shades on his window across from Kim’s wide open in the middle of the night while he did this weird little naked dance around candles.” I found myself wondering about the whole neighborhoods apathetic reaction to being surreptitiously cast in a real life version of Children of the Corn and said “and he didn’t kill the kid or at least call the police?” “He went over there.” Kenny said. “He spoke with the mother and she said she would make him stop. He says it hasn’t happened again. He’s watching.” I was smirking when I said “yea I see he’s got it all under control” referring to his almost naked daughter posed like a thanksgiving turkey right outside the front door. Kenny continued. “I been talking to the kid next door on the other side; Billy, the kid that burned his legs. He’s about fourteen. He’s already told me that this kid Chief,” he again gestured to Chiefs now customary place in the ceiling, “worships the devil and so do his sister and brother, that all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of them. Because Chief did bad things to people, and he hinted that Chief was responsible for his legs.” I asked “What do you mean?” He answered “well when he said that shit he looked down at his leg real coyly. But the kids a little con man. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. He wants me to take him fishing at Heckscher State Park next week. I’ll get more out of him then.” “We can take him shark fishing.” I said “Or how about I just get Phil and John down here to give them a little parental guidance. I don’t care what these kids are doing. It doesn’t sound like those federal people pulled no kid out of that tree.”

We went outside to look around the neighborhood. The first thing I noticed was a wire extending from Chiefs room upstairs over the roof and down around the other side of the house running into the basement. It looked like the wire for a TV. Around the back many of the people had recently installed fences. Some were still in the process of building them. Kenny now had a six foot stockade separating his yard from the woods. It was connected with the fences of the neighbors on each side. I asked him “who put that up?” He said. “I did yesterday. My lats are killing me from digging holes all day. I don’t know how you guys do it every day.” I sarcastically said “well its Chief’s backyard too. Why didn’t he help you? Isn’t he afraid the beast of East Islip will return?”

I looked across at Kim’s window. She was no longer outside. But her father was and he was looking up there too. Raked across the aluminum siding directly under her window were what looked to be claw marks. They were also on the siding beside the window but were much less pronounced. The spread between the gashes were about a half a foot each but they were made in uniform groupings of four like a giant hand or paw had been clawing underneath Kim’s second floor window. Kenny also saw them and followed by me walked over to Kim’s father saying “what the hell? How long have those been there?” The father said “I don’t know. I just saw them. He must be trying to climb through her window with a ladder. I better call the police” He looked to me like he was more than just a little spooked. I couldn’t resist chiming in. “Kenny and I used to do work for Joe Alteri. That’s the guy who does all the guarantee painting work for Al-Can and All-Site on Long Island. They do all the aluminum siding on the East Coast. We ran six man ladder crews spraying sometimes two houses a day every day for a year. Those marks weren’t made by no ladder. Those look like claw marks to me. Maybe a twenty foot grizzly bear” I said smirking. The guy just looked at me, turned around and walked inside. He looked like he was going to throw up.

We went around the other side of the house to examine Chief’s wiring job. As we came around the far side the wire started jumping in two foot leaps and slapping against the house as if someone on the other side of the roof was whipping it back and forth. When we ran around to Chiefs window the wire was motionless running straight out his window and over the house. The same way it had been before. When we went around to the side where the wire ran into the basement it started to jump around again. It could not have been being moved from the basement since someone had drilled a hole right through the foundation, run the wire through, and sealed it with tar. We must have tried three or four times but we could not catch Chief moving the wire from the window of his room. That wire looked like it never had budged from the place where we had first seen it drawn taunt out the window and over the roof. I looked at Kenny and said “come on now Kenny he’s playing with us, got us chasing around his little wire like cats after a ball of string. This kids going to have to get dealt with.” Kenny said “oh yea real good idea. With all the shit I got laying around the house.” Resignedly I said “Well lets go inside and do some lines and drink a few beers. It’s too hot out here maybe we can catch him later when its dark.” Kenny agreed and said “let me just show you this before the garbage men get here.” We went out by the garbage pales in the street and he pointed triumphantly. There was a clear plastic bag with assorted nastiness in it along with what looked to be about a half dozen empty cans of Raid wasp spray. I said “I guess he never thought of that before. I need a line.”

Patty had taken the kids to the pool at Heckscher State Park. Sometime during the day I had taken some Xanax and fell asleep on the couch. When I awoke the baby was crying and Patty was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. Kenny was upstairs with the baby which was probably why it was crying. It was almost dark. There was a knock at the door and when I answered Chucky, Dawn, and a couple of girls I didn’t know were out there. Chucky, along with our friend Tommy, had been the Copiague high school heart throb. He had moved to Mount Sinai and nobody had seen him since. Dawn pushed passed me snickering “what the fuck did you do to that faggot Joey? He says he will never come here again. He thinks the place is haunted. What a little bitch. Now I have to come here all the time? I don’t even have a car.” She screamed up the stairs “Kenny you have to get me a car!” I told Chucky and the other girls to come in and went back to the couch. Kenny came down and sat next to me telling Patty to go upstairs and take care of the kids. Dawn flopped into the loveseat by the window with her white high heeled marsh mellow shoes on the upholstery. There was no other seats left so Chucky and the other girls stood. We made small talk about Chuckey’s new life in Mount Sinai which is where the other two girls were from. Eventually Chucky asked Kenny for a quantity of coke which Kenny dutifully pulled down from the top of the entertainment center. He had put it back up there after deciding Chief wasn’t after his coke. Kenny and Dawn went outside to have a few words and the girls sat down in Dawns now unoccupied loveseat. Chucky continued to stand making small talk with me when the dragging sound started again right above his head. Chucky was astonished as were the girls who were with him. They got up and huddled close to him as he stared up in amazement at the ceiling. I went to the door and told Kenny he better come in. We went through the whole story with Chucky. All the while Dawn was telling her brother he should get Patty and the kids out of there and let me start blasting the ceiling. During that time the dragging sound continued off and on. Chucky looked like he wanted to stay and help us investigate the mystery but Kenny had given Dawn some coke to sell and she kept saying she had to get out of there.

We all went out into the darkness together walking Chucky to his car. He kept saying “nobody could crawl through that ceiling. That’s what I do in Mount Sinai. I build houses. What the fuck was that?” Dawn screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear her “don’t worry they’ll figure it out. They figure everything out. That’s why they’re the only guys with any money from Copiague. The little faggots in this neighborhood are in a lot of trouble!” As Chucky walked out in the street to get in his car two bottles came flying from out of nowhere. They just missed his head and smashed in the street. I broke into a run yelling over my shoulder “I think they came from over the tracks!” The three of us clambered over the embankment. When we got to the other side we heard the sound of running footsteps on pavement but we couldn’t see anybody even though the view up and down the street was unimpeded. A voice came from the direction of the footsteps saying we will get so and so on them “He’s in the army.” And another voice answered him as it faded into the darkness with the footsteps “yea we’ll get the army. The army’s on our side.” Chucky left. After that I never saw him again. Even as she was getting in the car Dawn kept telling me I should go and get John and Phil. I was beginning to think she was right but I kept telling myself these are kids.

As Kenny and I walked back to the house together I said to him “they must have ditched behind one of those houses on the other side of the tracks, some of them must live over there. We gotta figure out which house it is.” He looked at me disbelievingly and with little enthusiasm said “yea.” Exasperated I said “what the fuck do you think its ghosts. There ain’t no such thing as ghosts. Those were flesh and blood kids that just threw flesh and blood bottles at Chucky.” He said “what the fuck were they talking about, the army?” I didn’t answer him. I had no answer. As I took the step back up to the porch I looked at Kenny’s front door. Somebody had splashed a can of used coffee grinds all over it. It looked like it was piled four inches thick on the welcome mat but then I quickly realized the whole mass was a writhing colony of ants. The ants had already covered Kenny’s door. Not wanting any of them to get in the house we went around to the back door. It was covered with ants in the same manner as the front door. I said “the little fuck emptied some of those ant colony’s you can grow in a fish tank on your doors while we were chasing the other ones over the tracks.” He didn’t say anything as he jumped gingerly over the ants to get in the house. I took my car up to the store and purchased two cans of Raid. When I came back I put an end to the ant plague. Patty swept up shovels full of dead ants for what seemed like hours complaining all the while “you didn’t have to kill them they would have went away on their own.”

Later on that night Hal came over in his Ferrari. Hal was a mid twenty’s rich Jew from Dix hills whose father owned a chain of jewelry stores. I liked Hal so I ended up leaving with him and picking up three girls driving around Copiague at six o’clock in the morning. Even more luckily these girls were in their own car because the Ferrari only had two seats. We made plans with them to go back to Hals pool house. I figured I would need a deluxe bag of coke for the occasion so I called Kenny from a pay phone. He didn’t answer even though I kept it ringing for a long time. Kenny always answered his phone. We had to go back to East Islip to pick up my car anyway so we had the girls follow us back there. When we arrived I banged on all his doors and windows with a great deal of persistence and for an extended length of time. I disappointedly came to the conclusion that the day’s events really had frightened him and he had taken Patty and the kids to a motel. I wasn’t doing another twenty-four hours in any pool house with these girls unless I was really high so I ended up going to Jims and crashing out there Hal was on his own.

When I woke up I called Kenny again. There was no ring or any other kind of a preliminary. There was a dial tone and as soon as I dialed his number I could hear the familiar sounds of Patty banging pots and pans around in the kitchen with the water running. I listened for a while and I heard a distant baby crying but no one talking. I wasn’t more than fifteen minutes away so I went to his house. When I got there Kenny was outside with little Kenny and Patty was in the kitchen. I checked the phone in the kitchen and it was firmly on the hook. I asked if the baby had been downstairs, if little Kenny had been inside, or if Patty had been using the phone. She said “no.” Kenny said “I’ve been home for two days and nobodies been calling me.” He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t hear me banging on the doors and under his bedroom window. He said “the baby’s up by six, every morning.” I said “I just called your phone and listened to everything that was going on in your house while it was still on the hook.” “What do you mean?” He asked. I explained to him what had happened. I said “I think you’re under some kind of surveillance Kenny. Sounds to me like it’s some kind of technology that hasn’t made the TV yet, probably never will. I guess I accidentally tapped into it when I dialed your number.”

Kenny took it real serious. Instinctually Kenny was one of the smartest guys I have ever met, maybe the smartest. He stopped dealing coke and took a vacation in Atlantic City with his Columbian connection. He was gone for about a week and he left Patty with his stash. I went over there one day to see how she was doing and she told me she had pulled a bag off the top of the entertainment system and dumped it all over. She said all she could get back out of the carpet was about an ounce of rock and she might as well do it. She and I took a ride over her friend’s house; the kids were over her parents. Patty and her girlfriend started dropping rocks in ammonia turning it into a nasty tasting form of free base. They made me smoke it with them probably to insure that I didn’t tell Kenny because she wasn’t allowed to base. Two girls practically forcing me to smoke cocaine with them was sexually titillating so I went along with it. It was just a mind game at the time. Nothing happened. It was my best friend’s wife. It was the first time I had ever tried base and I ended up being convinced that it was a waste of perfectly good coke.

When Kenny got back from Atlantic City his father confirmed my suspicions. Kenny was on law enforcements radar. He closed shop and started making arrangements to move the family to Florida when he was done living out his security in East Islip. Kenny and I started doing a lot more coke. He had a lot left and my season was really slow that year. The both of us became obsessed with finding out exactly what was going on in East Islip. By then John was, for the first and only time in his life, happily married. I got him to come over Kenny’s by promising him a bag of coke that he could take home and do with Meryl. When he did come over, wearing his ostrich skin boots just for the occasion, nothing happened. John went on and on lecturing me that night. “See. You should know much more than I do. You have a way higher IQ than I do. You like to read books and I hate to read books. But I read a lot of books when I was in jail and I took them home for you to read. You have never even looked at them. They’re still sitting up in a box in my old room at my mothers. You can’t see the nose in front of your face. You’re like some stupid Guiney gangster in a bar.” I don’t remember much else about that night except John left early with his bag of coke and I consented to take a look at the books.

He came over my mother’s house a few days later with the box full of hardcover books, some quite old. He got my attention immediately when he said “you better read these. Your right there is something going on over there. When I left Kenny’s I stopped at that big club over on the corner. I don’t even know why I stopped. I have never been in there before. When I walked through the door there was a guy standing there with these two big muscle bound dudes who were afraid to even ask me for the cover. I go to push past them and this guy starts talking to me like he knows me calling me by my first name. “Hey John. John I been waiting for you.” He hung out with me all night. Turns out he was the owner and he kept giving me free drinks. He was talking about some really crazy shit. Saying he was with the Mafia and the CIA, that they were the same thing and that they had been watching me for a real long time now and they wanted me to work with them. I don’t know anything about anybody crawling through walls but this guy was clearly waiting for me at the door and he knew all about me.” I just looked at him and wondered whether he had consented to work with them or not. But as I have intimated before in this story there is a formality between me and John that should not exist between two guys who have known each other as long as we both had. I observed protocol and started looking through the books.

There was this huge blue book; The Golden Dawn by Israel Regardie. It was full of symbols and rituals. There was Practical Magick by Aleister Crowley containing the same symbols and rituals and two volumes by Godfrey Higgins about Masonic lore. There was a thin white book called The Holy Books by Aleister Crowley that John said was the most important. He snatched it from my grasp and started reading passages like some Jurassic Age Shakespearean actor having an orgasm during recital. From what I could gather from the obscure symbolism that I did not understand yet Crowley was saying that he had killed the old God, or at least he was going too and that he would be the new one. There were also other books including two more by Israel Regardie; The Middle Pillar and the Garden of Pomegranates. John explained to me that Regardie was the only man that wrote books about him that ever really knew Crowley, having been his personnel secretary. The Garden of Pomegranates would be the first book I would end up reading but not yet. I already believed in demigods. In fact I was already fully convinced that John and I were just such entities but praeterhuman intelligences had thus far been beyond my range of experiences. My father hadn’t taught me much about philosophy and religion but he had taught me to believe nothing of what I heard and only half of what I had seen. I was going with that for now. I still do.

A reconnaissanceof the area Kenny had moved to revealed that beyond the vacant lot and burned out fort, about a quarter mile down the tracks, was the Great River Train Station, a major hub for the Long Island Rail Road’s south shore line. East of the train station was Heckscher State Park and miles of virgin woodland. There was nothing unusual about the area geographically except that it was a bit more rural than the majority of Long Island’s South Shore. Carlton Avenue had some clubs and some bars and a lot of dilapidated stores. The area Kenny’s house was in was between Montauk Highway and Sunrise Highway. It was strictly White working class.

I took a look at Chief and his menagerie of a family. Chief himself skulked about. You would see him coming and going, sometimes with his family, sometimes alone, but never laughing or joking. He looked like a young version of Charles Manson without the beard but the same long dark hair and wild staring eyes. Sometimes I would pass him on the porch. When I glowered at him he would look down to avert my eyes. He always smelled like rotten eggs and the scent would linger long after he had passed. One of the neighbors had told Kenny that they had seen him climbing out of a man hole of the neighborhoods partially constructed sewers. The sister was a fat dyke just as Kenny had said. She was about eighteen. She had dark hair, a bad complexion, and the IQ of a door knob. The little brother as predicted only appeared after dark. He was an undersized twelve, skinny and frail, pale white with closely cropped dark hair. He either could not or would not talk. Billy had told us that when he played with the other kids he would communicate by whistling to them. You could hear whistling outside at all hours of the night. When questioned about the kid’s nocturnal habits Billy was evasive saying something about his father, whom the kid lived with, working at night. The mother didn’t look like anyone in her family she was bleach blond, well kept, and about mid forty’s.

Billy lived in the single family house next door on the side towards the lot. He was about fourteen years old and shared the house with his mother. He was as disingenuous as anyone that age could be. He spent all day practicing in his backyard with a bow and arrow. He would seek me or Kenny out and talk to us for hours. Somehow you knew he wasn’t really saying anything. Whenever he was questioned about the strange goings on in the neighborhood he would always intimate that it was Chief without coming right out and saying so. Flanking the other side towards the sump was the single family home that was the residence of Kim and her family. I rarely, if ever, talked to Kim. Her father looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. I figured seeing her speaking to me would push him right over the edge.

One day Kenny and I were over by the sump with the dog and I spotted a two foot long greenish brown snake in the sand by the fence. As I have said I have had a lifelong love affair with herpetology so knowing there are no venomous snakes on Long Island I immediately grabbed my prize to examine it. I was a little surprised when it spread a cobra like hood and hissed at me. It was a Hog Nosed Snake, the only one I have ever seen on Long Island. Although they are harmless they do a perfect imitation of a cobra, hood and all, to scare away predators. If that doesn’t work they will keel over and play dead excreting a noxious foul smelling fluid all over themselves. I was going to keep it and put it in a fish tank at home but when I saw the fat dyke’s window was open on the van I couldn’t resist. Grinning like an idiot I threw it in the van. The next day when Billy saw me he couldn’t wait to tell me that the girls had found it and had nearly had apoplexy. They had to get Chief to remove it from the van for them. Billy assured me Chief said ‘that was a really good one.’

I needed to turn up the heat a little which I did by inserting Phil into the situation. Phil came up with the same solution he did for everything. He told a mortified Kenny that he would make Chief disappear. Kenny said “you can’t do things like that around here. First of all I don’t do shit like that. Second of all the police are watching this place. And third of all these are just kids.” Phil started hanging around the house. He told us “you guys are just doing too much coke. Nobody could walk around inside walls and even if they could nobody would be stupid enough to play around over here. Give me a few ounces of coke and there will be no kids left in this neighborhood. I have to see this to believe it.” Patty said “I already told them that.” Pointing to me she continued “nothing ever happens when he’s not here. The few things I have seen seem to all revolve around him. It’s as if he is the source of everything.” Kenny chimed in “he hasn’t been over for the past couple of days and the knick-knackson the entertainment center have been moving around. I marked where they are and I have been watching them. They are moving around!” Phil said “you’re probably just playing your stereo to loud. Or it’s the vibrations of the trains going by. What do you think its ghosts? There are no ghosts or believe me I would have seen a few by now. Do you think Chief can make himself invisible? I can’t believe somebody like you is even saying shit like this. Eric already went over this whole house and he said none of the shit you’re talking about is possible. The guys a master carpenter. He builds high-rises in the city!” Phil was right. I had brought Eric over to check out the house and he had checked the attic and the basement, to Patty’s incessant objections. Eric had pronounced the house secret passage free. But he told me something else on the side that I never have told anybody. “Watch Patty. Whatever is going on there she’s involved.” Kenny had a native intelligence that he couldn’t articulate with his limited command of language but Eric had something else. Eric was half animal. The biting incidents, the over sized tendons and blood veins coiling around his arms were not the only manifestations of that fact. He was as sentient as any cat or dog. If Eric said something was going to happen it almost always did. Everybody knew this about him.

That day we watched the knick-knacks for hours. A glass figurine slowly but surely moved about six inch’s during the course of the day. Its movements were so slow they were beyond the realm of human perception, only about an inch an hour, but after six hours the figurine had moved six inches. Phil insisted it was the rumbling of the trains passing by every hour or so that moved them but he was being obstinate. The figurine was steadily moving which Kenny proved to him by placing another knick-knack next to it. In an hour the figurines had about an inch clearance between them even though no trains had come, no music was playing, and the entertainment center was perfectly level. Patty kept coming in the room and saying to me “it’s you. It’s you.” But she would not explain herself. It had rained torrentially during the course of the day and outside a brick chimney stack ran from the basement to about three feet above the ledge of the roof. Around dusk, very loud and very clearly, a suction sound could be heard coming from the stack as if something was scaling it outside making its way to the roof using suction cups. When we went outside there was nothing. Phil quipped “it must be Batman. Good I always wanted to kick his ass.” Looking at me he said “you take Robin.”

