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Monthly Archives: June 2009

Buzz eventually exhausted his audience and settled for spending some quality time with Natalie, she was keen to discuss their shared experience of visiting the old Sumerian civilization in their combined meditation. They managed to find a cozy corner of an otherwise busied ship, focused on the topic at hand and quickly immersed themselves in a conversation of mutual interest. When they had last spoke of the events surrounding the evacuation of a pre-flood Babylon, the inhabitants had split into two groups.

Nat wanted to quiz Buzz about the ones he had followed and opened with, ‘Did those people who escaped to the mountains of North-eastern Iran eventually settle down?’

‘Good question,’ commented Buzz, before he answered in his usual style ‘In-between Pirate dreams, I looked up the descendants of Noah and the record is quite comprehensive in documenting the spread on nations after the flood. While the sons of Shem, Ham and Japheth were busy rebuilding Babylon, Nineveh and Egypt, the peoples associated with Elam and Aram were establishing themselves in the higher realms of the Himalayas. Now while I can’t be absolutely sure where it was, the final resting place of the Great Golden Eagle and the one’s who transported it, could only describe as the mystical kingdom of Shambhala.’

Natalie recoiled in her seat and looked at Gabriel with a smirk that indicated she was not totally on his wave link. He immediately realized she needed more information and quickly resumed his dialogue before she could even ask a question.

Shambhala has been very real to Buddhists and spiritual seekers for a very long time, albeit not a place you would find on any map today. Never the less I’m asking you to open your mind to the concept that it might have been a real place at sometime in the past.’

“O.K,’ she said, relaxing her poise ‘lay it on me.’

The Medes were the ones who occupied that area during the time we have been speaking about and although they didn’t emerge as a force in the region until the defeat of the Assyrians, their power base was out of the slopes of the North-eastern Iran from before recorded history. If any peoples were associated with the Aryans of Zoroastrian mythology it was them and this was where the stories of Shambhala came from. Ahura –Mazda was the wise lord God of the original inhabitants of ancient Iran and was depicted as a bearded man with the wings of an eagle.’

‘So you think he could have been the leader of the ones who carted the Golden Eagle out of pre-flood Babylon?’

‘Yes,’ answered Buzz ‘the center of an Enid that has dominated eastern mysticism till this day, the head Aryan, a Brahmin kite of mythical proportions and the one who existed before the creation of the world as we know it; a pre-flood deity.’

‘How does this relate to our understanding of the situation and why does knowing about the leader of a mythical kingdom, that people have sought for centuries, help our cause?’ Asked Nat

‘I think it helps to know the origins and legends of a culture that eventually had a great effect in our historical records as the ones who put an end to the Assyrian Empire and established their importance as an empire in their own right; at a time when the Old Testament, as we know it today, was first being penned by the exiled Hebrews.

In 539 B.C.E, to the cheers of the enslaved Jews, (Shah) Cyrus the Great King of the Medes gathered the mountain tribes from the slopes of the Himalayas and over ran the city of Babylon to begin an era of Human rights, multiculturalism and a freeing of slaves. He created the biggest, fairest and most open empire the world had ever known, all under the protecting wings of Ahura-Mazda

So, if there was a time when the Great Golden Eagle was to leave its secret nest, high in the Himalayas and return to a position symbolizing the all encompassing rule of God on Earth, then this was it. Cyrus was the rightful and worthy heir who allowed the return of the Jews to Jerusalem along with their scriptures and all the temple items that made it possible to kick start their claim of being Gods chosen people in that area. This situation prevailed until the rise of the Greeks and Alexander the Greats rampage into Persian and Parthian territories.’

This was Cyrus the Greats territory of 540 B.C.E superimposed over the modern map.

Nat had definably softened towards Gabe’s apostatizing of his view and offered her assistance by suggesting they retire to their stateroom and project themselves further into the research. He was obviously keen but as they bumped their way through the narrow passage, Buzz began speaking like a pirate again and before they could both come to a Shambhala of the mind, he was relaying to her another episode from the edge of the South China Seas.