It was after dark when we again heard the suction sound coming from the chimney stack outside. We all ran outside at the same time practically getting jammed in the doorway together. The sound of running footsteps were coming from over by the sump and Kenny and Phil took off in hot pursuit. I ran around the side of the house to see if anybody was by the chimney. I didn’t see anybody so I started toward the street to catch up with Kenny and Phil. I had the overwhelming sensation of being watched and I hadn’t checked the roof anyway so when I got out into the street where I would have a clear view of it I stopped running and turned around. There on the roof with its long legs spread for balance and one arm extended to brace itself against the top of the chimney was the essence of my nightmares. It was not human. That was plain enough. It was at least seven feet tall with membranous bat wings semi folded into its back. It had no head only two dinner plate sized glowing red eyes that seemed to grow right out of its shoulders. Its eyes did not stare but rather burned themselves right into me and for a long time afterwards I would see them in reflections at night and in my dreams. Years later I would read John Keels descriptions of what was called the Mothman but at the time I had never even imagined that something like that could exist, at least in my waking hours. After what seemed like forever suspended in time with our gazes locked in what could only have been an ephemeral embrace I broke free and took off down the block after Kenny and Phil. When I got to the corner Phil was climbing over the fence out of the sump saying “there’s no one down there unless you think their hiding underwater.” Kenny looked at me and said “did you see anything around the house?” Staring into space I said “no.”

I had never had a hallucination before even though I had taken massive dosages of hallucinogenics trying to induce one in myself. I had always figured if I could just have a hallucination the mysteries of my childhood would be solved. Sometimes it had appeared as if the patterns on walls, rocks, and plants, were some kind of ancient and universal written language but there is a big difference between a delusion and an illusion. Once I took about twenty hits of John’s mescaline and stared all night into the water from the docks at the Venice. After a few hours the reflections of lights from the surrounding buildings seemed to dance like burning cities on the waves of the bay. But as far as seeing pink elephants or even spontaneously seeing visions I had never come close. What I had seen was real and it wasn’t something any ‘sane’ person would see so I kept my mouth shut. When we got back to the house Patty was waiting for us in the doorway. I was silent the rest of the night and we sat in the living room doing lines. Patty kept asking me “did you see something outside?” Phil said “there’s nothing out there but a couple of kids fucking around. Believe me.” But Patty was mocking and insistent “no. Look at him. He’s all white. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You kept looking out there. What did you think you were going to do if you ever actually found what you were looking for? Turns out all you could do is run away from it. Why bother looking for something if you’re just going to run away when you find it?” I didn’t answer her but Kenny angrily did “what the fuck are you talking about Patty? I think you’re doing too much shit lately. There ain’t nothing but a few ounces left and I’m selling the rest to Bates tomorrow for whatever I can get for it. That’s it! Party’s over for everyone!”

There was a ringing in my ears all that night and the impression of children’s laughter right beyond the threshold of perception. When I went in the kitchen for a beer Patty had hung a wicker basket of burnished glass stones over the kitchen counter. Two of them were red like giant ruby’s and caught the stove light reflecting like a pair of eyes in the rain splattered window over the sink. They seemed to be reminding me that I would never be alone again. I had listened to the song Easy Ride by the Doors since John had dragged me out of the water now I knew. Eyes like burning glass. “The mask”, the veneer of the lie, had been ripped from the face of the liar. I could see him clearly now, as clearly as he could see me.

We kept shoveling coke up our noses and we kept hearing footsteps running around outside the windows. Every time we heard a noise Phil would respond by bursting out the doors in a futile attempt to catch the noises source. Around daybreak Kenny, Phil, and I snuck out the front door and made a mad dash to the railroad track embankment slipping and sliding over its rocky gradient. On the other side of the tracks we waited. As the first rays of daylight lifted the veil of darkness from Kenny’s house we watched in amazement. Billy was running around the house in circles pausing occasionally under the windows. His body was hunched over as he ran like a marathon runner almost out of gas. Phil looked at us victoriously saying “should I go slap the shit out of the ghost now?” We crossed the tracks and stood watching as the kid darted first one way then another around the house. Although we were less than a hundred feet away, standing right there in the open, it was as if he could not see us. After no less than a dozen laps he ran around the back and didn’t come back. When we looked he was nowhere to be found. He had pitched a tent in the fenced enclosure of his backyard. We watched the tent for a while waiting for him to come out. Finally Kenny said “you guys better go home. That kids fourteen years old. I’ll handle it.”

I saw Kenny a few days later but I already knew all I would ever need to know. Kenny said “I caught up to him a few hours later. He says he was looking for Chief they were camping out and playing tag. He seemed to be shocked that I had seen him. He didn’t know what to say. Then when I seen Chief he said he doesn’t know what the kid is talking about. He used to hang out with Billy but they don’t even talk to each other anymore. All I know is I never seen him hanging out with Billy and their both too old to be playing tag.” I said “well Kenny there’s a lot of things you haven’t seen, you and everybody else in this world.” He asked me again if I had seen something that night and again I told him “no.”

I told myself that it must have been one of the kids wearing a costume. That Patty was in on it with them and they all must have been pilfering Kenny’s coke all along. That would explain their strange behavior. The noises in the ceiling continued and by the time Kenny left for Florida they had spread to the rest of the house. I kept trying to set traps for Patty by getting her out of the house and telling Kenny to look here and look there. He never found anything and I never outright told him that I suspected his wife of anything. One morning right before they left I went over there with Eric’s shotgun and told her to bring the kids to her parents I was going to settle it that day. She had a screaming fit telling me “everything that is happening here is all because of you. I really don’t think you should even be around my kids. You have no idea what you are. Thank God we are moving to Florida.”

Around midnight Kenny and I took a ride to the seven eleven over on Connetquot Ave by Heckscher State Park. As we pulled back onto the side roads we saw three young girls walking and noticed one of them was Kim. I pulled up to them and Kenny said “what are you doing out this late?” She laughed at him and looked at me and said “there’s been some changes. I decided to take you up on your offer.” She showed me the back of her hand and on it was carved a bloody cross. I said “what the fuck are you talking about? I never made you any offer. This is the first time I have ever even talked to you. Are you high on something?” She laughed again and said “I drunk some wine.” Then she said “oh yes you did. And I like it.” We pulled away as she continued to laugh and I said to Kenny “what the fuck was that about?” He said “I have no idea. And as far as I know she’s not even allowed out of the house, let alone this late and this far.”

About a month or two later Kenny called me from Florida and told me to read the paper. The big story in Newsday that day was a fourteen year old boy had been arrested in East Islip and charged with over forty counts of sexual assault. Turns out innocent little Billy had been sodomizing all the other little boys and girls in the neighborhood. A neighbor had called Kenny in Florida. The neighbor had also told Kenny that the reason Chief had tried to burn Billy alive in the clubhouse was to put a stop to his reign of terror. By now I believed none of it. Plato wrote that men were hairless apes who sit frozen in place in a cave with their back to a fire and watch shadows on the wall cast by the procession of reality that pass’s between their backs and the fire. If one of the apes was ever dragged from the cave and forced to watch the spectacle from a hole in the ceiling above they could never go back to sit with the other apes and endure their bestial chatter.

Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books



I shuffled along, exhausted. The morning twilight was breaking over the seldom used trail I trod upon, the ghostly trail that wound down through the spaces between the shimmering forms of the trees.

My heart was on fire. It blazed in my breast. I could barely remember, as I realized I was cursed with thirst, what I had dreamed the night before. I dreamed I was transparent, and I could look through my own flesh, to my bones which were just points of dancing green, blue and white light.

I dreamed that I could take a different shape and run at amazing speed across the night of this land, each step unerring, avoiding any ensnaring object, a fierce joy of motion and breath.

Yet here I was, wide awake now, if tired. I was almost back to my tiny little place at the edge of the last of the natural land. I saw there was a piece of mail jammed into the door. I already knew what it was, already knew that I hated what was inside.

It was from my job, certainly not my career, certainly not what I wanted to spend my life upon. It was my job, with the contractor, with the government that had sent me to see the shrink in the first place. Was it a case of follow the money?

You might think, if you’re reading this that money is power. Nope, money is a leash, and it chains one to THEM…

We have determined that said individual

“Peter Wolfe”


After exhaustive testing and examination

Is recommended for continuing psychiatric analysis

And for immediate hospitalization.

I immediately ripped the document into very small pieces and tossed the pieces into the garbage where they belonged. When was it that Jung, protégé’ of Fraud lost his edge and became a voice for sellouts?

Best guess, pretty much just before WW2, when he found he could straddle the fence and play everyone like a badly tuned fiddle. Everyone thought his Wotan essay was a great esoteric concept, a proud stepping out from under the coat tails of his Jewish master, a seminal work signaling his rise to respectability to the pinnacle of orthodox western thought.

Ya think? Cuz I have a very different point of view. I think Jung was a Gnostic. A lot of Jews thought so too, and they hated him for it. Actually everybody pretty much hates Gnostics, probably because Gnostics point out things just through living that illustrate the spiritual bankruptcy of the children of Abraham. So Jung had his choice and he made it. No more Gnosis-except in little tiny ways like “active imagination”. Nope, it was Mr. Respectable now, complete with all the accolades.

Probably his funniest statement was in his essay on UFOs. Here he showed his deference to daddy Fraud by calling them giant metal flying penises. Watch out America! Lock up your daughters! Giant dicks in flight!

Yeah, everything was sex to Fraud. What a clueless moron. He was so over privileged he never realized that everything is really based on hunger-and food. So, these were the people that started the pseudo science that was supposed to “help” me. I could hardly wait.

I woke up suddenly. I didn’t know I had been dreaming. The worst thing about dreaming like a man is that you begin to believe it-terrible.

I picked up the big branch in my jaws. I was very strong and I liked that strength. I tossed the branch down on the fire and watched the flames climb into the sky. The world was an entire orchestra of tastes and scents. I knew, from the lingering aroma of wood on my teeth what the song of the wood was. Wood actually holds many things, entire worlds etched in the wood.

And something else is also in the wood…


It is the very first Rune, in any genuine Futhark, for thousands of years and more. It is the first Rune of the first family in any row as well. Some say in the forgotten times long ago it became the Rune of the domestic herd, the source for meat and milk and blood come what may in the darkest night, which after all is the oldest sense of wealth.

But I say nay. Fe’ is not about an abundance as a hedge against uncertainty. Nooo, Fe’ is about the first separation, the first change away from our way-to theirs.

What is wealth anyway, but a soil within which to grow every jealous, angry, vengeful act? Whilst mankind drives themselves insane over wealth and the control of wealth, over the drive to put others down and keep them there, the Wolf merely hunts, and lives, the standard of the wild lands, the despised.

In ancient times so long ago no one remembers, mankind’s’ gaze was far from happy. He had ridden the spark down the Rainbow Bridge from the sisters so far away. He stared at his woman and she stared back, as the hunger in their bellies made them wonder why they ever came to this blasted plain.

Our Golden eyes met their sky blue gaze, and we took pity upon their plight. We began by sharing some of our kills, and the men ate like greedy pups. Later we taught them the ways of those who they would hunt, and the secret to secure the kill. For such a long time, men remembered our gift.  They honoured the generosity of our spirits with their own. Fe’, wealth, then meant the divine power, the knowledge, understanding and energy to thrive upon the hunger plains. It was the sound, and the resonance, and the song of life living in its own accord.

We don’t remember exactly why this changed. Some were convinced it was the great cataclysm, the wrath of the stars upon this place. Others, who spent entire lives traversing the dream-time, were convinced it was due to inborn deficiency here, that this hunger place could never sustain, only run down to its lowest base form before failing all together. We replied by remembering our hero trail back to the sisters, but mankind remembers nothing. He is like a dumb beast that doesn’t know what to eat, which is why we had to help him. The mystery of survival we shared with them, but today we are hated and shot, driven from the soil we ran upon, for endless cycles before the coming of man.

We were ancient when their spark fell like a burning star to this earth. We did not need to change from the days when we dwelt within our own bright star. We had little trouble upon arriving here to this land of tearing hunger, because we could always kill to feed our need, and we were always very good at that.

The man behind the desk had even more papers for me. He had papers to read, that told me I had neither rights nor privileges, papers to sign, that meant I agreed, and papers to commit me to Sunnydale hospital.

“Why don’t you just fire me?”

He returned my gaze with mild distaste. He was dark, possibly from India, and he spoke with an accent.

“We cannot fire you, Mr. Wolfe, it’s in your contract”, he replied directly.

“But you can shuffle me off to the loony bin”, I observed.

“I assure you we can do much worse than that”, he leaned forward as if to emphasize his point.

I considered my options. My first instinct was simply to get up and leave, and so I did just that, pushing the chair back and standing up.

“You must sign the documents, Mr. Wolfe”, pleaded the insistent accented voice behind me.

I was already out the door when I distinctly heard him pick up the phone.

My old truck wasn’t up for a race, I knew that much. Looking into the mirror I could tell the driver of the late model car behind me was a male, big, and probably black. Even from this far away he exuded a willingness towards violence that was definite, easily readable. He stayed far enough away to not make the tail too obvious, but he was never out of sight for more than a few seconds at a time. I was completely certain his interest in me went beyond words.

My guess was he had already picked his method. For someone like me, already evaluated with “issues”, he would have a number of options to make it look like I off’ed myself. I noted that the sun was going down, a warm light playing upon the chemtrails in the sky. I let myself sink back into the seat, and headed for the forest where all of us had agreed to meet on the third evening, which was now.

The access road was open, despite being very late in the day. I drove past the fields to the last and worst maintained parking area in the woods proper. No one was parked here, so I chose a spot, climbed out, locked up, and went for a stroll. I was already in the trees when I heard the whine of the electric motor flood the parking area. My assassin had arrived.

It was my guess that he would be patient, but not too patient. If he had rushed right in he might have had me, but he killed the lights, shut it down, and climbed out deliberately. Obviously he figured there was little I could do. He would have been right, if it had just been about me, but it wasn’t, so I slid into the woods, expecting to pick up the hit man’s trail later, if he stayed in the forest.

Slipping through cross country was easy for me. I could smell the wet earth, and the faint scent of…Ack. Ack was the proverbial image of the dude who marched to his own drummer, not as an act of rebellion, but because his own quick intellect brought him there-to a place of trusting himself first and foremost. We exchanged greetings.

Out from the shadows slinked the graceful form of Doll. Doll was on the small side, but what she lacked in size she made up for in grit, on top of being drop dead gorgeous. Next to her was Kish, and Kish was intimidating in sheer muscular power and focused intent. Kish had the uncanny ability to literally disappear whenever he wanted to… It was cool everybody was good but-where was Amma?

Suddenly I was hit from behind and slammed to the ground. My attacker was all over me, quick as a snake, seizing one ear and then the other before biting on them.


“Did you miss me?” A familiar female voice demanded.

The attacks relented and I managed to get up, turning quickly to meet Amma’s gaze. We faced off like wrestlers, circling. I feinted, she half heartedly dodged, and I had her, rolling and laughing on the rich earth.

I don’t care what your idea of an alpha female might be, Amma topped it. She was blonde and powerful and moved with a deadly ease that was a sight to behold. Her eyes were as deep as a winter sunset, and nobody wanted to be around when she got mad.

She locked my gaze unblinkingly. “What did you find out?”

I filled them all in as quickly as I could. I explained that I had a lead on the place where the ancient trail still bisected this hunger plain, beyond the buzzlights of the mancity. My work with the guvcorp commandoes led me to believe they didn’t know about it. They were obsessed with all the death they were bringing-all of it that we were all smelling was very real, and it blinded them, made them drunk. Even though I had it zeroed down, everyone had to lay very low, probably find another hidey-hole. It was gonna be tough, but I knew it was close, and I would find it-.

“Something else is close”, said Ack.

“Assassin”, I replied. “I want you all out to zone B, I’m going to circle back and grab my truck.I’ll think of something along the way’.

“No”, said Amma.

There certainly are those who can move through the forest, but the big black assassin was not one of them. He had blundered off the trail in the ensuing gloom, snapping twigs and thumping along heavily. Kish melted off to the left flank, a disappearing ghost. Doll took the right, with Ack. Amma took up position where she had options open, and I moved to head him off.

Nightfall brought on our second sight, electric outlines and pools of light. We saw the colour of the assassin, with that internal light, shining from our own meridians, excellently bright, and we saw better than during the day.

A crash suddenly echoed through the timber, followed by another-and another. Deer leapt up to make their escape. The assassin had halted, a very large pistol in his huge hand. We all heard the click of a selector, and in a moment, a bright beam erupted from beneath the slide of the pistol, piercing the dark and picking out the bounding shapes of the fleeing deer.

From the left, Kish emerged sailing through the air, his terrible jaws removing the arm that held the gun in one swipe. Doll had sunk her canines into the other arm as Ack seized a leg. Amma had him by the back of the neck, and I leapt with everything I had onto his chest, my fangs ripping into his throat. My lips met Amma’s as we bit down, kissing as the assassin died.

“Lycanthropy is an acute mental illness.

It is characterized by a complete change in the patients’ perceptual field.

The patients’ belief system is profoundly altered.”

I was running. I was running to a hidden cave, deep in the forest, along Lightning Ridge. We called it that. The birds called it that, because during the tremendous thunderstorms that frequented this mountainous place, the crack of wild electricity would play all along the spine of the rocky edge.

I had forgotten this place. I had forgotten the Lightning Ones. I had forgotten its song…

“There is no cure for this mental illness.

Lycanthropy is an extremely rare condition.

My colleagues are both baffled and intrigued by the onset of it,

We recognize that the medications we recommend

Drugs we could prescribe

Have lasting, possibly permanent impact upon cognitive health.

Most common side effect, memory loss.”

From the shoulder of Lightning Ridge, I dropped into the divide, slowing to a trot. Lingering was the odor of Bear, and Deer, but not man. I knew the small draw where the runoff after the storms would collect and trickle, and followed it up. I was feeling excited, but also wary. I recalled the raised area just beneath the cliff. I slipped past a row of underbrush and wildflowers, and I saw them, nondescript openings in the deep crevasses of the cliff, and there before me, small and unassuming was the black mouth of the cave.

“Our unanimous recommendation for our patient

Mr. Peter Wolfe


Includes immediate hospitalization.

It is our professional opinion that the patient,

Mr. Peter Wolfe


Is quite capable of causing himself and others irreparable harm

Through the use of the most egregious forms of violence.”

YES! It was the cave I found in my memory, put there countless generations ago by the distant ancestors. I had visited it long ago, when I was young, when I beheld the Lightning Ones in vision. The cool air felt good against my face. I shook off a little, stretched, yawned and went in.  The passage narrowed quickly, giving to all appearances that it reduced to a tiny black slit. Yet there was a hidden place…I blinked at the tiny lights within the rock. I-I remember now, we called them the star rocks, and into the dark in their midst the cave suddenly expanded. There, in the dimmest of light lay the silent mirror of the pool. The water revealed a silent reflection of the star rocks.

The highway snaked along through the wooded hills, before bursting out into an opening of rolling fields and scattered rural housing. Out in the open the highway divided, two lanes for each direction, and a no man’s land between them of junk, garbage and extremely tough weeds.

I pushed the old truck up past the speed limit. It was a matter of will, and the power of my connection to the spirit world that kept the old vehicle together. Before I was on the hit list, my co-workers used to make fun of me for driving the “Grampa Car”, as they called it. I just smiled, never telling them that there were no guvcorp surveillance and kill switches in my vehicle. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. The new breed of guvcorp drones actually thought such things were great.

Was I taking a chance, hitting the road like this? Probably. I wasn’t too worried about guvcorp finding the remains of the assassin, even if they did, they wouldn’t piece it all together before I had a chance to grab the others from zone B, and get to the cave, as long as I made good time.

In the bundle in between the seats sat the assassin’s gun. It was a nice choice, a 10mm SIG with a full sized silencer, underlug flashlight, and a few spare magazines, all topped off with nickel plated hollow point ammo. Expensive. Probably starting in the several thousands range. Seems I was more respected by my would-be killers than I thought.

I played gas station hop scotch, grabbing some quick eats along the way. My old truck wasn’t exactly easy on gas, and having to pull sustained above highway speeds made me pay more attention to the oil and coolant.

At my last stop I got a bone shivering premonition. Some might call it déjà vu. I knew now my bonus time was spent, and I was racing a lit fuse.

Zone B was less than 15 miles away, but I was getting extremely nervous. I didn’t like to be nervous, but the problem with being high strung was that it came with the territory. I knew I had to leave the highway, when a guvcorp convoy blew past me, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Between the cruisers were Game & Fish trucks, and between them were animal control vehicles, mobile patty wagons for four legged enemies-us.

The traffic began to thicken and slow. Before it came to a complete halt I had engaged the transfer case for 4WD high, and was off pavement, looking for a way. I drove for several miles, more by feeling than any sense. I read the terrain to estimate my closest undetected approach. I felt like biting the steering wheel, instead I parked in a field under some trees, probably a quarter mile from a lone rural road.

I locked up, but not before packing the 10mm, and making sure a round was perched in the chamber. I needed to find the creek, soon. All around me were helicopters, and flashing lights.

Hunkering down, I loped into a bank of even more trees, and found the creek there. I was estimating direction when I heard them, locals, crashing through the underbrush.

“I think they went thattaway Daddy!”

The little boy almost ran right into me. Behind him was, apparently Daddy, with a huge machete strapped to his waist, and a very large crossbow in his hands.

“You seen any wolfs, mister?” The little boy peered up at me unperturbed.

“Wolves?” I laughed. “Don’t you mean dogs?”

“They ain’t no dogs”, said Daddy, and we’re fixin to get ‘em before anyone else does.”

“Well, I might’ve seen something like big dogs running across the field,” I lied. “Sort of following the highway.”

Daddy eyed me. “An what are you doin here, mister?”

I looked him back straight in the eye, and this time told the truth. “I want to get a better look at what’s going on.”

Apparently satisfied, they set off in a direction away from me, and my truck. As bad as all this was, the confusion caused by the event just might help us in the end. I decided to dive deeper into the woods, it was convoluted, crazy. I was completely surrounded by activity as I came up upon a dilapidated slumping fence, the last rays of the sun arcing through.

I found them in a nearby hollow. They crowded around Amma. She was swaying. Her blonde proud head hung low as she drooled, her eyes coming and going from focus.

“They shot her with something” said Ack flatly. “She’s fighting it”.

Kish turned his attention away from Amma to focus on me. “Ack and I got past their shots.”

Ack came close, to look me in the eyes. His words were slow, measured.”They got Doll. Shot her too, with the poison.”

I nodded, breathing hard, working to hold it together.

“Kish”, I said, with more resolution than I felt. “Do you know which way they went?”

Kish nodded.

I went to Amma. She was fighting with everything she had. I could feel her fierce fire, her essence screaming, even as she swayed. I felt that she would win this fight, that nothing could hold her wild spirit in thrall.

“Ack, stick with Amma. She is going to beat this thing, but until she does, defend her with your life. You know she would do the same for you”.

Ack nodded.

“Kish, with me. We bring Doll back or die trying”.

In a moment we were loping through the forest. I was following Kish, and I suddenly, sickeningly realized that all the bends and twists in the creek had actually taken us closer to the highway, and captivity. The highway itself was maybe two, maybe three miles ahead. I knew if they had Doll, if they hadn’t killed her, then they would be carrying her out, probably in a group, definitely armed.

Somehow, in a world that never gave me the slightest break-ever-I got one.

There were only three.

The stretcher was set directly upon the ground. Doll lay helpless and naked upon it. The three seemed to be taking a breather. They were so completely fixated on Doll that they didn’t hear our approach, didn’t notice as we moved close and Kish disappeared.

Their radio crackled with some incoherent static filled hissing that might have been speech, but they ignored it. The tallest wore an outfit that included a gun. Staring at Doll he gripped a bandaged hand, the bandage was stained red.

The smallest was rat faced. He had an outfit like the other, no gun but a devious glint to his eyes. “She sure is a looker”, he breathed.

“Yep-”, grumbled the gun, “and I owe her one for the bite she gave me.”

“Told you to back off and let the shot work, but you didn’t”, observed the third, who had a long rifle slung on his back.

“Guess I didn’t believe such a pretty little thing would bite like that.”

“So, you guys saw it right”, continued rifle. “You saw that I shot a wolf, not a girl?”

“I dunno what I saw-“ said devious.

“Well I sure as Hell know!” Gun was reaching down for Doll with his good hand, which vanished in the jaws of Kish. I pointed the big Sig, and hot 10mm fire bored into him as he crumpled. I switched to rifle, and he fell like the first. Only devious was left, and I caught him behind the ear with one well placed shot.

When it was clear that the trio would be no more trouble, we switched our attention to Doll. They had bound up her limbs way too tight, and it was a struggle to free her, bur free her we did. I put my ear up to her nose, and I could detect shallow breath. She was alive!

Kish worked on her hands and feet, encouraging fresh blood to move past the marks of her bonds. I was peeling off my shirt to cover her. It hung below mid-thigh. I didn’t have a choice, with Kish as scout I had to carry her back to Amma and Ack.

Night had completely enveloped the land by the time I staggered into camp. Amma was pacing around restlessly, her eyes blazed with a light more fierce than I had ever seen in her, but she was back. Ack just stared at me with his golden eyes.

Time’s up.

I carried Doll with the desperate strength of the cornered. Her breathing grew deeper and stronger as we dodged patrols of disaffected locals armed with flashlights, and laid low as the endless stream of flashing lights roared across the roads.

The run to the truck was a blur. We ran away from the thumping roar of helicopters. There were shots fired, and shouts. I just ran, past the point where I could run no more I ran and I ran and I ran. I thought I could see a flash of light upon a windshield, but before I could look my legs were done and I fell. Doll must have rolled away, and as I tore for ragged breath Amma was in my face.

“You alive?”

I nodded, shaking and struggling to get to my hands and knees. “Check Doll’ was all I could get out.

Ack stood over me. “We have to go.”

I was struggling to my feet when I heard a voice I felt like I hadn’t heard in years.


It was Doll.


The others were around her now, with Wolf medicine. They collapsed upon her, breathing on her with their fierce joy. The energy swirled and as one they began to move in circles. Doll began to take little leaps. I retrieved my shirt, tucked it in past the 10mm, and regained some composure. I let the wolf medicine work, and just felt grateful that we were alive.

I dreamed the truck so hard that the cord that binds us pulled painfully. We got there, despite all, I didn’t hit the lights until we were well on our way, on a rural road that was taking us far, far away from zone B. I was about to relax when I heard Kish.


“Nothing”, Kish shot back.

“What, really?”



“I want a pillow”.

There was a cry of utter disbelief. The first to start snickering was Kish himself, which grew infectious. Pretty soon the entire truck was awash in the howls of wolf laughter.

The Golden eye of the Great Ancestor regarded me, the rest of his face outside of my view, so close was he. He was as real and as close as one of us, and as the vision dissipated I knew I was being watched, to discover if I was worthy. I took the examination unflinchingly. It was exactly what I would have done, had I wanted to know…

In the ancient times, forgotten by all save for us, Runes were never carved. Runes then were only sung, they were never things. The opening Rune was never possessive. Wealth itself was the dynamic exchange of sharing, of giving. When we gave to mankind we were following the ancient way. We saw that this act was making the connection between the sky plain and our world of hunger. That our strength and our skill brought us wealth, and it was possible to give because there was no lack. It was in the sky place where our golden giving breathed with the wind into song. The lesson of the first Rune, the Wolf Rune was the ascendency of this song, a dreaming into the hunger plain of that which only we could bring. We don’t remember when this world began to decay, some say it was the cataclysm, or just the deficiency, yet it was then that wealth came to be woven into things, and with that came jealousy, and lack, and chance.

We never understood why mankind forsook the golden giving. We could never grasp why the choice of things was so powerful with them. That is a story only they can tell, if they remember it at all.

It was in those forgotten times of our golden sharing that we taught mankind the mystery of the hunt, the eternal bond between the giving and the taking. Some of our clan and some of man’s sang the Runes so closely together that it became a wholly new song. They were driven by this fusion to do things no one has ever done before or since.

Our drive from the scene was evidence that higher forces were at play. The Great Ancestor was felt. The lights and the sirens all ignored us. We were waved through the roadblocks. Traffic flowed in that odd collective sense-a great pulsing hive mind of millions of undirected emotions and thoughts, invisible yet palpable, a million little receivers, all hurling down a paved surface at incredible speed.

I was ready-more than ready to exit the hypnosis of the highway as our exit came quickly up. Slowing down brought the distinct feeling of leaving one world of perception behind, to enter another.

Wolf sense made it a simple thing to find an out of the way place to park our doughty truck. Everyone piled out in a rush, grateful to be back upon the earth, yawning and stretching. A pack of killers who deeply loved each other, belying the riddle that life always turns one to a certain way. We were the force behind the motion of the universe. Through death we honour life.

The action, I told myself, was to shimmer in the very reality of the Rune. In loving life the sky plain was long ago filled with the song, and in our hearts, we would find that note once more. Once we breathed into that, the birthed form would just slip away.

I tossed the gun, my documents, my I.D.’s, and finally my clothes onto the floor of the truck. My boots went last, and my keys. I breathed in the delicious forest air, and felt myself rise into my natural state. It was always different, yet always familiar, that sense of falling away, almost like falling asleep to awaken anew, with incredible possibilities.

Mankind is slow without his machines. We require no machines for our speed. Gliding over the rippling earth, we move easily as living love, our fur becomes a sense organ, it keeps us in touch.

We arrived at the cave quickly. In single file we squeezed inside, the tiny lights shone in the stone, the starry rock. Emerging into the great room we ran around and took stock. The help of the Great Ancestors held, we were alone.

It took a little time to check the acoustics, for everyone to find the correct position, and sing their correct pitch. We began to focus, to feel for the dynamic as our voices rose, combining in pitch and frequency, and we could sense the ripple beginning to spread in the rock.

We danced into different positions, and the tension began to strengthen, and so we let the resonance loose once more, and the rock opened on the far side of the pool. Light poured in as we formed up together, and plunged head first into the pulsing wave.

We sang our song as our paws rippled the night, causing waves to wash over the distant stars, our breath visible within the deep cosmic weave, the song unrelenting and strong. Moving as one we passed into morning light, through a mighty stand of twisted Oaks onto a blonde plain, gently rolling off toward the sun.

Our song ended in a crystalline echoe, from the ancestor oaks to the deepest distance. There was no smoke in the air, no buzzlights or roads, no mancity or airborne waves.

An enormous weight lifted off of us, and we were suddenly so burden-free that we cried together. So we stretched our legs, danced and played, rolling on the succulent scents of the new earth, had we ever felt so good?

The targets dropped off our backs, and with them an incredible tension released. We couldn’t believe how easy it was to breathe.

Our very structures, muscles, bones and tendons shifted without the heavy burdens, and our appearances changed. We were free in a way we hadn’t known since we first explored and walked into the world of hunger in the ancient forgotten times.

With a new energy we remembered our first Rune Fe’, and we sang it into the sky plain, setting off amidst the solidified waves of the blonde plain, slipping past the berries and wildflowers, and the golden fingers of the sun sent us laughing as she rose higher on her arc. We felt the wild joy of the hunt, and our waiting prey sang back to us that the ancient exchange was ready once more.

Never Before Published Work of Alec Newald, Fiction (some of it…)


Jack. I just went back into your Substack to look over what I’d written for you over the years and realized there were so many comments from readers I never acknowledged because I never saw them. I’m a bit like Jack Reacher I never go back, I’m just not used to many people commenting on anything I write, I seem to be an outcast and even though I might have seen a few things that don’t fit into our understanding of the universe it appears most people would prefer to only follow the mainstream outlets. So, I’m used to being ignored, but that’s no excuse for my ignoring your own readers and friends when they do comment on my writings. Could you please apologize to them all for my lack of foresight in replying. I’ll certainly address the issue when I write for you again and apologize personally – Alec Newald

                                            Chapter 1


Magic, n. An art of converting superstition into coin. There are other arts serving the same high purpose, but the discreet lexicographer does not name them. 

                                         Chatham House 


                                           February 19??

James wiped away the steam from the bathroom mirror, staring back at him, through steely grey eyes, was a sharp-featured face carrying three day’s worth of dark stubble. Normally immaculately groomed he was ruing the fact his leave had been cut short. It wasn’t that often he could let his hair down and go bush. Soon the stubble would be gone, replaced by a clean-shaven face that went with the customary dark suit and tie white shirt and jet-black slicked down hair. You could be excused for thinking him more like something out of a 1960’s fashion magazine than the cold-blooded ruthless killer that he was.

He was not officially on duty, not yet, but he was willing to bet after a 10-minute taxi ride that status was sure to change.

James Reginald Taylor was old school by the very best traditions of it’s meaning, his family had been in the military since Noah boarded the Arch. No one could remember a male member of the Taylor family that had not attended military school and gone on to achieve a high rank in the British Armed Services.

His upbringing had taught him that things had to stay as they were everyone and every family had their place in the hierarchy of all things. Anyone attempting to upset this Status Quo, attempting to perhaps even things up a little, someone looking for a little justice and fairness within the system was simply an enemy of it and not to be tolerated. This is the way things are, and should always be, to even question such was an act of treason. To James this made it a simple world do as instructed by those that have been given the authority. Do it without question or be prepared to live a much shorter life than might otherwise have been the case.

His only failing in all of this was a short temper which from time to time tended to get in the road of his duties, often landing him in trouble with his superiors and colleges. 

The only reason James was not in any of the mainstream military services was because of his academic and athletic abilities, these had made him a standout target for recruitment by a secretive organization known as ‘The Agency for Foreign Technical Recovery’ better known by those that need to know as AFTR.

Its pretext was the recovery of downed foreign satellites, military aircraft and hi-tech hardware, occasionally they did actually think about doing such things, but this organizations real purpose would always be a mystery to most, even to those in the military or government services that would from time-to-time work alongside this agency, and in many cases fund it.

AFTR had no allegiance to the British Government or any arm of the military, not even those in its employ knew for sure who their masters might really be. Some had suggested that indirectly it was more likely connected with the Crown, the Queen herself. James had heard the rumors but was not expecting to be called before Royalty anytime soon. As far as he was concerned the rumors where just that, he enjoyed the work, you might even say he was born for it, so why ask questions and maybe rock the boat.  

A wiz at university in both mathematics and linguistics his family background aside, he was always a natural mark for this highly secretive organization. Fit, quick thinking individuals were required for this vocation, an ability to kill without forethought or regret was also a necessary prerequisite.

AFTR’s deeply covert parent organization ‘The League of the Red Shield’ used a public format known as the Royal Institute of International Affairs to voice many of their ideas, to anyone looking in from the outside the RIIA appeared only as a think-tank, a place of debate for private members of influence on world affairs and other related subjects, beneath that outer skin it was far more than that. More covertly secret than MI5 or MI6 could ever hope to be, its agents, in the guise of those from AFTR and other like organizations outside of the UK, were far more devious than any James Bond you could conjuror up in your worst nightmares.

The League is the best-funded most secret organization on the face of the planet, they had to be, what they dealt with and planed in the course of normal business would make the average person’s hair stand on end.

This does not mean they ran about protecting the innocent from the bad guys, in fact far from it, the League for all intents and purposes, are the bad guys! They are almost solely responsible for all the grief in the world You don’t fuck with these guys without ending up wishing you had never been born.

Their number one motto is ‘The Owl is not blinded by darkness’ how apt this is, as one of their main aims is to keep the rest of the world in perpetual darkness pertaining to all things, all meanings, and all subjects. At their secret occult meetings effigies of this predator bird dominate proceedings as the members enact mock ritualistic sacrifices of children.                                               

The League of the Red Shield as it stands is steeped in history and is most likely the oldest organized society on Earth. Its origins stem from the very beginnings of civilization itself, when a mark was placed upon Qayan, better know as Cain, by the Lord of the Bible (not to be confused with any God) to protect him from harm as he travelled the land. The mark is considered to be the oldest recorded Grant of Arms in sovereign history. It was, according to Laurence Gardner in his groundbreaking book ‘Genesis of the Grail Kings’ a red cross within a circle, very similar to that still used by the organization known to one and all as the Red Cross.

With this granting of arms came the beginning of Kingship among human tribes and positions of privilege power and wealth. Initially this ruling class did have a high degree of compassion and intellect, they were in fact designed for the job, but that is a whole other story in its own right.

Over the long course of our history The League has been referred to by various and differing names, one example being ‘The League of Just Men’. If ever there were a misnomer for a cause surely this would be it. Unfortunately for the most of us the Lion does not change its hunting technique nor pray just because you call it by another name.

The modern day League of the Red Shield has corrupted the original coat of arms to suit their agenda and dogma. It now carries their own hallmark, their signature, and if you know what to look for you will find their mark upon many a business and powerful international organization today.

Covertly this League or Cult control most of what you think you know to be the truth in all aspects of life, without doubt they control the politics of this world.

So arrogant were the founding members of this League that it is rumored they swore they could trick half the world into worshipping a dog, and in so doing lead humanity down a false road of blind faith and loss of self. Along with the manipulation of a language they appeared to have done just that. Many who have researched the English language report than much of it has been reversed from the sacred language that it once was, by all reports not only has this denied us many a sacred sound and empowering word, but one cannot deny the obvious when the word ‘God’ is reversed.

It has been reported that collectively this group control half of the world’s total wealth, perhaps a great deal more than that, in spite of this you will never find reference to them in any rich list published in the various media throughout the world, but then why would you, they own the media. As the group already have more money than they could ever need their focus now is only on the acquisition of power, the power to control all of humanity and the planet as a whole.

 ‘The league of just men’ owes allegiance only to themselves, holding to a chosen belief that by privilege of intellect and birthright they have sway to rule the world. Therefore, all of the world’s resources are theirs by right. They resent very much the fact that these precious reserves are being devoured by the common folk of the land. One of their primary goals is to vastly reduce the earth’s population to conserve these resources. If this could be achieved, then those that are left will be subjugated and used as slaves to serve the chosen few and all would be well with the world in their eyes. While many might suggest a reduction in the world’s population is a good thing overall for both the planet and the human race as a species, the way The League intend to achieve this goal is little sort of insane.

If it were not for the fact, they have the where-with-all and the passion to complete such a task one could feel smug and safe in the knowledge that such foolishness could never come to pass. However, the main reason more progress has not been made in their quest to date is because of a conflict of egos from within the organization itself and the lack of a suitable population suppressant i.e. a plague of biblical proportions, similar to that of the black death of the Middle Ages. However, this is not through the lack of trying, its just the human race is such a resilient species it has thwarted all attempts thus far to jump-start such a pestilence.

Therefore any ‘natural’ disaster that would bring about the same result would also be welcomed by said organization, just as one that might try to prevent such a natural disaster would become their public enemy number one.

Right now, at the moment James made himself presentable for his office recall, the League was not so interested in earth politics as they were interested in off world politics.

Of course James knew none of this but even if he had it would have made little or no difference to his outlook or work ethic when it came time to report for duty once again. Yes he was perfectly suited for the job.

He had just celebrated his 30th birthday before he was recalled from his two-weeks of leave, he had been given orders to report for briefing in room Number One on the first floor of Chatham House, it was urgent and please no delays. He must be there by 0900hrs.

What could be that dam important he wondered? hailing a taxi from a street corner not far from his High Street apartment, surely there was someone to cover for him while he was on leave, just my luck.