‘I am Captain of the Sinbad, leave my men alone and deal directly with me,’ he was describing a scene from his minds eye where the Bark of a previous dream was being boarded by a hoard of Asian looking pirates from a large Junk. Even though his men had fought bravely to defend him and their precious cargo, by sheer numbers they were overcome. By bellowing loudly and brandishing his sword in a magnanimous display, the murderous gaggles were distracted from their slaughter and the ensuing chaos minimized. Buzz, the large, became the center of attraction, surrounded by a circle of saber rattling motley crew who, for some strange reason, seemed to be amazed by his enormous sword.

Before too long, one of the multitudes stepped forward and asked quite politely, for a barbarian ‘Where did you get that from?’

Buzz, the now magnificent, didn’t think that it was such an unreasonable request at the time and began a long slow answer in a language all seemed to understand. He explained to all the now becalmed villains exactly how he had acquired it and the obvious huge golden eagle that just happened to be strapped to the deck at the time. This timely story seemed to calm down the whole situation and before he was finished they were all sitting at his feet enthralled by every word that proceeded forth from his mouth.

The man who had asked the question eventually stood up and began giving orders, which were immediately adhered to. Prisoners were being bound, sails were being set, ropes fastened and soon Buzz realized what was happening; they were being taken prisoners and lock, stock and barrel, back to the base of these alien marauders to suffer whatever fate had in store.

Within twenty four hours, their smallish craft had been sailed into a hole in the wall cavern somewhere between the South China and the Sulu Seas, where they were presented to the King or whatever he was, obviously an important figure, as he imposed himself over the faithful and the obedient.

‘So you say you have met my daughter!’ boomed the majestically presented figure of a man high from his throne as they were brought before him.

‘And who might you be?’ hailed back Captain Buzz with an air of arrogance not suitable for a man in his position

‘I am Chang and it is my treasure you have plundered.’

‘Not so, this is the Great Golden Eagle of Shambhala and I intend to return it to its nest high in the mountain kingdom of my forefathers.’

‘You speak bravely for a man who is about to die a horrible death.’

Buzz, the now not so sure, looked around and summed up the situation to himself; here I am thousands of miles from home in an underground fortress of a despot of merciless infamy, surrounded by his warriors with a great big, heavy bird, acquired by seducing the daughter of the man who held his fate in the palm of his hand.

‘I gave it to him!’ echoed a feminine voice from behind the light of the circle of all who were involved in the moment up until then.

‘You,’ exhaled our hero as he swung around to envision the tattooed, jewel encrusted beauty; now more modestly attired than the last time he saw her.

‘Yes, it is I who provide protection for this man and his crew; yet you detain him on his noble journey’ she said addressing the King as she moved further into the circle of light.’

‘He has stolen my property and I will have my right to judge.’

‘No,’ she said ‘he has stolen nothing; I have restored the icon to its rightful owner.’

‘What right do you have to over ride me, the one who has given you everything.’

‘You have given me nothing, I take my right to decide these matters,’ with those words the cavern was suddenly over run with the followers of this most amazing woman and without a drop of blood being shed, she was now in charge.

——————————————

Nick and Elisha were rudely awakened, after a night of serious debauchery, by the constant rapping on the door of their resort suite. Eli launched herself towards the offending noise and ripped open the eight by four chunk of wood separating the naked banshee from her pray.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing, making such a racquet at this ungodly hour?’ She screeched at the now frozen and terrified figure standing before her ‘Come on explain yourself.’

‘I, I, it’s just that we have received an unusual phone call from a submerged captain who said he was having trouble contacting you and that it was imperative we informed you immediately.’

‘Oh,’ replied Eli, suddenly aware her implants were at eye level ‘well get back to whatever you were doing and take your drool with you.’

The door slammed and our vixen moved swiftly towards the lap top, positioned not five meters from were she swiveled. Soon she was talking directly to the captain of the sub who had been pursuing our band of rebels, via video link, and still she hadn’t bothered to cover herself.