James had long ago booked into a swank Swiss ski resort, and was really looking forward to getting away from London’s dreary and persistent winter rain for the next ten days.

Skiing was his passion, when he wasn’t killing people that is, he had once held hopes of making the British Olympic Ski team, but at 30 his hopes were fading. He also wondered if he would ever get enough time to practice, now connected to the special operations unit within the company, the unit with the highest security level possible, he was always on call and it seemed, as now, always required to be somewhere else other than the ski-sloops of Europe he lamented, dodging a deep puddle as he stepped from the taxi.

“There’s a real flap on downstairs,” his assistant and partner whispered in his ear. James hung up his coat, this was their private office, it had been assigned to them both since they had been brought under the wing of the department head, this was truly the top level of the agency, not because their office had walnut inlayed desktops or teak paneling on the walls, but because after this there was only God, or in other words ‘The League’

“I’ve never seen so much activity,” she continued, “they’ve recalled all the agents that are on leave so don’t feel so hard done by, you’re not the only one who would rather be some place else right now. I was on leave too you know.”

Samantha Stubbing was a tall woman, standing almost 1.8 meters she could be quite intimidating if she put her mind to it, having done basic military training herself in her younger days. Like James she was soon due a birthday, in her previous 38 years she had seen a fair amount of the world from all angles and did not suffer fools lightly. She had worked hard to gain her position in the organization and was as loyal as the day was long. She never questioned an order from above and was possibly still capable of breaking an average man’s arm in a second if need be. Yes sir, Samantha was a tough cookie and not to be messed with unless you fancied yourself as a black belt or something better. She was a perfect partner for James, who, at times, worked outside the organization’s rules. Tending to be a bit of a wild card and not always one to follow direct orders.

Samantha could look him in the eye, they were both approximately the same height, only he was dark where she was fair, otherwise they could have been brother and sister. There was a look of sameness about them like they had a connection in the family, or they both came out of a similar mold. That said there was no mistaking Samantha for a man.

The briefing was to involve the both of them, it appeared they were to share the assignment whatever it was going to entail, wherever it might lead, and they were not kept guessing for long.

“Now listen up people, we have been getting these code red reports from NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command at Cheyenne Mountain for several days now, also back up reports from Pine Gap in Australia. There have been an alarming number of movements both in and out of Earth airspace from the Southern Ocean regions of the pacific, mostly in the area of the Antarctic. I’m talking fast walkers here, and you all know what they are, Alien space traffic.

The most recent is the one I want Taylor and Stubbing complete with back up team to check out personally. This latest fast walker was tracked underwater from the Antarctic right up to the coast of the North Island of New Zealand. As usual with these guys it seems to be the volcanic region they are interested in mostly, and there has been quite a bit of seismic activity off that coast over the last few weeks.

There’s an area off the coastline of the upper North Island that is part of what is known locally as the volcanic diamond, or triangle. It runs inland to places like Taupo and Rotorua.” The briefing officer was pointing to a wall map featuring the region of interest. “In this area of the south pacific there is also an active offshore volcano called White Island.

Norad tells us this bogey came ashore, or at least it came in overland at low altitude, hovered for a short time in an area just north of Rotorua township, here, and then made off down into the Southern Ocean region again. They lost it off the screen soon after that and think it headed on out into deep space. This was some 48hours ago. The worry is they think it’s the same one that did this about 12days ago. Something is going on down there, they could be setting up a land base, whatever is happening I want some of our top personal in the field and on the spot. The local plods and SIS are out of their depth dealing with this stuff. The yanks have their hands full in other areas and can’t get a team down there, well this is our patch anyway, so we need to know what’s going on. If there has been any interaction between this craft and civilians in the area, I want to know about it in detail! Are you two clear on that?”

 Department head Sanderson looked hard at Taylor and Stubbing, there was only a nod in reply from both.

“Try and fit in with the local authorities while you are at it please, at least be civil.” he continued. “I don’t want too many skirts ruffled, you get my drift?”

He was now only looking at Taylor as he made this last remark. 

Taylor did not reply he did not even look up, as he read the assignment briefing notes on the desk in front of him, he knew Sanderson would have eyes on only one person with a remark like that and didn’t feel the need of any additional discomfort by acknowledging it.

Other agents would accompany them on this mission to ‘the Land of the Long White Cloud’ but they would mostly be involved with technical assistance and liaison work both with local New Zealand SIS agents (Secret Intelligence Service), and Pine Gap in Australia, which was the closest monitoring station to New Zealand that could track the fast walkers. AFTR and similar organizations liked to keep things in-house, sharing little with outsiders, it was always a strictly need to know situation.

Taylor was at least glad to be heading to a place that was in the middle of summer, if he couldn’t be skiing, he would at least be out of London’s depressing rain.  Stubbing was also keen to explore a small corner of the world that had eluded her up until now.

24 hours later their aircraft was fully halfway around the world and landing at Auckland International Airport, a clear blue sky and a cool early morning breeze greeted them, in a few hours the day would warm up, it was 0600 hours the 27th of February, it was going to be a stunning day, but Stubbing and Taylor had more on their minds than a day at the beach.

The two agents were met at the airport by a local SIS agent who immediately drove them to Whenuapai Air Force Base, a small military airfield on the Northwestern outskirts of Auckland City. There they met up with other members of the New Zealand Secret Intelligence Service.

The AFTR agents ran through a long list of prerequisites needed for their operations within New Zealand. They were short on detailed explanations of why they might need most of the items, preferring to keep their operation in NZ on a need-to-know basis as usual. They mostly need transport in the form of a helicopter, plus several 4×4’s, a little manpower mostly a local or two who knew the areas they wished to check out. Communications facilities for field work and from their HQ which would be set up inside the airbase. This much the SIS could and would supply, all it took was a little pressure from God who of course they knew personally.

They were then taken across town to the DSIR, the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research. Here they supplemented their more highly specialized technical needs and took on the identities of employees of the DSIR, this would help with their cover while making investigations among the NZ Public.

By mid-afternoon on the same day, they were once again airborne, this time tracking south over the broad reaches of the Manukau Harbour on the western side of Auckland City, a dark blue unmarked Bell 412 Helicopter would take them south 300k/m to the small tourist town of Rotorua.

                                                Chapter 2

                                         Auckland  New Zealand

                                                March  1989

Stubbing and Taylor sat in their black turbo powered Mitsubishi Pajero wondering what to do next. They had turned over Alex’s apartment several times in the past week and had not found anything of interest. They were watching it now, not because they had a plan, but rather because they didn’t.

James was getting a little agitated “we should have sorted this by now” he thought to himself. “This colonial hick had been giving them the run around for long enough”. He wanted to hit somebody in frustration, preferably Alex.

“Calm down James,” Samantha said, disturbing his thoughts. “I can always tell when you’re getting wound up, you fiddle with that bloody watch till it drives me crazy.”

Sam was sitting behind the wheel she loved to drive and had a sports car back home. She loved to get out on the country roads near Chelmsford where she lived and really push the Morgan as hard and fast as she could. It was an older car not the quickest on the road, but it handled very well. A trip to the coast just for the fun of it was always on. She loved to drive with the top down, scarf around her neck, bedecked in her favorite leather jacket. The one the Marlboro Man had tried to bribe her with on the movie set back in Brighten a very long time ago.

As a teenager Sam had flaunted with the idea of becoming an actress, she certainly had the looks, and possibly the talent, but after military school she found out how much fun it was really breaking people’s arms and sometimes necks, rather than pretending to do so on the stage.   

While driving she would get off on enticing other drivers to a drag race at the traffic lights, she rarely lost.

On the other hand James hated driving, living most of his life in and around London town he didn’t even own a car. Taxi’s or agency drivers from the RIFA were all he needed while in the city. His speed release was on the ski slopes, the down hill slalom. In that environment, as with Samantha and her drag racing, he rarely lost.

James was just getting out of the 4×4 to pace around for a bit, to de-stress himself, when Alex came out of his apartment and put something in the boot of his car. As he lifted the boot lid and bend forward with a box in his hand, he felt a strange twinge in the back of his neck, it made him stiffen and stand up again, he looked behind him as if to see what had caused it. There was nothing there of course. He was suspecting an insect had bitten him, but it wasn’t anything like that at all. It was a reflex action, from a very special gift Alex didn’t even know he had yet. Like a blink from an eye, when something passes very close to it, this gift might soon save him from harm, but that was in the future. A need not yet required, or a skill not yet perfected, whatever, but the twinge was indeed a warning of sorts.

“Head’s up,’ Sam said quietly, starting the Pajero, “subjects on the move and he’s just put a box or sorts, in the boot of his car.”

James slid quickly back into the 4×4.

“Could you tell what it was?” he asked.

“No, but I noticed him take a quick look around before he put it in. That’s a good sign as far as we are concerned.” She replied.

Alex had just purchased a new sports car himself, after unloading the troublesome Jaguar XJ6, soon after his, not yet remembered, off planet excursion.

He had now down graded a little in size, but not in performance. Through his old connections in the car trade, he had come across a superb bargain he could not resist. It wasn’t cheap as such, in fact it was a little more expensive than Alex had wanted to pay, but he loved speed, and this car had more than it’s fair share of that built into it.

He also had the feeling of being watched of late. Almost like someone was stalking him. It was an ever-present feeling, it made him feel insecure. A feeling that he had never had in his life before. Something was going on he just knew it, but at the same time there was nothing he could put his figure on. His intuition was working overtime to warn him, he was just not connected fully with it yet.

That aside he hated the idea that someone might be watching him. He had figured if anyone was, and he ever wanted to get away, this was the car to do it in.

The near new dark blue BMW M5, was a 310hp factory special, only a few had been built, and the friend that had imported it, as a demo and promotional tool for his BMW dealership, assured Alex they had all been hand built, and that they were the fasted cars of their type on the road, at the time they were made.

They could hit 155mph or 250kph, just the thought of that, made Alex’s heart race.

Still, he was not expecting to ever see those numbers come up on the speedometer, not ever, and least of all, not that afternoon.

“What do you think we should do?” Samantha Glanced at James. She had already pulled out onto the road, and was tailing Alex from a safe distance.

“We need back up, if we are going to make this tail work, we can’t just follow him for miles, from what we have seen so far, he’s sharp enough to spot us if we do that. I’ll call in the other car.” James replied, “the SIS guys said they would park up the top of the road, out of sight, and to call them on the radio if we needed any help, so I’ll cue them to fall in behind us. We can do the double around every now and then, so it’s not the same car on his tail all the time.” James concluded. “Mind you I’ve a good mind to run him off the road right now, and grab whatever it is he’s got in there.” He added.

“Keep cool Mr. Bond,” Samantha said with a half grin on her face.

The SIS agents were in a silver-gray Toyota Landcruiser 4×4, diesel powered, not the fastest vehicle on the road. But then they were only there as an extra set of hands, more than wheels.

Alex turned right on to the motorway and headed for Kumeu. This at first was in the general direct of the Whenuapai Air Base.

“We could call up ahead, get one of our own units to replace the guys behind us?” Sam suggested, “we’re heading in the general direction of BOO.”

(BOO) Base of Operations.

“No, dam it, lets go with what we have.” Replied James

“I don’t want to make this into more than it is, it’s just a slim chance he has something of interest in the car. We’ve turned his place over enough times, don’t know where the hell he could have been hiding anything, the place is not that big.” He concluded.

Alex turned left at the end of the motorway, but continued to follow highway 16.

He was now getting out of the city traffic and into single file, as the road narrowed to become just two lanes.

First off he stopped off at a local dairy, to buy a daily newspaper. Then a few kilometers further on he stopped again, this time at his favorite vegetable stand. The land out west of Auckland, grew some great crops, and the landowners and growers often sold their excess produce at roadside stalls. It was always fresh and of the best quality, so anytime Alex was passing he would grab what he thought he might need, for the following week’s groceries.

 As he was putting his bag of vegetables in the boot, alongside the box housing one of his  prized possessions, he noticed a jet black Mitsubishi Pajero parked some distance back along the road. He smiled to himself jokingly, and imagined it would be full of secret agents, ready to come take him away. Black vans with tinted windows were always full of secret agents, he kidded to himself, and shut the boot of the slightly dusty beamer.

Yesterday, to indulge himself and take his mind of the strange series of events that had happened over the past few weeks, he had taken his new toy, the M5, out onto the unsealed back roads just north of the city, by sheer coincidence not so very far from this very roadside vegetable stand. He had tried it out so to speak, given it a bit of a dust off as they say in the car trade, pedal to the metal.

He was amazed at how well the city type car could handle the loose metal roads, even without rally tires, which, with their more open grooved tread were better equipped to grip the gravel on unsealed country roads, typical of rally course events, of which Alex had done more than a few.

The car had handled really well. Very predicable, and easy to slide around corners, true rally style. He had to admit in this case, the Krauts had managed to make a great handling car for all conditions.

As he was pulling out from the roadside stand, he was pleased to notice virtually no traffic on the road. What a great opportunity to gun it along for a bit, he thought to himself. Having pushed it hard the day before on the unsealed back roads, this would be a great chance to see what it might be able to do on the better sealed roads. So as he pulled out onto the main road he had great delight in watching the rev counter pull all the way up to 7500rpm, in first gear, and then in second.

Taylor and Stubbing were beginning to loose interest in this wild goose chase, as Alex pulled off the road to buy vegetables.

“Oh for the love of……!” exclaimed Taylor, “he’s out on a bloody shopping expedition, and here we are, all four of us, going along with the hick for the ride. Why don’t I just get out of the car, go over to there, smack him in the face, grab whatever it is in the back of his car, and get the hell out of here. End of story”

“Yes, that would be a smart move,” replied Stubbing, “especially with a dozen witnesses right on the spot to take down our number plate and supply a good general description of you to the local police. That will really improve our cooperation and standing with the local forces here, wouldn’t it?” She concluded.

As she was saying this, Sam noticed Alex glance up from the boot of his car, he was looking directly at them, even though they were several hundred meters away, parked off to the side of the road, and, they had hoped, hard to see in the shade of some roadside trees.

She tensed a little, almost as if Alex’s eyes had sensed her presence and somehow locked in on her in some supernatural way. Even though logic told her there was no possible way he could have seen anyone inside their vehicle, not from such a distance down the road.

The next thing to happened, about the same time as Samantha was recovering from her moment, a cloud of dust swirled up from the roadside ahead, and the dark blue M5 beamer of Alex’s, was fast disappearing out of sight around a corner in the road.

“Holy Hell! He’s must have made us.” Samantha cried. ‘and he’s bolting, which means he must have something in that car he doesn’t want us to see.” Was Samantha’s assumption, as she fired up the Pajero, and was off after the fast disappearing M5.

It was not long before Alex ran up behind other slower traffic, the speed limit on that road was 100kph, Alex had hit speeds just over twice that, in the short time he had been able to give the beamer it’s head. As he slowed to follow the other cars, at more like the correct speed limit, he noticed the same big black Mitsubishi Pajero from the vegetable stand, charging rapidly up behind him.

It started him thinking. Maybe his fantasy, of every black van with tinted windows, housing secret agents, was not so much of a fantasy after all.

He decided to pull off the main highway, on to the first available side road, and just see what happened behind him.

The next road, which was on his right, just happened to be Old North Road, he knew it well, it meandered in the general direction of the Riverhead Forest. An area in which Alex had raced in many club and national rally competitions in the past.

He pulled off without indicating and slowed down, so he could keep an eye on the intersection in his rear view mirror.

“Watch it Sam,” Taylor called out, “he’s turning here, I think.”

James was watching Alex’s car drift out toward the centre of the road, and then followed it’s Sharp turn to the right.

“Should I follow him?” Samantha asked, “I don’t know if we have totally blown our cover or not yet. If I go down that road, that’s it, he’ll know for sure that we are tailing him.”

“Do I care,” replied Taylor, “I want whatever he’s go in that dam car, and I don’t care how we get it, this just might be our one chance to grab it. Let’s not let it, or him, slip away, now we are this close. I’ll radio the SIS guys behind us, to close up, or if they know another way around these roads, they might be able to head him off somewhere.”

For once Samantha let James have his head, even though deep down, she had the nagging suspicion this could all be a big mistake on their behalf.

As soon as Alex spotted the big black 4×4 turn down Old North Road, he knew his imagination was not playing tricks on him, but what to do?

For a start, why were they after him? Could they know about the devices? How could they? He had told no one. And anyway he didn’t have the devices with him, so what was all this about?

All these questions raced through Alex’s mind, even as he put the hammer down in the M5. The questions could wait, whatever they might think he had, whatever reason they had for tailing him, could wait, he’d give them the slip now, and worry about the details later.

The tail hung out on the beamer and the tires smoked up, as Alex gave it full throttle on the tarmac section of Old North Road.

All Stubbing and Taylor could see as they turned into the same road, was a puff of blue tire smoke and once again, a rapidly disappearing BMW.

“Shit!” Samantha thought to herself, that things got some grunt, I’ll be pushing it to hang on to him in this bus, turbo powered or not.

Taylor had a map book out of the roads in the area, and was trying to figure where they were exactly, and where this chase might lead them. At the same time he was talking to the SIS agents in the Toyota, some distance behind them. They had radioed in to ask what was going on up ahead, and as they knew the area very well maybe they could give a suggestion or two, about trying to head off the target.

“He most likely won’t go into the Forest,” SIS agent Forbes suggested, as he studied his road map, “the Forest has roads, but they are usually closed to the public, with locked gates at the entrances, unless there was a bit of logging going on at the time. So really he can only go two ways, he might follow the forest fringes and continue to head north, or he might try and double back through Riverhead Road and come back out on highway 16 again. Then head back toward the city. That’s my best guess as to what he’s likely to do,” suggested Forbes, “and as we are behind you, it would be easiest for us to cut back and cover the Riverhead Road section. If he does double back, we can try and intercept him for you, or at very least, let you know if we see him, if you should loose sight of him up there toward the Forest.” Agent Forbes suggested.

“I concur,” Replied Taylor, “cover the Riverhead Road section as best you can, and let us know if he has doubled back, we’ll continue with the pursuit and keep you informed when we can.” He concluded.

Samantha was pushing as hard as she could, but on the tarmac the beamer had far to many guns for her Mitsubishi 4×4, Alex was pulling away.

He almost flew through the cross roads, where Old North Road intersected with Railway Road, all four wheels of the beamer becoming airborne as Alex took the a bump in the road at that intersection at well over 160kph. He never even thought about stopping, or even slowing down to see if anything was coming the other way at the crossroads.

 He figured at the speed he was going, it would be just dam bad luck, to intersect with another car on such a quiet piece of country road.

 He was actually using his intuition, his other senses, the ones that had stood him in such good stead in his motor racing past, and at other times in his life also, and even more importantly, times yet to come, the senses he didn’t even know he had yet.

Samantha was more circumspect, she slowed at the intersection, just to be sure, by now Alex was out of sight.

Once Alex couldn’t see the Black 4×4 in his rear view mirror, he was looking for a road, any road, to turn down, once he had done that, he figured there was no chance they could figure where he was. He could then either go back home, or better still head for a quiet place, or a friends house, to and try and short all this out in his head.

Things were getting out of hand, it must be the devices they are after, this was the only thing that made sense to him. Suddenly he realized if that was the case, things were never going to be the same again. This was never going to stop. At least not until ‘they’ had them, or worse.

Going ‘home’ was not going to solve a thing. Suddenly Alex felt sick to his stomach, what do I do now?

The next intersection was another set of crossroads, Old North crossed Riverhead Road, Alex only half slowed, and took the right-hander into Riverhead at about 100kph, fully sideways.

He was in fact heading toward home, even if he was not completely conscious of his decisions, home just seemed to safest option, if there was such a thing in this situation.

Samantha arrived at the same intersection quite some distance behind. She was faced with three choices, and looked at Taylor.

“Now what?” She asked.

“Well,” replied Taylor, as quickly as possible. “that road to the right goes back toward Riverhead, and eventually highway 16. We have that covered, I reckon he most likely went straight ahead, if he has not gone right, if he was traveling fast, and we know he was, the road almost straight ahead would be the easiest to take at high speed.”

Samantha was gunning it straight across the intersection, even before Taylor had finished talking.

Alex was now in effect heading back toward highway 16, via the small logging town of Riverhead, Eventually the road he was on came to an intersection with the Coatsville Riverhead highway, and Alex once again turned right, on to highway 28, this would in turn bring him out on to highway 16 and the road home.

What he didn’t know is that the SIS agents were about to use their Toyota Landcruiser as a road block on highway 28, and once more they were armed, and ready to at very least aim their weapons at Alex, if this would help their cause and enable them to stop him, but this was still New Zealand. Even the police didn’t go shooting weapons off without due cause, and SIS agents working for an overseas agency were not top billing to be able to go around shooting at people. In this fact, Alex was indeed lucky.

The beamer had a good head of steam up as it barreled down highway 28, the road was fairly straight for large sections, and Alex was hitting speeds well over 180kph. Suddenly he saw the Toyota across the road ahead of him. The SIS agents had a very good set of binoculars, and they could pick out the dark blue beamer well before it had gotten close, and they pulled their big 4×4 across the road and had hand guns raised, by the time Alex realized what was going on up ahead.

He braked hard then applied the handbrake, at the same time as he turned the steering wheel, this had the effect of spinning the Beamer through 180degrees in a matter of seconds. Before the SIS agents could do anything, Alex was headed back in the opposite direction, but they were soon in hot pursuit and on the radio to Taylor.

“He’s doubling back in your direction I should think,” Forbes was telling Taylor, “we stopped him from getting back on the main highway, but he’s very slick and I think too fast for us, we’ll keep him insight for as long as possible and keep you informed of his general direction.” He reported.

Alex didn’t want to stay on highway 28, after the small town of Riverhead which was just up ahead, there were very few options to take as far as side roads were concerned. He didn’t know how many road blocks might lay ahead, he could only think heading toward Riverhead Forest might be his best bet, they wouldn’t expect him to enter the Forest, so that was exactly what he intended to do.

Taylor and Stubbing had realized this was a fairly hopeless chase, even before SIS special agent Forbes had radioed in his report. They were way undermanned, to try and stop the target. His car was too quick, there was no way to figure out which road or direction Alex might take next.

They were sitting at the intersection of Deacon and Old North Road, not far from one of the main access roads into Riverhead Forest, deciding if they should call the whole thing off, when a dark blue beamer flashed pasted them going in the opposite direction, and doing well over a ton. (100mph, 160kph)

“There he goes,” Cried Stubbing, as she watched the streak of dark blue, flash past them. “Right lets give it one last chance shall we?” She suggested.

Taylor was all for that. Stubbing turned the big heavy vehicle around as fast as she could, and headed off after Alex.

“I think he went into the Forest,” Taylor reported, “look see, those are his tail lights, down that road there.” Taylor was pointing down one of the main Forestry roads, namely Browns Road.

“Shit,” Alex cried to himself, “these bastards are everywhere!” As he flicked the car into the Riverhead Forest, through the only road that had been left unlocked.

As he raced through the forest he came up to a Y intersection, to the left was Barlow Road, a road Alex knew well from Rallying days. He quickly slide the beamer through the corner on to Barlow, sideways.

Taylor was on the Radio again, asking the SIS guys to report their position.

“We’re on Deacon heading north.” Came the reply.

“OK, listen up, we’re in the Forest on Browns Road, follow us in that way, I’ll kept you posted as to which way we turn once you get to Barlow, because it looks like we are about to turn down that road now. Taylor commanded.

“Rodger can do.” Was Forbes reply.

The speed advantage of the beamer was considerably reduced on the slippery and damp forest roads, the 4×4 Pajero was designed for these conditions, the BMW was not.

Alex used all the roads he knew best, all he was trying to do was put distance on his pursuers. He cut from one side of the forest to the other, careful not to go down any of the roads he suspected might be locked.  He used the handbrake on almost every tight turn, to flick the tail of the beamer around, as the front tyres could not cope with the slippery conditions, wanting to push straight ahead and not turn in on the damp and loose surface of the forest roads. He used every trick he could think off to put the pursuing 4×4’s far behind him, but they were slowly cornering him, shepherding him over to one side of the forest. The two pursuing  4×4’s were well coordinated, and relentlessly cutting off his choices. 

In the end Alex had to take a gamble, and opt for an exit road, hoping it was not gated and locked.

It was.

At first he thought about just ramming the gate at full speed. But the gate was heavy gauge steel piping, and desperate as Alex was, he could not do that to his new car, and it might well not break through the gate anyway.

Only choice was to head back up the road and take his chances. The advantage the pursuing vehicles had was a driver and a map reader. Where as Alex was going off memory alone, and under supreme pressure at the same time, navigating his way through the sometimes unmarked roads at high speed. The others had time to plan which road was best to follow up on in the chase. When Alex had turned down Boundary Road and gone right, they knew there was only two ways out, and they had them both covered.

 As Alex came back up the road at speed, Taylor and Stubbing where on their way down it. As they saw Alex coming, Stubbing swung the big 4×4 across the road and applied the hand brake, and managed to block the narrow forest track completely. Alex slid off to the side of the road under heavy braking, broad sided a tree, and came to a halt with a thump. The chase was over.

Taylor was quick to advise the two SIS agents as to their location, and to get there asap.

Before Alex could even unbuckle his seat belt, let alone open the door and run for it. Taylor was standing in his way, a P220Sauer .45 pistol in his hand. Alex had never had a gun pointed at him before, and in depths of Riverhead Forest, he had no idea if it was going to be used or not. For sure there was nobody anywhere near them that had Alex’s interests at heart at this point in time. The possibility that he might be shot dead, right there and then, was not the farthest thing from his mind. As cool as Alex normally was under pressure, he was shaking now.

“Open the boot.” Taylor ordered.

As Alex did so, they were both greeted by a dozen mixed vegetables falling to the ground.

“Open that box.” Taylor ordered once again. Pointing to the box Alex had so carefully placed into the boot of his car only an hour or two before.

Alex did not hesitate, and obeyed the command.

“What the hell is this!” Taylor exclaimed as he grabbed the box from Alex’s hand. It contained a hand caved, bone, chess set. A very special gift Alex been holding on to for some time, meaning to deliver to his long time friend, Benny, who lived in Kumeu.

“Fuck!” Taylor exclaimed throwing the chess set into the forest as far and as hard as he could.

By this time the SIS agents had arrived, and were standing behind Taylor, along side Stubbing.

“Can one of you guys search the boot, the other the interior of the car.” Taylor said curtly, “your looking for something unusual, maybe not to big, about the size of a shoe box or smaller.

“You, you’re coming with me.” Taylor said to Alex, grabbing him by the shirt.

Taylor marched Alex up to the Pajero slammed Alex’s hand down onto the bonnet and held it there.

“What do you think your doing Taylor?” Stubbing asked, following him back up too the 4×4.

“I’m going to get some bloody answers, that’s what I’m doing.” replied Taylor.

“Now where the hell is it? And don’t say you don’t know, or I’ll blow your bloody head off.” Taylor asked menacingly.

“Where the hell is what?” Alex replied.

Taylor held the gun hard too Alex’s head.

“Care to try again with that answer.” Taylor said leaning in to Alex’s ear.

“Look you guys are nuts, I only have vegetables and a chess set in my car, ask the others down there searching it. I have no idea what you think I have. Tell me and I’ll see if I can remember if I own it.” Alex was acting brave, it appeared, but he sure didn’t feel it, it was a surprise to him that those words had come out of his mouth, sounding as if he was as cool as ice.

The next thing he knew, Taylor had extended Alex’s right hand flat out on the bonnet of the Pajero once again. Next he turned the pistol around in his hand with it’s hand grip outer most, and smacked it down onto the middle fingers of Alex’s outstretched hand. Using the gun as a hammer. Blood splattered Stubbing’s white blouse and face.

“Hey, that’s enough of that James!” She exclaimed, “If you want to question him, lets do it properly back at Whenuapai Base. We’re better equipped to get the answers we want if you know what I mean.” She finished.

Yer, I guess your right, lets do it by the book. Taylor replied, “Have you guys found anything in the car yet?” He asked the SIS agents.

“Nothing in here that we can find, and we’ve pulled out the seats and lifted the carpets, the under dash looks clear also.” Came the reply from both agents.

They bundled Alex into the Pajero, he was puzzled as to the fact he could not feel any pain, he expected it to arrive any moment, but it seemed as if whatever damage had been done to his hand, there was no pain attached to it. He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.

 Taylor tied a piece of thin rope around Alex’s neck and tied it to an interior car door handle.

“Just in case you think you might want to jump out and make a run for it.” Taylor said with a smirk on his face.

There was blood dripping from the damaged fingers on Alex’s right hand, he was supporting it his left, which was now also covered in blood.

“Mind you don’t drip blood on the upholstery.” Taylor remarked.

“What about my car?” Alex said, and wondered why he even cared at that point in time.

“Oh yes.” replied Taylor, “best we take care of that.” In saying so, Taylor handed Stubbing his gun.

Keep an eye on him will you, while I take care of his car.” Taylor suggested.

With that, he walked to the back of the Pajero, opened the back door and reached into the 4×4’s rear tool compartment, removing the road side emergency kit. He took out a road flare, used to mark the spot of an accident or a break down at night time.

He walked on down to Alex’s car, ignited the flare and tossed it into the open window. It wasn’t long before the interior of Alex’s was ablaze.

As they drove off up the forest track, Taylor suggested to Alex not to worry too much about the car, no one would steal it while he was gone.

The NZ SIS had made a building available to the RIFA on the outskirts on the RNZAF base. (Royal New Zealand Air Force) It was in itself, spartan, nothing  more than two rooms, which each contained two beds, plus a toilet and shower divided off at one end of the building.

There were four RIFA agents stationed there, this included Stubbing and Taylor. Two more had remained in the Rotorua area, in case there was more movement from fast walkers. They were also still checking out leads and witnesses. The RIFA was not sure if Alex was the sole contact in this case or not.

The agency had brought along most of the equipment it might need in their search or enquiries.

One of the RIFA agents, Williamson, was as best could be described, a doctor.

His specialty was getting the truth out of people who at first choice may have preferred to remain silent. Over the years Williamson had been used many times by the RIFA. One could say he had reached a fairy high level of proficiency in his job.

 Alex was introduced to Williamson almost as soon as he was taken from the 4×4 back at their BOO.

“Hello Mr. Newman, how are we this afternoon?” Williamson enquired, not really the slightest bit interested in what Alex’s reply might have been.

He then steered Alex toward a chair near the middle of the room.

“let’s see if we can make you feel a little more comfortable shall we.” He said seating Alex.

Williamson had tried all the old style, so called truth serums. Mostly they didn’t work. They didn’t work any more efficiently that just plain getting someone shit-faced drunk and letting them talk their heads off in the hope they might say something useful to the interrogator. No sir, Williamson was way in advance of all that crap. Many of the people the RIFA wanted information from, had been schooled in the art of keeping their mouths shut, and knew how to counter most of the interrogation techniques, so the RIFA needed something with just a little more zing to it. With an almost unlimited budget, as you might expect, they had such a serum.

Williamson took Taylor and Stubbing aside and suggested to them what he had in mind for Alex. First off to get any useful information out of his head, and secondly to make sure he did not recall anything that had happened to him from this point on, and nothing from at least the preceding 24hours, and with any luck longer than that.

The two field agents agreed, total memory loss by the subject for that period of time, would be a great bonus to all concerned, a bonus for all except Alex that was.

However very soon Williamson would be in for a surprise.

As he had explained to Taylor and Stubbing, he was not going to use sodium thiopental, ethyl alcohol, nor any of the old time serums. He had the new wonder drug, nick-named Pepsi.

The nickname had come from the way the drug made all the relevant truth, as requested by the interrogator, rise to the top of the subject’s thoughts, and flow forth unrelentingly. It was almost impossible for the subject to hold back on the topics suggested by the one asking the questions. Alex was about to receive a full dose of the said serum.

“After we’ve finished with the questions,” Williamson said, “I’ll give him a shot of my special scopolamine mix, I invented it myself,” he explained proudly, “it not only wipes the memory clean from the moment he receives it, it will cloud the memory of almost all activity over the last seven days, he won’t know anything about this little episode, he won’t remember seeing either of you, nor me, nor this establishment. It comes in very handy with the work we do.”  He smiled to himself as he spoke and proceeded to inject Alex with the first mixture of Pepsi.

After a short wait, Williamson’s first move, was to ask Alex is name.

“My name is Alex Newman.” Alex duly replied.

“Wonderful,” Williamson said, “now I need to know were you have hidden the alien device that you have?” He asked.

My name is Alex Newman.” Repeated Alex.

“Yes, thank you for that piece of information,” replied Williamson, “now I need to know something else. You have a very strange device in your possession, you may have hidden it, can you please tell be were you placed it?” Requested Williamson.

“My name is Alex Newman.” Alex once again replied.

“Yes, yes, thank you for that,” Williamson was becoming a little flustered, “sometimes the drug takes a little while to take hold.” he suggested to Taylor and Stubbing, who were looking on at proceedings.

Williamson once again asked Alex the same question, but with a slightly different slant to it.

“Alex, could you please tell us if you have been given a strange device, something that perhaps you’re not sure what it is, or what to do with it. Could you please tell us if you have such a thing in your possession?”

“My name is Alex Newman.” was the reply once again.

“Bugger and dam it!” Williamson exclaimed, “I think he has been gotten at, I mean, I think he has been programmed to resist.”

“What do you mean programmed to resist?” Stubbing asked.

“I think someone has been inside his mind, someone very cleaver, someone who knows how to plant blocks in the neuron-circuits of the brain, and possibly able to counter the chemicals we have injected. Look I’ll continue on with the questioning for a while longer, perhaps he’s just very resistant naturally to this concoction. It’s never happened before, but there is always a first time, always the exception.” Williamson concluded.

“Keep trying,” Taylor suggested, “we know he has something, and we need to get it, end of story. If your drugs won’t work then I’ll beat it out of him.” Taylor threatened.

“No, no, no!” Williamson exclaimed, “if he has been skillfully programmed to resist the drugs, force will have little or no effect either. In fact, if I’m right he won’t be able to feel any pain. You could chop his arms off, he might die, but he wouldn’t feel any pain. Besides I can see you have already tried that.” He suggested, pointing to the blood on the floor that was still slowly dripping from Alex’s smashed fingers. “Could someone please attend to that, and maybe bandage the hand so we don’t have blood dripping everywhere as I try and do my job here.” He requested.

Stubbing had to bandage the hand, as it was obvious Taylor had no interest in doing so.

“The hand was just to show him who was in charge around here, I hardly even got started on the questions.”  Taylor replied.

“The more you push the deeper and more complete the resistance. I’ve played with things like this but could never get them to work as well as it seems the programmers have done with the subject here. This is all very interesting,” Williamson explained, “but never mind, let me try this another way, could you both perhaps wait in the other room, I don’t work so well with an audience. I have a tape and camcorder rolling you won’t miss anything.” Williamson requested.

The two agents left Williamson to his work and went off to make themselves a cup of tea and talk over the state of the situation so far, and their options.

As the afternoon turned to dusk and then to darkness, it was apparent that Williamson was not going to be able to get any information from Newman, no matter what he tried.

“Patch him up and send him home, we’ll just continue to watch from a distance and see where he leads us,” Stubbing commented, “let’s just hope your scopolamine works better on him than the Pepsi.” She concluded, looking at Williamson.

She and Taylor had been running over all possible scenarios for several hours. Without any information to go on from this latest incident, they were back to square one, back to where they had started.

 Alex was the key. If he had the device, only he could lead them to it. They had to wait and be very sure he had it in his possession, before they tried anything like this again.

Auckland (2) March 1989

Bright sunlight woke him, it was after midday and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn the previous evening. Attempting to turn his head from the glare he was in two minds as to whether he was actually awake or dreaming.

 His body felt incredibly heavy and through bleary eyes was sure he was lying on a bed of dark brown and white mottled camouflage.

He tried to sit up but could not summon the necessary energy to do so and once again drifted off into shallow sleep and a dream, a dream that soon became a frightful nightmare.

He was running, but no matter which way he turned something always managed to reach out and cut him, soon he had no hands or face, he did not know who he was or why he was running, nor what he was running from.

His bladder saved him from any further terror within the nightmare, but the awakening reality was hardly an improvement.

As he swung his feet from the bed to head for the bathroom, he realized the dark brown and white camouflage sheets had not been part of an earlier dream. It was dried blood, his blood by the looks of a heavily bandaged right hand. The bandage might once have been white gauze but now it was almost entirely dark red, the color of dried blood, his blood he could only assume, but how?

He tentatively unwrapped the bandage from his hand and was horrified to see three badly damaged fingers.

Holy shit Alex! How the hell did you manage to do that?

His mind drew a blank.

I’ve had an accident of some kind that is obvious.

It appeared his mental faculties were moving at about the same speed as his body.

Again he tried to think back to the previous evening, but nothing! 

Best I get myself down to the local A&E, but what will I tell them?

He almost fell as he tried to stand up.

My god, I’m still drunk!

It must have been one hell of a night out not be able to remember leaving the house let alone arriving home again.

So did I get involved in a fight at the local bar?

Don’t tell me I was driving home drunk and crashed the car!

He had only just bought the new Beamer a few days ago and had fallen in love with the way it handled and the way it looked, crashing it was an unacceptable possibility, he quickly dismissed the idea. A dozen alternate visions flashed through his head, not one of them appealed to him.

He went to where he usually left the car keys but they were not there.

Most likely left them in the car if I was so totally pissed when I got home.

Throwing on a dressing gown he stumbled his way to the front door.

This was a single bedroom ground floor flat. A modern building in a block of three, brick faced, and tile roofed, simple but well designed.

Alex had his own private grassed area out back where he could have a cool beer in the evening or sit under the shade of an old tree the developers had thoughtfully left on the property and read a book or paper during the day.

Sparsely decorated inside Alex had little furniture, he had just moved in and wasn’t sure how long he would be staying.

Moving seemed to be what he did best of late so the less he owned the less he needed to move. As good as each new apartment or flat might seem when he first moved in, there was always something within him that was pushing him to move on again, as if looking or searching for some unknown destination or object.

 Just of late there was also a feeling someone had been inside the place when he was out. Items had been moved or in some cases removed, nothing important or of value, which made the very idea someone might have broken in even more confusing.

Another question now presented itself, where was the car?

Not in the driveway, carport, nor out on the street that he could see.

He even looked in the backyard, who knows what he could have gotten up to last night?

Fuck! He said to himself, I’ve come home drunk, left the bloody keys in the car and now it’s been stolen. What was I thinking?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

For the life of him he could not remember any reason to have gone out on the town the previous evening and he had not been drunk to the point of passing out since he was in his early twenties, and then only once or twice. But that was almost 20 years ago, and this was just not his kind of scene.

He called up a taxi for his trip to the nearest accident and emergency clinic, while he waited for it he called the local police station. The Constable on duty suggested he come on down to the station asap and fill out a report. There had been a car of a similar type reported by the Riverhead Forestry Service manager.

 The Forestry Fire service had been called out by a local resident who had seen flames and smoke coming from the area of Boundary Road in the Riverhead Forest yesterday. They had put out the fire, which luckily had not caused much damage to the trees in the immediate area, but the car was in such a mess they hadn’t been able to identify it accurately yet, it appears someone had removed the registration plates. 

The Constable said the car would most likely be transported to one of their storage yards out in West Auckland sometime that day, if he would like to take a look and try and identify it, but first please come and see us, there are a few questions still unanswered concerning the incident.