Nick who had been listening to all this, finally came out of the bedroom in a dressing gown and took over from her.

‘So you finally have them in your sites,’ he said

‘Yes sir.’ Came the Captains reply

‘Well what are you waiting for; blow the bastards out of the water.’

‘But that would be an act of war!’

‘Against who?’ Questioned Nick

‘I thought you would know,’ said the Captain

‘I do, NOW BLOW THE BASTARDS OUT OF THE WATER.’ He screamed

‘Aye, aye, SIR.’

Nick turned away from the screen and gave the still naked Eli a full look up and down, ‘Can you try to have some clothes on when you deal with the Grunts.’

But before she could answer him, a sweet looking nubile wandered out of the main bedroom and asked ever so politely

‘What’s all the yelling about?’

‘Never you mind,’ answered Eli ‘just turn around, jump back into bed and we will be in soon.’

——————–

Chapter Seven https://wayneswordpress.wordpress.com/2009/07/

 

 

 

The Grinch that tried to force an early election

Once upon a time there was a pinched Grinch who lived in the place where they kept all the money. He conspired with his rich friend to take back all the Christmas presents the Ruddy King had given everybody, earlier that year. They thought they could make it happen with a magic potion called Double Dish Allusion. But their God (they call Media) found out about it and planned to tell everybody before the evil pair and big Joe the Sleigh driver, could spread the stuff around. While everyone was still sleeping, Media pasted pictures on all the cereal boxes in the land, clearly showing the Godless Grinch and the rich man passing a faked piece of paper off as a real document. This made everybody very suspicious (when they finally woke up) and to this day they don’t trust anybody who plans to force an early election.

God 1- Grinch 0

Kevin’s Ute is the biggest Ute because you can place the fate of a nation on it.

Kevin’s Ute can transport voters’ attention away from important issues and take them to the tip of fabricated irrelevance.

Kevin’s Ute is talked about more than the Wheat 4 Weapons scandal.

Kevin’s Ute can carry a heavy load of Governmental fertilizer over Turn Bulls Bluff to the Bank of Rudd’s River faster than you can say, ‘What a load of Crap’.

If anybody wants to buy Kevin’s Ute, they should wake up to themselves because the enormous cost of purchasing such a frivolously fast fiasco is the price of self respect.

Why would any clear thinking person want a G8, fossil fuel burning remnant of a way of life we all should be putting behind us, when they could have a state of the art, environmentally responsible, internet powered juggernaut to transport them towards a future free of lying, scamming, used Ute salesmen.

Friends and Romans send me your cheers because I am gathering up all the wasted adorations and will attempt to make something useful of them.

Those who frequent the coliseums are a strange breed, we regularly make our way into the various arenas, some virtual, to bond with our fellow enthusiasts and barrack for the chosen few. At great personal cost we put aside whatever it is we should be doing and dutifully assume the position. How satisfying it is when they kick the sacred ball through the upright posts of incredible achievement or cross the finish line in front of someone else? When our favourite hero launches him/herself above the herd, we are there to cheer.

So it is with that in mind, without employing complex mathematics, I begun adding up the sums of capital required to putting on these extravaganzas of human achievement:

· National football codes run in every city for almost every week of the year. BILLIONS+

· Handball games in ever increasing numbers BILLIONS+

· Bat and Ball series encompassing the world BILLIONS+

· Track and Field, Swimming and other Olympic style activities (not every four years anymore)

· Fuel burning competitions: TRILLIONS+

a. Formula One (car, bikes, boats, planes and snowploughs) BILLIONS+

b. Indy style alternatives BILLIONS+

c. Production racing and modified versions eg; Bathurst BILLIONS+

d. Rally and Moto X BILLIONS+

e. Drifting BILLIONS+

f. Monster Trucks BILLIONS+

g. Drag racing BILLIONS+

· Yachting eg; Sydney to Hobart & America’s cup BILLIONS+

I had the audacity to imagine what we could be using it for, if we were to transfer our worship and money to other fields of excellence in;

· Kicking goals in ending world poverty

· Saving endangered species

· Racing towards equality of the sexes

· Punching holes in racial discrimination

· Rallies for the latest Carbon neutral technologies

· Formula 1 (planetary salvation division)

· Sickness to Health plot race

· Animal Rights Golf

· Human Dignity Tennis

· Education 4 all ( online activity)

· Government for the people by the people ( on line activity)

This leads me to ask the eternal question,

Et tu Brutus?

Now, I don’t have any trouble with Skulls (matter of fact I have one) and Bones (where would we be without them?), but cross them, stick them on a pole and you can guarantee there’s DANGER ahead. Run it up a flag pole, see who salutes it and then you know who you can trust.

Buccaneers don’t value democracy, fairness or being nice. The guy with the biggest sword rules, so in the long run, swords inevitably cross and isn’t that the problem with the right to bear arms. It starts with a 38, quickly moves to M16’s or AK47’s and before you know it, every body wants an Atomic Bomb.

You can’t base a democracy on the rule of the gun because it ends up being run by Pirates. You can’t bring democracy to a dictator’s ship with an army of gun toting, rum running, rabble because you just replace one dick for another. People who want democracy should concentrate their efforts on disarming all the players, only then can the policies of free speech be enacted. While we have a bunch of armed thugs running around with loaded guns, who dares to disagree with them?

In the end, governments have to stop dealing in death. They have to stop making bullets, bombs and F111’s, they have to stop empowering some to have them and others not. They have to stop profiteering from the sale of alcohol, tobacco and drugs, just as we would expect the government of places like Afghanistan too, if they want to join our “democracy”.

Double Standards are the sign of the worst kind of trash that sailed the seven seas, one minute they are approaching you flying the flag of some friendly nation, next minute they are boarding you under the Skull & Crossbones to rape, murder and steal your personal stash.

If you truly value Democracy, don’t vote for warmongers, drug dealers or arms manufacturers. Create armies of whistleblowers ever ready to point to an armed and dangerous pusher of bullets, drugs or somebody else’s property, weather or not they are part of a recognized government or just filthy pirates.

As if kids didn’t have enough to worry about, what with global warming, the big financial institutions coming crashing down around their heads and a nuclear armed North Korea guiding missiles in their direction, now they have to deal with a world wide pandemic.

Why oh why can’t, so called, responsible adults keep their big mouths shut on matters such as this? What would it cost to stop the media from engaging in these massive advertising campaigns of fear and loathing? Is it not possible to quietly deal with these things without alarming everybody?

NO, NO, NO, I can hear the cries ringing around the offices of those who don’t give a rat’s bum. How would the pharmaceutical manufacturers sell their trillion dollar crop of anti-swine venin? How would the pathologist ensure their profits for this flu season? Where would the money come from the next pandemic, if nobody knew we were having one?

Think about the Psychiatrists, they are going to need a new generation of traumatised kids to keep expanding their business interests. The alcohol and tobacco executives know the more you worry people, the more they drink and smoke and that inevitably leads to gambling and harder drugs. There’s a multitude of responsible, upright and well heeled suits out there, rubbing their grubby little hands together every time the words Pig Flu or SARS are uttered.

So if you can’t beat them into the submission of crying wolf, join me in the chant;

PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS FLU!

Buzz, the ordinary, finally came out of his cabin and ventured down into the galley, hungry for conversation as well as food. When he got there it was obvious he wouldn’t get either, not a soul in sight and none of the usual smells were emanating from the food preparation area; he was totally out of whack with the normal runnings of the ship. ‘Not to worry’ he said to himself while donning an apron, switching on the hotplate, juggling a couple of eggs and sleuthing out where they kept the thinly sliced smoked pig. By the time he done a fair impersonation of a breakfast chef and eaten his fill of cholesterol damage, the aromas of his presence must have drifted into other parts of the sealed hulls and the dining area began to fill with the appropriate cronies.