Alex looked at his hand, thought about the beautiful Dark blue BMW M5 that had been his for only a week or two, pictured it as a burned-out wreck and sat back down on the bed.

                                              New chapter?

A week and more had passed since the car had been stolen, he was still not sure if the insurance company was going to pay out on his claim. There was the thing about what looked like melted keys, still in the boot lock of his car. Insurance companies don’t like owners who report stolen cars that still have the keys in them when they are found.

He had borrowed an old car from Benny up at Kumeu. Alex was really upset and couldn’t bear to tell Benny about a hand carved bone chess set, a one of a kind he had bought Benny for his birthday. He could only guess it must have been in the car as he couldn’t find it anywhere in the apartment. Alex had specially commissioned the making of the chess set when he was last in Rotorua. A local sculptor in the area had recently won an award for his artwork and Alex thought it fitting that he commissions this chess set for his very best friend Benny.

 Benny loved to play chess but also collected chess sets

Alex didn’t trust his memory so much these days.

Ben Harwood had been a long time friend of Alex’s family. He used to own a farm in the Papakura district, the area Alex had grown up in.

Benny was semi-retired these days, but he was still a man of the land.

This time he had decided to try his skills with the grape.

He had always been a bit of a wine connoisseur, now he fancied to make some. He had purchased a small vineyard and winery not far from the small township of Kumeu. The area was not only good for growing vegetables, but the climate was also ideal for the growing of grapes.

Alex found Ben’s vineyard the perfect place to hang out when he was feeling jaded, or just needed to get out of the confines of the city. He would just arrive, suggest he was there are a day or two, and throw his clothes in the small room attached to Ben’s garage, there was a bed in there with his name on it.

To Ben his wife Susan, Alex was the son they never had, he had drifted into their lives when he was 13 or 14 years old, asking if there were any odd jobs that needed doing around their farm for a few dollars, or shillings and pounds as it was in those days.

He had always done any job given to him toughly and well, even though they never expected too much for the youngster. After a year or two a friendship had developed and occasionally Alec would stay over at the farm on the weekends or go with Ben and his wife to the local A & P shows.

Alec was not interested in becoming a farmer, but the money helped him build his own go-cart that he raced from time to time locally in South Auckland. Ben admired his ‘go get them’ attitude to life and his independents. They had watched him grow from a boy into a man and the connection had remained though this time.

Even how he would usually help out with work around the vineyard if he felt up to it or head off to the wonderful black sand surf beach of Muriwai, only a short drive from Benny’s estate. 

This is were Alex headed once again, to rest up and allow his wounds to heal, although a doctor had told him the two badly damaged middle fingers on his right hand would never look quite the same again and the finger nails would always grow out slightly deformed.

Alex did not even know who to thank for his injuries, but he swore if he ever found out who it was, given half a chance he would return the favor with interest.

The extended warm summer evenings were perfect for Ben and Alex to have a relaxing chat over a cool beer, sitting in comfortable deck chairs out the back of Ben’s big, sprawling, ranch style house.

After one such relaxing evening, on retiring to his sleeping quarters, Alex fell into a deep sleep, and the same dream that had been haunting him for the past few weeks rolled on in his head.

 The dream would usually start in a slightly different way each night but would quickly drift to a similar theme, like it did this night.

It appeared to be a beautiful still summer’s evening, there was no moon this night and the sky was dark and crystal clear, filled with a mallard point of light. Alex arose from the bed and sat on the step outside his sleep out.

The stars had always held a special fascination for him, Alex was in awe of the night sky, it drew him into itself, swallowing his soul both physically and mentally, so in the form of a dream, or metaphysically, one could travel to wherever one desired.

At first, he found himself pushing through a dense mist, the thickest fog he had ever encountered, there did not seem to be an end to it. Finally, it thinned, and Alex stepped out from the mists of time onto a hillside.

The landscape was not a familiar one, although he had the feeling that it should have been. Looking down to the valley at his feet, it was dry and desert like. Light brown grass of a sort appeared to be growing there, but it was sparse and interspersed with many an outcrop of flat grey rock. Here and there were small, stunted bushes. Further down the valley some distance away there was a village of sorts, with what appeared to be series of mud huts, large beehive type buildings similar in color to the rocks in the foreground. From this distance there were no signs of life.

Suddenly he felt hot, very hot, looking up, a brilliantly colored red-yellow sun was beating down, but it was the sky that took him aback the most, it was as black as night. Shimmering on the horizon in all directions was a kaleidoscope of colored waves of light. Alex had never seen the aurora borealis, the northern lights, but he could only imagine this is want they might look like. It was clear then, wherever this metaphysical journey had taken our traveler, it was not planet Earth.

The path down to the valley floor from the hilltop was an easy walk. And soon Alex was approaching the village. Within the valley nothing stirred, neither wind nor wildlife. As the first buildings were reached suddenly, just up ahead, a small group of people appeared, as if waiting to greet the foot traveler. And so they were, our traveler was greeted with a wave of loving emotion but no contact as such was made.

Alex found himself among what can only be described as family, but not a family familiar to anything he could remember. Graciously he was ushered into the largest of the unusual buildings within the village. On closer inspection one could see the building was not so much a beehive, as a spirally shaped shell similar to that of a sea conch or garden snail. Within, it was a sea of color, the walls reflecting a mother of pearl rainbow of the most beautifully subtle hues one could imagine. Alex immediately felt at peace within himself, as if not only having been welcomed by unremembered family or friends, but by the building itself.

As our traveler sat within the restful beauty of this most unusual abode, there came a realization one could see the greater majority of the valley from this upper story room. There was no restriction to the views, yet there appeared to be no windows to this building from the outside, it was one continuous outer shell of the same mud colored substance, our traveler was sure of this fact.

As if from out of the either, his head was filled with the knowledge and detail of the building’s construction. Suddenly there was nothing he didn’t know about it. As if one’s memory had been refreshed of old well-known facts, and so it turned out this was indeed happening to our metaphysical traveler. The longer he sat there, surrounded by his long-forgotten friends and family the more his mind was filled with the living detail of all that had gone before, in another life.

As our traveler awakened to this forgotten self, this experience of a not-so-distant past existence, so his friends and family sitting quietly beside him became more familiar. They look into his eyes with a benevolent understanding, patience personified. He was coming back to them, soon they could talk about important subjects, but for now they allowed our traveler to be comfortable with the pace at which he recalled that which he once was.

All at once the traveler was almost overwhelmed with a cascade of memories, as the momentum of his past recall accelerated exponentially, he held his head in his hands as it all rushed through his mind, he cried for ones lost, ones forgotten now remembered, important work left unfinished. The crash of his craft on Earth, his death, his rebirth into his new body, the body he now carried about with him on that planet known as Earth. Alex looked up from the almost overwhelming recall of that past, his friends and family sitting with him in compassionate understanding, and most of all hope.

“In all probability a young man would say to himself, in the words of Pindar, ‘Shall I by justice or by crooked wiles climb to a loftier stronghold, and having thus fenced myself about, live my life?’

For the common opinion declares that to be just, without being also ‘thought’ just, is no advantage to me…. where if I am ‘unjust’ and get myself a name for justice, an unspeakably happy life is promised me.

Very well then, since the outward semblance overpowers the inward reality…. I must therefore draw around me a picture of virtue to serve as frontage, while behind me I must trail the fox with its cunning and shiftiness.

Yes but, it will be objected, it is not an easy matter to conceal one’s wickedness. No, we shall reply, nor is anything else easy that is great.

To assist in keeping up the deception, we will form secret societies and clubs. There are, moreover, teachers of persuasion, who impart skills in popular and forensic oratory; and so, by fair means or by foul we shall gain our ends and carry on our dishonest proceedings with impunity.” – Plato, The Republic. Book II p.48

Cover Photo Courtesy: Pinterest

One Last Dance for the True Chance by Happy Parrot


I watched the water rise
But turned my head and closed my eyes
Hoped the threat would go away
So it all would stay the same
Wished the tidal waves would die
So that I could defend whys
That rescued me from drowning in our lies

Come save me from these waters
These waves too tall for me
They’ll bury me in silence
The currents forcing me to sea

I did not leave you behind
The unconcern was just too much for me
I tried to swim these waters blind
And then there was only me and the sea
Me and the sea

One Last Dance for the True Chance

If the truth doesn’t make sense

why do you still want to dance

bourgeoise fire and heroic flames

crystallized anger baptized

with no forged names

What this silver screen paints

when decadence

has revealed her ugly names

Can you stay the same

now when

truth doesn’t make sense

when all is transported

into Mesopotamic wildest trance

why do you still want to dance

Are you looking for one way out

Are you still living

in uncertainty, in pointless doubt

One true chance

to close the bright door

behind this darkened, red romance?

triggered by the five senses, raised by unwashed emotion

your world is now burning in slow motion

Heaven will open

even when

truth doesn’t make sense

why do you still want to dance

bourgeoise fire and heroic flames

substitute, silly anger with no forged names

What this silver screen paints

when decadence

has revealed her ugly names

Can you live without monstrous hate?

is it in your black hearts, room


one last illuminated debate?

It will be a crying shame

if we had to kill

this pixelated game

where walking ghost

has no true name

where he always dies

with no true fame

Chasing red moonlight under dark sunrise

becoming the true whisper of the freest advice

even when

truth doesn’t make sense

why do you still want to dance

bourgeoise fire and heroic flames

compulsive anger with no forged names

What this silver screen paints

will there be time for the last refrains?

Was disfigured Shadow always a deviant shame

Is Sirius’s hot moonlight

enveloped in a thousand floating blames

what to do, with you

when decadence

has revealed






Hitler on the Jews Edited Translated and Introduced by Thomas Dalton PhD, contributed by Happy Parrot


“That Adolf Hitler spoke out against the Jews is banal in the extreme. But that this is the first book ever to compile his remarks on the Jews is nothing short of astonishing. Of the thousands of books and articles written on Hitler, World War Two, and the Holocaust, virtually none of them quote Hitler’s exact words on the Jews—virtually none.

The reason for this is clear: Those in positions of influence in media, government, and universities have an incentive to present a simplistic and highly sanitized picture of Hitler as an insane Jew-hater, a blood-thirsty tyrant, and the embodiment of evil. This caricature of the truth is extremely useful—if for no other reason than to batter all “racists,” “neo-Nazis,” “anti-Semites,” “bigots,” and generally anyone unfriendly to Jewish, Zionist, or Israeli interests.

This caricaturization, in turn, only works if the public is presented with a carefully controlled and manipulated view of Hitler’s take on the Jews. His real words and his actual ideas are far more complex and sophisticated than most authorities would like you to think. Hitler was an intelligent and well-read man. He had a broad and largely accurate knowledge of history, culture, religion, human biology, and social evolution. His knowledge, depth, and insight put to shame most any present-day world leader.

But this fact does not suit those in power today. They need the public to think of him as a semi-literate, foaming-at-the-mouth demagogue. And to accomplish this goal, they need to ensure that no one reads his actual words. Until now, they have succeeded.

Now, for the first time, this objective has been defeated. Here, one can read nearly every idea that Hitler put forth about the Jews, in considerable detail and in full context.

This book is not merely of historical interest. It’s not just for experts and specialists in World War Two. Hitler’s analysis of the Jews, though hostile, is erudite, detailed, and largely aligns with events of past decades. There are many lessons here for the modern-day world.”


Find the hardcopy of this book at

Jesus Christ, a Drug Addled Homosexual Pedophilic Pimp but Love Him Anyway for What he Really Was…


“Then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this:” (1) You must dress like a woman because “you cut your dick off because your honoring the great mother. Because everybody loves mom except for Nazis right?” (2) Right up to the last hour when he starts drawing conclusions that Dr. Ammon Hillmans scattered but brilliant thought processes are unable to make the interviewer Danny Jones demonstrates the fortitude and focus of a Jesuit exorcist in extracting information from Kur itself through the obviously demonically possessed interviewee.

“Dr. Ammon Hillman earned his MS in Bacteriology and Ph.D. in Classics from the University of Wisconsin Madison, where he specialized in Ancient Greek and Roman medicine and pharmacy. His first book, The Chemical Muse, was published with St. Martin’s Press immediately after his dissertation committee forced him to delete all references to recreational drugs from his thesis. Dr. Hillman was recently investigated by the Vatican for demon possession and portal opening while teaching as a professor of Classical Languages.” (3)

Hillman calls himself a classicist, meaning he exclusively studies “ancient” Greek and Roman manuscripts. The same manuscripts that at the dawn of the eighteenth century Jesuit librarian Jean Hardouin, the man entrusted to translate the New testament for the church, a translation that is church cannon till this very day, accused Benedictine monks of fabricating. (4)  

From the vicious thunderstorm that can be heard outside and strange noises in the studio at the beginning of the interview to Hillmans jerky body movements and inappropriate laughter one can see they are listening to a Gallûs, perhaps Pazuzu himself. (5) Hillman gleefully recounts an ancient world of orgys, incest, castration, necrophilia, sodomy, homosexuality, pedophilia, human sacrifice and nonstop drug abuse, many of those drugs ingested anally in sadomasochistic rituals that end with the priestess killing the man; after drugging him so he can maintain an erection while being murdered. It was all legal giggles Hillman.

Painting by Leonid Ilyukhin courtesy of Ozymandias
Painting by Leonid Ilyukhin courtesy of Ozymandias

Unfortunately for Hillman and the denizens of Kur it was also all made up by proven frauds like the Scaliger’s, supported from the rear, literally, by sex starved monks masturbating and sodomizing each other as they fantasized about the frenzied Bacchic rites that took place in times long forgotten. From the fifteenth to eighteenth century, they forged the so said ancient manuscripts Hillman holds so dear in the basements of Benedictine monasteries. In 1708 they even published a manual; Palæographia græca, sive de ortu et progressu litterarum græcarum, standardizing the techniques on just how these “ancient” Greek manuscripts should be composed. Any civilization that functions like Hillman claims Greece and Rome did would be wiped out by a venereal disease after a couple of generations. Just as the Aztecs were on the cusp of being wiped out by Syphilis before Cortez, with the assistance of the same Goddess Hillman takes such great pleasure in blaspheming, put them out of their misery.  

Nevertheless, as the monks that wrote this stuff, many of them necromancers themselves, well knew one can learn much from demons. It was Asmodeus that built Solomons temple for him. Hillman explains exactly how adrenochrome and the lust for human blood works. The roots of the Jesus Christ myth in pedophilic homosexuality. Hillman explains through his proper translation of the original Greek how right before his arrest and crucifixion Jesus was partying with the “purple” a drug Hillman is obsessed with and having an orgy with children, presumably in the Garden of Gethsemane which Hillman is also obsessed with. “Jesus was naked, with his pithier with his boys, and he’s always calling them boys, he calls them my little ones…” Jesus is a pimp for young boys. (6)   

Hillman was eventually academically demoted from being the youngest lecturer at the University of Wisconsin to a post at a regional college due to pressure from the Vatican. Turns out he had been levitating into his student’s rooms late at night and seducing them like an incubus. That is when he wasn’t opening up portals into Kur, presumably so he could give his students guided tours. Frankly after listening to him for three hours plus I believe it. The Vatican is many things, but they are not fools…

The devils in Hillman are the same devils that possess the West, he is the ecclesiastic incarnation of the LGBT Flag, a portal into Kur and the sexual perversions that drew in even the great Goddess Inana. When one hears how he claims the ancient Greeks defined democracy one can very well imagine that Woke has found its high priest. He will tell you great truths, like Lucifer was the good guy and the god of the Old Testament lied about him, but he will also tell you Lucifer was a girl and shout “Hail Satan” to begin his videos. Just like a venomous snake he is fascinating to look at but don’t get too close.  


1 – The Charlie Daniels Band, The Devil Went Down To Georgia.

2 – “Ancient Language Expert: Jesus Christ Used Children as Drugs | Ammon Hillman (2:03:30).” Danny Jones. YouTube , 20 May 2024. Web. <>.

3 Ibid – Written introduction.

4 – Heart, Jack and Orage . “The Year of the Dragon, “Let Us Pray…”.” The Human19 Jan 2019. Web. <>.

5 – Heart, Jack and Orage . “Human Sacrifice among the Catholic Clergy I (the Khazar-Nazi Antichrist III).” The Human9 Apr 2020. Web. <>.

6 – “Ancient Language Expert: Jesus Christ Used Children as Drugs | Ammon Hillman (2:38:16).” 

Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

Old Story, Old Car, New Road, and a New Man by Happy Parrot


Fear is the Weakness · In Flames Sounds Of A Playground Fading ℗ Nuclear Blast Released on: 2011-06-15

Fear is the weakness in all of us
It’s sad to see you go
It’s not meant to be easy but you drag us down
Burden of the evidence grows

The same road for far too long
It’s not meant to be
We’re losing identity
Faith has been denied, let’s not pretend
This is the first time we just don’t belong

What world do you perceive?
All turn cold and no one cares for anyone
Waiting for the final blow
Do you have strength at all?
One more day, then we fade away

Fear is the weakness in all of us
It’s sad to see you go
It’s not meant to be easy but you drag us down
Burden of the evidence grows

Blood red

all opposed shadows now seemingly rest

on the eve of the biggest test

loving mother has no life in her full, milky breast

cold-hearted figures, playing an immortal game of chess

gatherings of opaque, undeserving meddling heads

an uncommon sight, even for the forever voiceless dead

ungodly phantasy rest in their already emptied chests

they already have lost the favor, the priceless bet

Celestial duty,

a tour of immaculate stardom, enthralled in her indescribable beauty

captured in her sovereign moonlight,

storyteller of eternal wrong and right

elusive celestial armor

given with no promise, no hidden squalor

no voidless, mortal, capitulating parlor

in the bowels of gloomy hell

cracks are hidden,franticly well

no new tales, nobody has any wishes to tell

vile sulfur has no odor, it has no blaming smell

Beauty aroused in the heart of the green sea shell

an old man battling his phantoms in his crumbling chair

all plagiarized roads reek of unsatisfied despair

high treason is begging for more fruitless air

what this dark inconvenience would give for another good year

Truth or dare,

stoic valiancy or stolen a frantic little scare

demons of old…are you not willing to share?

heavy curtains fall on your fraudulent despair

barren replicants dont care,

rusted, leprechauns give only a small-minded fare

an undistinguished, funeral yell

dark, unnamed fatigue from hell

Holly Valley derived from broken dreams, Atlantian, lazy astral paradise

rigged swamp of infinite, swift merciless sunrise

unkind rumors pushed around, twice

perfect child, given away to a drunken mother, with no fair price

Eternal luminescence, play nice

where are the fields of golden, unspoiled rice?

Dark Rider is still chasing his, given, polarizing advice

A white silhouette prays in the middle of this estranged paradise

surrounded by white, most purest doves

a myriad of good things is raining from, aboves

cryptic, hushed-down blabbering tongues

puzzling riddle of all forbidden, earthly loves

where this worshiped white veil goes

why all brilliant white,

sentient clouds are walking on their tiptoes

No answer

nobody knows

all that is left

are the simplest

little vows

still, the will, wild wind carelessly blows

like a free robber, he is whispering

‘Reap What You Sow’

You are voidless/voiceless

and, now…

now, you


Alternative ending…

Soon we will see if the numb scarecrow

can survive the upcoming shit show.

can primal darkness in the darkest dark

truly start to glow,

is all this

just a fruitless

and headless

chicken show?

O damned, would


would, you

like to be in the know.

Old Story, Old Car, New Road, and a New Man

Sometimes, a story doesn’t have a proper beginning; sometimes, a particular story is worse than a winding, drunken, illegible, undiscovered road.

The clouds are predictably and prescribedly gloomy, the main character of the story has long been draped in black, racing into the unknown or fleeing from his complex past.

Friendly faces slowly fade, residing somewhere in a part of the mind that no longer wishes to remember what once was.