‘Well, well our long lost adventurer has returned to the land of the living.’ Piped the skipper in his broad Scottish brogue

‘Arrrgh, what swashbuckling tales do you have to tell us this time?’ added Jim in his best pirate voice whilst hobbling over to the table, feigning a wooden leg

‘Don’t sit down here with that parrot shit all over your shoulder.’

Laurie and Nat were next through the hatch with a couple of pirate jokes of their own but rather than a few rounds of ‘what should we do with the drunken sailor’ they pull a couple of chairs into the circle and settled down for the conversation they were all looking forward to. The interest in this gathering broaden as the many more of the crew filed in, soon the galley was a hive of activity and the java was flowing. Dr. Buzz was feeling as though he was about to begin a lecture and tried to shuffle himself into a suitable position, as to maximize the effect.

‘Why are we all here?’ he opened and then began to answer his own question ‘I would suggest most of us have been pressed into service because of somehow falling foul of our pursuers or making a moral stand against some particularly nasty aspect of how they go about their business.’

A short round of here, here’s’ seemed to confirm his opening pre-supposition and so he took it for what it was and ran with it.

‘I was an innocent researcher of the human condition, non-specifically specializing in truck loads of information that most diligent students, in pursuit of their targeted careers, jettisoned towards the scrap heap of an underfunded arts department Somehow or other I seemed to qualify myself for the non-paying position of standing apart from the commonly held beliefs of the various heads of departments that were well funded in their diligent efforts to prop up the crumbling moral structures of their various benefactors. As you can well imagine, I wasn’t a welcome sight in the corridors of power that honeycomb the higher tiers of society that control the day to day running’s of my country as well as yours; so I dedicated myself to understanding the nature of the beast I continually found myself butting heads with.

Now I know everybody here has their own valid concepts of what it is I am trying to define but before we go any further down the path of rebellion against it, I for one would like to put on the table the clearest picture I can draw of our mutual enemy. Power structures are elusively ever-changing and any attempt to circumnavigate the enormity of it can only ever end in getting lost up some creek without a paddle. Rather than go that way about it I have decided to examine the heart, liver and brain of the monster and sometimes my methods can seem as strange to the onlooker as a pathologist up to his armpits in an autopsy.

So it is with that in mind I ask you to persevere with me as I open up the cadaver and expose the rotten organs that inhabit it; firstly the heart. Religion has pumped the blood of despotic regimes since the beginning of time, its circulatory system spreads to every part of the body forming capillaries, so dense, that you can’t stick a pin in it without the evidence of it bleeding out. Of course it always has two opposing factions allowing it to function; venal and arterial, one sucks and the other blows. For the healthy running of a fascist regime you need a working pump distributing and retrieving the oil of dispute to the working parts of the body; in our world today Judeo Christians suck and Muslims blow.

The liver is the largest organ within the body; it facilitates the absorption of nutrients into the system. Secular politics brings to our monster the meat and potatoes that stop it from starving to death without seeming to have anything to do with religion, but I think you will find the two are intricately linked. Together they build the strength of arms needed to reinforce dominance over any opposition, ever ready to hammer into submission anything that gets in the way.

Now to the brain and its central nervous system; this organic computer sits over and above everything else with its tentacles reaching into every part of the body. It secretly gathers and stores all the information needed to fulfill its purpose for existing, issuing instructions and demanding obedience. It controls both sides of the heart as well as the liver and it will give its teeth the instructions to chew its own leg off if it thought it would aid to its own preservation. Be under no misunderstanding, when we choose to do the things we are presently engaged in, this is what we are going up against and we have about as much chance of success as

an independent finger has of shoving itself up a nostril to perform a lobotomy on a diseased brain in its own defense.’

After a brief round of applause, Buzz returned to the topic at hand. ‘Understanding the brain as it exists today requires a suspension of previously held beliefs on how it operates because the very nature of its condition is that it lies to the body about itself. Now how that happens is how we begin to understand it; when you analyze what it is you know about it, you have to ask yourself how you come to know the things you think you know? Chances are you heard it on the radio, saw it on the T.V, read about it in a book or was told something by an insider that has been under the influence of the very thing we are now not trusting; these are the lines of communication that are owned and used by our adversaries similar to the way the diseased brain uses the central nervous system to deliver its propaganda to its beast.

What I am suggesting is revolutionary in the sense that we can use intuitive methods to analyze the information in a way not possible if we continue to believe all that we think we know. For instance: If the body wants to improve its conditions, do the veins fight the arteries? No. If the mussels find themselves depleted of nutrients, do they rip out the liver? No. When the nervous system becomes agitated for no obvious reason, should it turn on itself when possibly, a simple brain alteration might restore order?

When every action has been taken by instruction of the brain and yet no relief is in sight, then maybe it’s time we analyzed the brain to find out what’s going wrong upstairs. In our world today maybe it’s time Jews, Muslims and Christians stopped fighting one another and combined forces to find out which part of the brain is the offending piece. Maybe it’s time for the armies of the world to unite in the common cause of kicking out the troublemakers in their own organizations. Maybe the intelligence gathering community should use its intelligence to locate the offending bits and disempower them from influencing policy.’

‘All well and said,’ commented Laurie ‘But how does that effect what we are doing right now? We are totally off the radar, hundreds of miles from anywhere in particular and if we don’t gain some kind of strategic advantage sometime in the very near future, not even likely to see the light of day ever again.’

‘Exactly my point if I am going to die or worse, in the pursuit of idealism, then I want it fresh in my mind what that ideal is and I can’t speak for the others but I imagine it’s the same for them. I want to constantly reinforce what it is we are doing this for and what it is we hope to achieve. If one day I get to stand before the asshole who probably thinks of me in the same way, then I want to be able to clearly articulate what it was that put me up against it ’

Another round of applause went up, which Laurie joined in with and by the time it calmed down they were all looking as if they were interested in hearing more; so Buzz steadied himself with a fresh cup of coffee and prepared to continue on. ‘I don’t know if everyone here knows about the origins of the intelligence agencies, that are probably on our heels as we speak, but a little bit of review couldn’t hurt; so bear with me while I digress.

At the beginnings of the First World War, when capitalism and communism where beginning to go head to head, the spying agencies were a shadow of what they have become today. Very little in the way of infrastructure and even less in monetary support and even though Germany hadn’t become the monster in everybody’s book yet; Britten, America and even Russia had sent spies into the fatherland to investigate the possibilities of them becoming a common enemy. In what was to become an important piece in understanding the formalization of the trade, all the suspect players were rounded up and put into a camp that eventually laid claim to producing more than its fair share of agency founders.

Ruhleben, its inmates and its associated news letter became the common thread on the resumes of the men and women who combined together with the officers of the British and French internment camps and ran the secret services during the Second World War. It was during this period the agencies got all the support they required to grow into the out of control monster they are today. Sir John Masterman, a noted resident of Ruhleben, wrote about this time in his book ‘The double cross system in the war 1939-45’, in which he describes how the line between which country, or agency, you worked for becomes totally blurred. The big moment in it all seems to be when Roosevelt, the then President of America, decides to form a pact with the Russians to fight Hitler and Churchill follows suit; up until then the common enemy for anyone who worked for the agencies was Russia. This created an irreparable rift in the fabric of the behind the scenes designated drivers organization that was to become M.I.5, C.I.A, A.S.I.O and the many other affiliated organizations.

Many, up until then, trusted operators within the agencies who had openly favored supporting Hitler over Stalin, were suddenly the enemy and had to be watched carefully for any signs that they might not be going along with their countries policies. But after Germanys defeat and the reinstatement of all those officers who would lead the cold war against U.S.S.R and communism, where ever it reared its ugly head including America and Australia, then the trouble really began because they were happy to sign up men who had served in Hitler’s S.S; low and behold, the agencies became the very thing our soldiers fought to keep out of our so called fascism free countries.’