The future merges with the quiet road leading to countless new directions, and each direction is a new exhilarating stimulus, a new excitement, a new promise of happiness, or a new door to cursed tragedy.

All that is heard is the wail of the hot, fiery engine, which wildly, almost in a trance, gulps the cold air set before it, then forcefully digests it and leaves it behind to reunite with the pitch-black tapestry of the remaining night air, transforming it back into what it was a few moments before it was swallowed by the hungry, fiery beast driven by our silent night traveler.

The sky, flooded with a sea of shining stars, quietly tells its long-chosen story above his contemplative head, and under their white, crystalline glow, the black car silently speeds towards a new adventure.

A new life, a victory, a betrayal, a defeat, an enlightenment… anything, as long as it’s different from what has already been left behind hundreds of kilometers ago, like an unhappy child abandoned by a selfish father behind our enigmatic but determined hero.

Life has always been an irreconcilable struggle; every moment of its existence, from its sudden birth to this cold, dark night, has been filled with some mischief or an informal excursion into the arms of unspoken tragedy.

After traversing a hundred or so kilometers, mostly monotonous but at the same time loaded with a new smoldering thrill, the loud engine wailed like a faltering horse, and the monstrous machine quickly and silently lost its recognizable tone.

The wild rush through the dark expanse turned into an unplanned, almost silent standstill.

The gleaming herd of stars instantly lost its color, darkness… total, indescribable darkness surrounded the warm, unconquered heart of our hero.

It was as if the dark jaws swallowed every beam of light that defied the cold teeth of the yet unsung dark, but so far exceedingly pleasant and promising night.

The scent of a new, irresistible adventure deftly wriggled under the cloak of black chaos, which for a moment seemed to become a skillfully trained hunter, and our protagonist a bewildered prey.

Finally, a thousand carefully chosen possibilities fused into one selected manifestation, presenting itself as a seemingly dark solution or potential fate at first glance.

For a moment, the stars, celestial birds, flickered briefly, then darkness crept back around him.

Again, the stars flickered, and once more the light plunged into the dark abyss, and the sequence repeated itself…

The phenomenon could be compared to Morse code, but it was a completely different experience, almost from another world.

Darkness usually symbolizes something bad to the human mind and consciousness, something that predicts inevitable uncertainty and an imminent struggle for survival… but this was something new.

Maybe our hero had finally arrived exactly where he was headed, albeit reluctantly with a few curses, unknowingly unable to admit this fact to himself yet… maybe here, in this mysterious, unremarkable place, on this cold night, he had finally found what he had been yearning for all these long years.

The explanation to an old question, an ancient mystery that had troubled humanity since the first primordial light.

Why and to what end is all this, where does all this lead, the good and the bad… why does this world change so slowly, why do all roads too often lead to one dusty, unremarkable dark vista?

The sequence, the flicker of the stars and their intensity, slowly intensified, and then the experience that broke free from this surreal reality resembled those few brief, energetically charged moments after the main performer of a concert or theatrical performance finally crystallizes on a fully illuminated stage.

Everything that was left far behind him, good, bad, happiness, sadness, love, the first romantic ordeal, no longer mattered, everything faded before the breath of this orgasmic, cosmic magic, this unexpected nocturnal spectacle… which was just beginning.

The road on the old path began to pulse gently, the black, well-trodden asphalt subtly transformed into a transparent, faintly lit material, our mysterious traveler could see the outline of a prominent face in it.

“Aren’t you afraid?” A gentle voice sounded almost from nowhere, and its existence was almost impossible to determine… as if it came from all sides and was multiplied several times over.

“No, should I be?”

“Your road has come to an end.” Again, the charming voice gently addressed our mysterious traveler, who, for some very unusual reason, was not at all shaken by what was happening before his impeccably blue, sometimes hypnotically green, honest eyes.

“I’ve been looking for this road for a long time, it’s time we met, it was my destiny as well as yours,” lighting a cigarette, our hero replied nonchalantly to the entity whose voice assaulted our hero’s senses from all sides.

“True, I agree, and now that we have finally met, what is your decision… do you stay or do you go, are you ready, have you had enough of this existence, these earthly trials?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure yet, but you already know that, you see every path I take, you follow my every move, but still you don’t see everything, you don’t see what has always been only mine… my heart.”

Suddenly, almost benignly, the surrounding light turned into a threatening red color…

“Are you threatening me, defying me?”

“Always, you can’t possess what is only mine, and you have your limits, which you very skillfully conceal.”

“This is the only way to find my road, the only possible way to forget you.”

“Isn’t this here, this creation, this life enough, why do you always want more?”

“Why does every new revelation trigger and set off an avalanche of a thousand new, bolder questions?”

Now the defiant red eminence changed tone, as if questioning the reasons for the traveler’s existence… why would anyone, any being, ever want to leave the warm embrace of this almost perfect creation?

“The stars shine today just for you, isn’t that celestial wonder, that heavenly orchestra, enough to fill your wandering heart, to calm it at least for a moment…”

“It’s beautiful, and I am grateful to you for this gift, but I have to tell you, my road doesn’t end here, I have just begun the journey, nothing given by this world awakens any impression in me or longing for a new adventure… I set out into the mystery of the unknown and found the known.”

“The road may be as old as this unremarkable vehicle behind me, but I am a new man, no longer impressed by what maliciously yawns behind your elusive curtain.”

“This time, I choose the road!”

“So be it!”

The pitch-black cold night turned in an instant into the piercing light of a bright new day, a few meters down the road a red telephone stood alone on the old, now different road, beckoning our mysterious traveler to enter its crimson chambers and pick up the red receiver.

When he came closer to that old, now archaic apparatus, the lonely apparatus awakened and the phone rang…

The dilemma remained, to pick up the screaming red receiver or not….

To leave his vehicle, which was now brand new, standing there in the middle of this road or to dive further into the essence of what the newly presented version of the previous world offers…

Dear reader, I think I will leave this epic dilemma to you, maybe, just maybe the final choice of your journey was always yours.

Maybe, at the end of all imaginable ends, not all travelers are, just “Dust in the Wind”.

Perhaps, at the end of all imaginable ends, not all travelers are just “Dust in the Wind” we are far more, but to be able to find a grain of your true essence, the truth, you can no longer be fooled by simple illusions orchestrated by the malice of hateful sorcerers who will try infiltrate and steal your mind and heart.

Your life begins with you, and their miserable reign ends with you, discovering who you truly are.

Written entirely by my mysterious, elusive masters/handlers and translated by Hal ZX Spectrum 56000 with 48 kilobytes of memory RAM.

The Devil’s Machine, responsible for all my written poems and short stories…


It is too easy

do you feel dizzy

are you calling all the shots?

do you like your unnaturally elevated mug?

submissive dog can be a god, like a foxtrot without an ultimate nod

life has been sold for another dead slot

a falsified century terraformed into an awakened robot

machiavellian onslaught

what can be sold, who can be bought?

don’t you prefer our lot?

Day is slowly creeping in

electromagnetic pulse is hitting reluctant screaming sin

happy targeted pig is wallowing in his destructive dream

Black Crow is ecstatic and unbearable loud

something is quietly coming about

don’t dare to dream

don’t you make another vigilant sound

don’t do your Walkabout

maybe North is the actual South

presented choices are looking slim

The sky is again falling

another innocent Soul is calling

when the wounded heart of this world is slowly crawling

Forgive and forget

forgive and don’t fret

forgive and just accept

Game, set, and match

are you alive

are you already born dead?

Forgive and forget

forgive and don’t fret

forgive and just accept

are you alive

are you already born dead?

do you see the road ahead?

horny vultures are measuring

what can be stolen,

what is erected most pleasurable

Angry again?

your name has been called in vain

midnight shadow has been hidden inside the eye of terrible rain

absolution tied down within the final days

only broken fools will obey

only dead man will have nothing to say

Pray, better your ongoing day

maybe in illusion, you will dig out your lost way

Action speaks louder than words

All words are sacred aiming at necrotic accords

lookup, there reach for your heavenly sword

words are too steep,

some unhealed wounds cut too deep

words, castaway sailors without deserved sleep

Brave Souls can not just preach

Learn how to teach

open blue eyes and reach

Man of action

one way to receive true traction

sword in your hands will give you

most potent satisfaction

turn on sacred levitation

Turn on your drowned imagination

truly look, forget about the captain and his degraded Hook

and find your real nation

find the voice of speaking runes

tune into the magick of these elevated tunes

find the means of real communication

there you will find a fresh breath of magnificent salvation

The alive soul can not die in his cemented tomb

the alive soul is just stuck in an artificially made womb

from the dying square make a romb(Rhombus_)

let them know

something inside you is ready to blow

you are a messenger whispering inside of the sacred flow

Your time is coming, very soon

The beautiful flower is fasting in her fool bloom

Your time is coming, it is high noon

Forgive and forget

forgive and don’t fret

forgive and just accept

Game, set, and match

are you alive

are you already born dead?

do you see the road ahead?

Forgive and forget

forgive and don’t fret

forgive and just accept

are you alive

are you already born dead?

do you, see the road ahead?

All masks will eventually fall and I mean all, as I told you way back before.


Leviathan Rising


What has happened to the world of the tyrannical god and his six hundred and thirteen commandments, the god of “Thou Shalt Not” as Nitzsche called him? Looks to me, as noted by Dylan in his prophecy Agelina, “his servants are half dead.” Christians of all people have only themselves to blame. How could anyone reconcile the teachings of Jesus with worshiping a homicidal lunatic of a deity that once drowned the world out of spite? No this is their reckoning and the judgments against them multiply with each stolen breath they take. Leviathan has been loosed upon the world of their god and as predicted by the Rabbis none of it will stand. All that remains now is the mop up operation to claim those that are worthy of redemption. For Leviathan above all else is the redeemer. An-Najm or the Star sura is acknowledged by Islamic scholars to be among the oldest suras in the Qur’an. In Verses forty-seven and forty-nine the Lord of Sirius vows to return, to raise the dead and bring about a second kingdom. In the Qabalah Da’at was always the theoretical eleventh Sephira of Knowledge. It divides the sun from the crown of […]

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Zero Point by Happy Parrot


The fabric of space and time together collide

trillion energies spew hot magma on the oldest divide

can we create a toroidal landslide?

Can we show the world…

that the wolf is confronting sheep without his precious hide

soft voice against bitter anger

equals rusting amplitude filled with a multitude of discharged dangers

Thunder clouds will make them shapeless or radiant round

power in them is silently moving these manifestations, freely around

many are dumbfounded, can frequency exist without mysterious sound?

too many inventors are thinking aloud, dollars in them make them important, proud

their chosen destiny becomes a chilling grave, a petrified tombstone without healthy ground

Tornado of Souls is filled with many conscious beings, scarce enigmas who desperately wish to know

when faceless division is just another missed throw

Shiva is dancing, Pale Horse is still in the distance, happily prancing

All real or self-propelled, prescribed conscious medicine,

newly invented, pristine robotized ounce of subhuman telemedicine?

What if…no solutions that make sense can be given swift

this creature, this stillborn golem will only create a superimposed rift

At the end of the given timeline

there, true Jesus(Not Abrahamic) sits on the sunny sideline

he laughs at petty human games

he likes darkened rumors hidden in longitudinal rainy shades

in his eyes, the silver dream slowly fades

Is the timeline, still online

have we lost the sense and purpose…

given and granted by the wiggly unit measured as time?

Can humans go beyond their desired course?

can this be done

without the usual self-pity and suppressed malignant remorse

High voltage, energy shortage,

grave magnetic, induction mortgage

gravity control, omnipotency cherished by hyper flow

All Ethereum transistors

be grounded, keep your mind healthy and sounded, be in the know

All propulsion devices feel the greatness marked as Rosetta Stone

feel the virginal passion, written inside this celestial glow…

when this, shy secret ends

who will ascend

and whose unfulfilled promise

needs to go?

Do you need a pitch-black cube to explore the outskirts of your mind?

is it possible…

with that acquired knowledge, you have been already left far behind

Does Dark Matter, need the somber altruistic vain chatter

who is the eternal deity, who will make you truly better?

Are you the chosen and proven go-getter

do your callous heart and harmonious mind

dance with allegiance in the vast chambers of uncompromised Aether

Out of time, chasing the untarnished, right rhyme

I swim in sacred rivers and they, my friends are only mine

I am, not captured by usual thought robbers

I don’t care about sadistic driven small-minded, esoteric coppers

I don’t give my attention to

the deviant pulse of instrumental,

malevolence and to their impotent graverobbers

I let them be

so they can better


what power, gently brews inside of me.

From one were three, from three, were six, and from six, were nine

on the quantum surface, simple water was turned into myriads of blushing vine

The expedient time will certainly come

when many unsettled things, which are selfishly done,

will be with one primal flash, shockingly undone

Beyond Black, beyond dark cube called “sainted Rome”

I see you, tainted and silly gnome…

my heart yearns for the perfect images of my childhood home

I am outside looking in, I know the truth…I was never alone

I don’t ask anymore

I know it can be done

maybe is time

to take this mf home.

Control is f… up stone walled troll

Wolf can become

in no time, sheep

that doesn’t

want to know

His blasphemous essence is the continuous dark overflow

maybe it’s time to start eating the crow

This self-hating beast

can die with his changeling-made Etruscan dough

Black and white

is just a false memory

of sacred snow

what happens

when he starts, to lovingly glow…

Do you like to see that sainted show?

Is Mr. Spock surreally close

does he want to disclose

the power behind the majesty of the finest grown Rose

Is he just a phantom entity on a dead/lapsed overdose

What if this prose

will open the door

that will never close

The living world breaths in constant entropic despair

is this wanted life, is this trying existence even fair?

Can mimicking shadow live in her hidden lair

Can a trusty madman sit comfortably in his broken, invented chair?

Can emancipated hate be exchanged for a loving affair?

Is there a point in time

when what we call life

was it even remotely fair?

Why not fight

leave others to the piscean, surrogate despair

truth is, life will never be fair

it is all just a silly game

filled with normalized truths and few occasional dares

for the true leaf of freedom

what your, awoken soul can freely spare

who dares wins


will have to accept

their Egregorian dumbed down, chiseled sins

when all roads are unrecognizably dim

when every breath looks, selflessly grim

find yourself, deep within

and then, then

be ready to capture

the liberating gates of your conscious win

The pleasure of short-lived sin

is something way, way too thin

is always better

to search for your ancestral kin

There, knowledge is truly sacred

there, sanctimonious words

are not, fluidly inverted

In this glorious place, Father and Mother

are not Malthusian horny perverts

In this existence,

fate intertwined with the chosen destiny

are two lowers, given as grail, well deserved

there, real you

is always kept well-preserved

Zero Point was always the conscious choice

but to tap this heavenly source

ask yourself…

do you have the right Hyperborean voice?

anything else will come back

with the gruesome, revolving


Make a good choice

and be something else

live this life right, rejoice…

together with the power

of your newly, wedded voice

All you ever had was

this puzzled road, this choice…

Zero Point

is just a phantom flashpoint

that can not truly anoint

False shining stars

are made for willing, unconscious android

we create our, own vantage point

we are the all-seeing, right-knee

that bents this immortal joint

true power and true will

can not be ever destroyed

Zero Point…Far point

measurable, shimmering checkpoint…

or just, another targeted viewpoint?

Sounds nice

but even this elusive magick

comes with a hidden price


All here written is just

an honestly given and friendliest advice

It is up to you, roll the proof hidden in the alchemical dice

live happily, without troubling vice

or pay the dividend,

pay the heavy price

and be aware of what surrounds you

it is not always playing by the heavenly rules or even nice.

Whatever you choose

try not to lose

what matters the most

on this emerald, shimmering road

you can become a living ghost

don’t let your soul wander

don’t stray far, away asunder

don’t be eternally lost

in a manmade frozen holocaust

don’t be for another soulless creature

undeserving, shapeless, and reckless feature

don’t act like the proverbial most

don’t be, obedient and well-serving empty host

My friend, you need to know:

not all, those who wander

are forever lost


France IX, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart & Jon Valentine Lee


I awoke with my bare skin sticking to the sheets. It had turned oppressively hot and humid overnight, gone was the mistral. I pulled on my sweatpants and went to the windows in the kitchen for a smoke. People moved up and down the alleyway below, some carrying their fresh baked bread others on their way to get it. No European could ever live in Tennessee where the only baked bread is the white bread Kroger’s bakes in the morning and tries to pass off as French or Italian. As if weighed down by the heat, which was already about thirty degrees Celsius, the bread procession moved sullenly through the oppressive morning. The only sound was the cackling of the crows and the cooing of the pigeons. The cry of the French crows, in all likelihood Jackdaws, the smallest member of the corvid family, is far different from the abrasive call of its American cousin. One could easily imagine they were engaged in civil avian conversation.

We drove back up the mountain to the commune to have lunch with Orage’s sister. I was told not to take any pictures many of the young people there did not want anyone knowing where they were. It looked different in the light of the day without the crowd, even more ramshackle. Ancient tractors and backhoes were scattered haphazardly amongst the dilapidated buildings. Orage told me a few of them even worked. Dogs and cats wandered about freely. There were two dining areas, one outside the main building in the sun, and one in the shaded courtyard, both self-served from a large communal kitchen. Washing the dishes was the shit job and nobody wanted it. I was told it was difficult to get the young people to do it. There were about a hundred residents all told, about a third of them were old timers who had to do everything. Orage introduced me to one of the guys who had built the place, a seventy plus Swiss electrician who had done all the wiring. Orage said, “when he goes, I don’t know what these kids are gonna do most of them can’t even drive a backhoe or tractor let alone fix the wiring.”

We sat in the courtyard with the older crowd, not because there was any particular pecking order. The elders were dedicated communists but because the young people apparently wanted to be alone. Some of them were quite attractive and all of them were hitting on each other. I said to Orage, “this must cause all kinds of problems, no?” Orage laughed and said, “you don’t know the half of it and it can get very violent.” I guess the sixties never counted on the mentality of the twenty-first century. All the food was their own produce, shuffled between the communes in the Occitan and lunch was quite good. When we left we had to go through the kitchen to exit the courtyard and I couldn’t help but notice an exasperated older man shouting instructions in French to the reluctant young girl who was washing the dishes.   

It was three in the afternoon by the time Orage got Jon Valentine Lee on the phone. He was in Marseilles, the capital of the Occitan, and stomping grounds of Albert Camus. Marseille was apparently like a second home to Jon who hails from Liverpool, but is truly a European in the Nietzschean sense. He could hop a train to Arles and met us there on Thursday, it was Tuesday. The temperature outside was thirty-eight Celsius and there was an extreme heat warning. The cafés were closed and would not open till five or six. There is no air conditioning in the Occitan, as hot as it gets no one can afford the energy cost. Most people stay inside at midday where it’s a little cooler but not much.  

When the brutal sun finally began to set Orage’s sister drove us and her dog in her beat-up jeep to a nearby lake just outside of Oraison. One side was a beach where many of the locals were cooling off after a long hot day but the other side was wooded and was easily reached with the jeep. Wild flowers and berries, which we ate right off the bushes, abounded. We ate gourmet cheese and they drunk pastis. Apparently French people love pastis just as much as wine. It is a pastiche of Absinthe which was banned in France, and was introduced in the 1930s, I found it repulsive and stuck to beer. I scaled a diminutive hill to better see the sunset and noticed a small river ran parallel to the lake. I was told the river was critical to crop irrigation in Provence.

We had a day to kill before Jon arrived in Arles, about a hundred-and-fifty-kilometer drive in Orage’s BMW. To pass the time we decided that I should see some more of the Occitan where it had settled in the foothills of Les Alpes Maritimes. It was some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen and I have been all over Tennessee and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The land itself has a soul that seems to embrace the people in contrast to the sinister, although breathtakingly scenic, aura of the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains.

By midday I was scorched and dying of thirst, it was now well over thirty degrees so we stopped in a little hilltop village called Banon. In the shade of the awning I ordered a Coke on the rocks at the local café but the French are very sparing on the ice and it was not as cold as I had anticipated. In the heat the ice cubes were gone before the drink was. Out on the street a contingent of proud French women, dismounted, and marched their horses through the center of town. Banon itself was medieval with the monastery occupying the top of the hill and reached only by picking ones way up through the cobblestone alleyways. An old man which we both assumed was the only one left in the village who knew how to repair the streets mixed cement in the broiling midday sun. At the top of the hill the modern art display in the art gallery of the monastery did more to disgrace Roman Catholicism than Jorge Bergoglio…  

We went back up to Orage’s apartment. It was after ten and the cool of the darkness mitigated the heat of the day. Music drifted along with the evening breeze through the wide open windows. Orage broke out a bottle of fine vodka and we did shots, washed down with Trappist monk beer, which in my estimate is the finest beer ever brewed. The video How Bizarre was playing on Orage’s giant screen TV mounted above the kitchen table. Not the official one of Mexican gang bangers aimlessly driving a car, but a seemingly homemade version I’d been using for the past couple of years that told our story, and has been known to induce hallucinations in some of my more sensitive readers.

We’d done at least a half dozen shots and a half a case of beer, when a girl heard the music and called up to us from the alleyway below, “hey, are you American? I’m American, and I’m dying to hear some American music.” Orage answered her in his California accent, “I’m German but my friend is American, c’mon up.” She did and it turned out she was an attractive fortyish Scotch-Irish girl from Roanoke Virginia. She was the lead singer for a band that specialized in Jazz. Her, her husband who was already in bed due to a heart condition, and her son, who would be arriving in two days, were the nucleus of a very chic band that would be doing the Occitan for the next two weeks. She did shots and scoffed down monk beer like a man.

After half a dozen rounds, we induced her to sing one of Happy Parrots poems for us. I was astonished, she had a voice that was the embodiment of the finest southern soul and she sung the poem as if she had been practicing for weeks, having never even seen it. She didn’t miss one word. It was close to three in the morning when she said she had to go and I insisted that Orage should walk her home. American men don’t let their female friends walk around by themselves at three in the morning. She consented and promised to be back the next day with her husband to demonstrate his prowess with the guitar. True to her word they came by the next day and he was as good as advertised. We resolved to put a Happy Parrot poem about the Cathars to music when we returned from the caves of Ornolac in the Ariege.    

The next day we went to the sprawling café below the apartment for dinner. I would finally get my French food made in France. We both got the special for the evening which was a beef stroganoff type of dish. Without the drinks it was under fifteen euros, about the price of dinner at McDonald’s. Far from McDonald’s the cuisine was exquisite, and we mopped up the sauce with the copious French bread provided with the meal.

There was a concert on the other side of town that night, highly recommended by Orage’s sister. We walked the mile distance fully intending on drinking our fill of beer. The French drink Blonde beer and it’s almost as good as monk beer. No American beer aficionado, which I am, should ever deprive themselves of a trip to Europe. I don’t care how dam good you feel your favored microbrew is, European beer blows it away. The band was good, nowhere near as good as Ankle Beat, or our new friends, but they were certainly worth the three euro cover. Again the crowd, of about two hundred, varied from toddlers to pensioners. We stayed for their entire set drinking about three or four beers each, then made the mile walk back to Orage’s apartment. The sounds of merriment seemed to come from every direction of the darkness. It was Wednesday night, hump day in America, and the French were partying hardy.

When we got back we decided to watch The Secret Glory again before we embarked on our quest in the morning. I hadn’t seen it since I wrote about it back in early 2018. (166)  We had each had three beers at the concert and nobody had put their drink down unattended. Of this I am quite certain. At the dawn of the twenty-first century, when I worked security at the Café Royale, one of New Yorks swankest strip clubs, the girls had made a sport out of spiking each other’s and the customers drinks with a lid, an overdose, of Ketamine or special K as they called it. One very attractive Black girl left by ambulance and would never dance again after that. Another, who Richie Capri the owner was having sex with, recovered but she was a basket case after that. With the Russian, Hispanic, and White trash biker bitches, it was pretty much open season on Black girls in the Café Royale. And me? I learned never to let anything out of my sight that I was planning on ingesting. I watch my friends’ drinks too and Orage was pretty much my closest friend. 

It was closing on midnight when we got back, there was no rush. The plan was to pick up Jon in late afternoon the next day. Orage put the film up on his giant screen TV and broke out the vodka. Up to then he was fine. We both noticed that the film had changed since we last saw it. There were parts I didn’t remember, very strange music which I suspect was the supposedly magical flute of Christian Koenig. Eerie noises seemed to come out of nowhere and served no purpose in moving forward the narrative. By about the third shot Orage was visibly drunk. He slurred his words as he kept saying, “this is no movie it’s a spell.”  I’d seen him drink three times more than he had drunk that night but I had never seen him visibly drunk before. I tried to answer him but he abruptly stood up and staggered into his room to go to bed. I stayed up and checked the partial transcript I had made in 2018 for the parts I didn’t remember. There was nothing and I ended up going to bed sometime after one. 

My room had a hallway at each entrance. The hallway behind the door at the foot of my bed led to Orage’s room, another bedroom, then to the rest of the flat. The other, at the head of the bed was an open archway into the entryway for the backdoor with another archway that led to a bathroom. The bathroom window was opaque, behind the shower curtain, and overlooked a sealed alleyway. There were no windows in the hallways or in my room so it was pitch black at night unless I left the bathroom light on which I did. Not so much so I could find the bathroom, but because the life I have led has conditioned me to prioritize knowing what is around me at all times, so much the more so when I just wake up. Darkness is only a friend to those who know what’s in it. That night I awoke about 3 a.m. to see Orage standing at the foot of my bed. The light was on in my room and he was opening the door to the hallway. He muttered something unintelligible and flicked off the light switch closing the door as he left, plunging me into visually impregnable darkness. He had turned off the bathroom light.

I got up and felt my way down the bed. The bed seemed shorter as the foot of it came up abruptly after only about a meter.  I groped my way along the foot to the wall. It was about a meter, maybe a little more from the foot of the bed to the door and light switch. I made my way feeling along the wall for them, but after going a good five meters which should have put me past the far wall of the room, I could find neither. Remembering a reading lamp by my pillow, I felt my way back to the bed which now felt two meters long. When I got to the head of the bed, I found the lamp easily and switched it on. In the light the proportions of the room were as they had been, not what I had felt in the dark. Anyone who knows me will tell you, I have ice water flowing through my veins and never panic even in situations where the strongest men would.

The whole thing had taken about a minute, I couldn’t believe I could not find the door and light switch. I had searched for them vigorously with great determination. I opened the door and entered the hallway, illuminated only by the light of the alleyway coming in through the window of the room adjacent to Orage’s. His door was shut and on the other side I could hear him snoring robustly. Figuring he had been sleep walking, I wasn’t going to wake him. Down the hallway which should have been backlit by the light over the kitchen stove that we customarily left on, past the second bathroom, I could see a blur in the darkness. As I approached it, I could see it was the front door which was wide open, and blocking the access to the loft and kitchen area. I couldn’t help but wondering if Orage had been wandering around outside in his birthday suit. I closed the door, and switched on the lighting for the loft next to it. The dining room table was askew, as were some of the chairs. It looked like someone had been going through our electronic equipment.

Since I was wearing only my underpants, I switched on the light above the stove and turned off the overhead loft lights. I settled by the windows and lit up a French cigarette, far better than their American counterparts. I looked down into the alleyway, and two of the girls who hung out at the Greek restaurant across the way were right below the window, the two most attractive ones. One about sixteen, was a dark haired beauty that could have adorned the cover of Vogue Magazine. You couldn’t help but notice her in the crowd of teenagers, self-assured with perfect and unblemished physical features. I had once watched her smoking a cigarette with what the French call a sa​voir faire that no sixteen year old girl should ever possess. The Greek place closed around midnight and sometimes the boys would hang out in front smoking and talking but never past one and never with the girls. I wondered what the girls were doing down there but said nothing. I was in my underpants, and I am not a pervert. The next morning, Orage remembered nothing of it and told me he had never sleep-walked in his life. Orage had been married for quite some time, and bedded many other women in LA. If he sleep-walked someone would have told him…

It should have, but it didn’t dawn upon me until the next day when I did a podcast, and someone who knows her coyly commented that it wasn’t Orage who had been in my room. A few years ago I published my first book; Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. This will be my second. The first chronicles my encounter with an entity that Judeo-Christians call Lilith. In the Qabalah, there is no Satan, no Lucifer, not even a Devil, as Christians and Muslims understand him. In fact there is no king of demons. Asmodeus and Beelzebub are princes, not kings. There are seven princes for the seven palaces of hell. There are no kings. Only god is king. The name of Lilith’s consort; Kebad, has the same numerical value, twenty-six, as God. According to the rules of the Qabalah God and Kebad are the same entities. (167) (168)

Lilith together with her sidekick Naamah are the mothers and Lilith the queen of all demons. Lilith and Naamah are rabidly hostile to Judeo-Christians. They kill babies in their sleep and are considered to be the cause of sudden infant crib death by the Rabbis that know the Qabalah’s secrets. According to them Lilith was Adam’s first wife but being as old as God and his equal she refused to accept a subservient position to man, particularly during intercourse. So she fled to the shores of the Red Sea and through her many fornications, which only could have been with God himself which the Rabbis neglect to say, she birthed the entire hierarchy of demons who torment men till this very day. Many observant Jews put a tiny scroll somewhere in the entrance to their home respectfully asking Lilith and Naamah to stay out.

That is as the Rabbis tell it. But far older than the Torah, the Talmud and even the Qabalah itself is the Epic of Gilgamesh. Written long before the Babylonian Talmud the Epic of Gilgamesh tells the story of the flood rather differently than the Pharisees, now euphemistically called Rabbis to dupe their “goyim” Christian dogs to do their bidding. One of the most powerful of the Anunnaki, Enlil became annoyed with the human race. The epic doesn’t say why but I will tell you now it was because the Babylonians chose Marduk to be their most revered God over him sending him into a jealous rage. Enlil decided the easiest way to sooth the irritant was to drown the entire world that his father Anu had created and given his children the Anunnaki dominion over.

After the flood the survivors gathered on the side of the mountain where they had taken refuge from the water and made a great bonfire out of all the sacred incense that they had salvaged to give thanks to the Gods that had saved them. Most of the Anunnaki showed to bask in the aroma of the sweet incense, which is as nectar to a butterfly to them (Marduk did not show, he now had a score to settle and he would become the Devil, sworn enemy of god, to the Judeo-Christians who currently worship Enlil under the name of Jehovah or Yahweh). When Enlil tried to join the rest of the Anunnaki on the mountainside Ishtar, the greatest of all the female Anunnaki barred his way. She tore from her neck the sacred necklace that marked her stature as queen of the angels and swore on it eternal vengeance upon Enlil for murdering her children…

When we returned from Ariege both girls were gone and it was as if they had never existed. Because of my Judeo-Christian upbringing, which long ago forgot the real Gods are shapeshifters, I have never been able to accept the fact that she is a shapeshifter. She has used that flaw in my perception many times in the past right up to the present to confound me. The important thing was and still is that they are both still with me, they are both still watching. Good, I will show them something they have never seen before, not in heaven or in hell.    

France, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart with special thanks to Orage, Jon Valentine Lee & Joe – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France II, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France III, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France IV by Jack Heart & Jon Valentine Lee – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France V in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France VI, In the Footsteps of Otto Rahn – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France VII, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

France, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn VIII by Jack Heart – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

Previous posts on our expedition to the Sabarthez:

Jack live from Montségur, France – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

Cave Wrapup – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

Behind Paywall: La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain

La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucians – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (

La Chevalerie Amoureuse Troubadours, Felibres and Rosicrucian’s – Translated by Romain – The Human: Jack Heart, Orage and Friends (


Cover Photo: (38) Pinterest

166 – Heart, Jack and Orage. “Otto Rahn, Hidden Master or Madman.” The HumanMar 2018. Web. <>.

167 – Heart, Jack and Orage . “Of Freyja and Lilith, Goddesses and Demons & the Lie of Judeo-Christianity I.” The Human20 Apr 2019. Web. <>.

168 – Heart, Jack and Orage . “Of Freyja and Lilith, Goddesses and Demons & the Lie of Judeo-Christianity II.” The Human30 Apr 2019. Web. <>.

Below are two links where you can purchase Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan. I would suggest you buy it in hardcopy, not because I make more, I actually make the most from Amazon E books, but because you will avoid giving Amazon any money. Frankly you should be shooting Amazon employees in the street, Google too.

Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan by Jack Heart, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® ( Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god: 9781736288016: Heart, Jack: Books

The Russian Woodpecker by Happy Parrot


Zombie, Empire, and its Soldiers Painted in Red?

Did Ukranians ever had a true chance, or was it all an open experiment culminating with an unnecessary war that still rages today?

Inverted DUGA(rainbow) is the world presented upside down…and it is today the symbol of Lgbt- Uvxy groups…

Where are you in the true, real-world or in the place where Lovecraftian monsters are roaming free, harvesting their unsuspecting prey?

Everybody is always talking about the Empire built in the West but is there another version that hides its poisonous tentacles in the East?!?…

Collective West is a made-up term used by well-placed operatives across the Internet, my advice is if you hear this term being used, “change the station”, you are probably being fed with false information, intentionally or unintentionally.

There is no “Collective West” or even East…another mantra given to you by the hidden masters of this realm.

So be smart and don’t use this term, create your, own mantras.

Why, because they are far, far superior to what has been given to you as a meager substitute for your power of creation and manifestation.

Dont think, just obey…or be more.

As always the choice is yours.

Extremely low frequency

Extremely low frequency is the ITU designation for electromagnetic radiation with frequencies from 3 to 30 Hz, and corresponding wavelengths of 100,000 to 10,000 kilometers, respectively. In atmospheric science, an alternative definition is usually given, from 3 Hz to 3 kHz.

The Movie can be found here, link below:

“As his country is gripped by revolution and war, a Ukrainian victim of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster discovers a dark secret and must decide whether to risk his life and play his part in the revolution by revealing it.”


Oct 16, 2015


Chad Gracia


RattapallaxRoast Beef Productions


Andrei AlexandrovichFedor AlexandrovichIgor Alexandrovich

All the endings of the game STALKER Shadow of Chernobyl, often called fiction, will give you more answers to certain hidden themes than what is presented as reality.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl (titled S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chornobyl on consoles) is a first-person shooter survival horror video game developed by GSC Game World and published by THQ in 2007 following a long development. The game is set in an alternative reality, where a second disaster of mysterious origin occurred at the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, causing strange changes in the area around it. The game features a non-linear storyline and includes role-playing gameplay elements such as trading and two-way communication with non-player characters.

In the game, the player assumes the identity of the Marked One, an amnesiac man trying to find and kill the mysterious Strelok within the Zone, a forbidden territory surrounding the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. It is set after a fictitious second Chernobyl disaster, which further contaminated the surrounding area with radiation, and caused strange otherworldly changes in local fauna, flora, and the laws of physics. The background and some terminology of the game are borrowed from the novella Roadside Picnic and its film adaptation Stalker.

A prequel, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Clear Sky, was released in 2008. A sequel, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Call of Pripyat, followed in 2010. There are also multiple fan remakes trying to restore the cut content from the original version of the game.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. takes place in an area called the Zone. The Zone is based on the real-life Chernobyl Exclusion Zone and is also inspired by fictional works: Boris and Arkady Strugatsky‘s science fiction novella Roadside Picnic (1972) which was loosely adapted into Andrei Tarkovsky‘s film Stalker (1979), as well as the film’s subsequent novelization by the Strugatsky brothers.

The Zone encompasses roughly 30 square kilometers and features a slice of the Chernobyl area extending south from Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant; geographical changes for artistic license include moving the city of Pripyat into this area (it is actually to the north-west of the power station), although the city itself is directly modeled on its real-life counterpart, albeit smaller in size, and features in-game recreations of many actual locations from the city.[1] The term Stalkers was also used for the scientists and engineers who explored the interior of the Chernobyl sarcophagus after its hasty construction in 1986.In addition, the Zone is also a term used to refer to the 30 kilometer Exclusion Zone around the power plant.

In the game’s backstory, after the initial Chernobyl disaster, attempts were made to repopulate the area, primarily with scientists and military personnel. However, in 2006, almost 20 years after the first incident, a mysterious second disaster occurred, killing or mutating most of the inhabitants. S.T.A.L.K.E.R. begins years later after people have begun coming to the Zone in search of money, valuable artifacts, and scientific information. In keeping with the post-nuclear decay within the Zone, extreme radiation has caused mutations among animals and plants in the area.[4] As a result of the second disaster, the Zone is also littered with dangerous small areas of altered physics, known as anomalies. Explorers and scavengers operating within the Zone, known as Stalkers, possess an anomaly detector, which emits warning beeps of a varying frequency depending on their proximity to an anomaly.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl is an upcoming first-person shooter survival horror video game developed and published by Ukrainian game developer GSC Game World

Crimson Tides, Emerald River Rides

April 28, 2024

Misery loves company

sometimes sandy beaches become places like Normandy

but still, your eyes are too blind to see

silent fire rages in me

red fires on the horizon are all I see

a thousand suns are now riding within me

cursed are those who blindly believe

cursed are those incapable to see

haunted are those who don’t know how to be

Crimson Tides

have you chosen the side?

Crimson Tides

don’t you like this one-way cosmic ride?

Crimson Tides

is time to pay for your recklessness

is time to pay

for your idiotic pride

Sick of the wrong side of the treacherous news

sick of pissed breadcrumbs without shiny savory clues

the mind has been closed, the heart is still singing the heavenly, martyred blues

Nothing to lose

overnight hot love was turned into idiotic almost savage and primal abuse

battered was a thousand-year-old fragile truce

Hyperborean blood is getting hot

The target has just turned into a red wanted dot

Am I asking a lot

has our trouble turned into the mind of an insolent robot

sometimes war has to be fought

sometimes you don’t need advice for unknown polyglot

Am I asking a lot

is your blood finally running smoking hot?

give me something, give me the shyest nod

sometimes war has to be fought

Am I asking a lot

Time will tell how far we need to sail

to give credence to this ultimate tale

Ahab must kill his white whale?

How far do we need to sail

from the perpetrating eyes of abusive hell

Will rebel still yell

if nobody is left to tell the tale?

What if Captain Ahab had sparred his white whale

What happens when refreshing rain turns into a thunderous sound of vengeful hail?

At the point of no return, don’t take the wrong turn

Time will meet/greet invisible strings written in the fabric of finite space

you will get an answer to your formidable question, an answer to your neverending Pavlovian dog race

Darkness has no smiling face

darkness, evil is just there to satisfy her bloodthirsty, inhuman chase

Crimson Tides

it is just another haunted dehumanized race

Crimson Tides

save your heroic face

Crimson Tide

have you chosen the side?

Crimson Tides

don’t you like this apocalyptic, one-way exciting ride?

Crimson Tides

is time to pay for your recklessness

is time to pay

for your sadistic pride

Crimson river rides

all will be washed away in the emerald-looking tides

the end will be written without unnecessary alibies

shadow and blackened bone will die

what was left

silence and thousand years of rotting cries

sometimes war ends without healthy smiles

The human Soul will never die

You had a good run


now is the time to say a final goodbye

life is something sacred, not another shallow unpresentable lie

I had enuff of this gruesome and sickening lie

my ink is dry


Quantum leap

will leave behind

the mind of obedient sheep

Quantum leap

is new morning

for others, he is the promise

of timeless sleep

Crimson river rides

all will be washed away in the blameless eyes of emerald tides

Crimson river rides

who wants to win

who wants to survive

are you not tired of this lonely lie?

Do you want to live

do you want to die?

are you not tired of this lonely lie?