‘Is this true Sir Hamish, you were a Wing Commander with the S.O.E during that period?’ asked Natalie

‘Sadly, yes.’ Answered our now friendly Captain Grant ‘This is why I had to leave the organization; I couldn’t stomach the Nazi bastards that were running it.’

‘Laurence, you were in a position to know whether or not this is true, what say you?’

‘I can’t really confirm or deny anything, although I have my suspicions, which was enough for me to leave them as well.’

‘So, who is really running the shop?’

‘Well, I’ve met a few operatives in my day,’ said Laurie ‘and the ones they seem to have to report to are their editors or publishers.’

‘Are you telling us the big media tycoons run everything?’

‘ I haven’t personally known any so I can’t really say, but I do know that one of the biggest in the business used to be the largest printer of Nazi training manuals in Hitler’s Germany and that the Head of the S.S worked with McCarthy in America, after the war.’

‘What do you reckon, Buzz?’

‘Media barons, Politicians, Lawyers, Doctors, Generals, Weapons manufacturers, Popes and priests they all seem to work for the same thing MONEY; he who prints the money pretty much controls everything. I mean if you ran everything would you let someone else be in charge of your money. In the entire world who owns the most reserve banks, which organization runs the most influential economies? Who really are the richest people in the world?

————————-

After Nick and Elisha had celebrated checking into their North Queensland crib, by knocking the head off a bottle of Moet, they dressed themselves in the appropriate poolside attire and ventured out to the gazebo area to rattle the bars and stars of some of the world most decorated retirees.

‘Well, God bless America and all who serve and protect, if it isn’t little Nicky all growed up and wearing his pappies boots.’ Boomed the loudest floral shirt from the biggest cloud of cigar smoke

‘Hell no, that lily livered pansy, wouldn’t dare show his face around here; not after the last fiasco.’ Added the human keg with legs on the next stool

‘Just my luck! Its General Pain In-the-Butt and his Rear Admiral Ima Homophobe holding court with Major Screw Up and Captain Cock Sucker.’ Lashed back Nick well before he had reached their table

‘I hope you’re here to pay up on all those Poker game I.O.U’s you seem to leave a trail of smart ass.’ Said Captain C.S

‘No way tight ass, I’ve come to do some work for my collection agency on all those unpaid bills you have been evading by hiding out here.’

‘Aar, come on Nicky, just joking; don’t make it personal.’

‘Don’t worry; I know it would be harder to get Osama Bin Hiding out of Pakistan than it would be to get money out of you.’

‘Hey! We’re working on that.’

‘Pity bullshit isn’t money, no trouble getting that out of you.’

‘You should have a little more respect, Nick; you’re in our country now.’ Said General P.I.B

Nick let out a loud, large laugh; followed by ‘with all the intelligence you pay us for; I would think you, of all people would know who really owns this place.’

‘You jumped up little upstart, I was running things here while you were still in nappies.’

‘You should show a little more respect, General; you’re in my resort now and if you don’t like it you can piss off.’ Said Nick

‘I don’t have to put up with this crap.’ Yelled the General as he stood up and began striding towards the rooms

‘Hey fatso,’ yelled Nick back towards him ‘you forgot your cheerleaders and their ugly wives.’

After a whole lot more yelling and abusive insults, Nick and Elisha had the whole pergola to themselves as a fleet of Limo’s began draining the resort of its inhabitants.

‘That’s what I like about you Nick,’ stated Eli ‘your motivational skills. I’ve never seen anybody empty a place as quick as that.’

‘So now we’ve got rid of those dead shits who would you like to invite.’

‘They are already on their way.’ She said

‘Then it’s party time!’

———————

Chapter Six https://wayneswordpress.wordpress.com/2009/06/29/the-eagle-of-shambhala-chapter-six/

Whether you consider the Nazi Party as Socialist or Fascist is irrelevant. Whether you think Hitler had a point or not, when the interests of a group overrides the right for others to exist, or seek happiness in an opposing lifestyle, the judgements and actions of society should be called to account. In pre-war Germany anti-Semitic fervour boiled over because simple people failed to recognise the line between Arian pride and National insanity. In my opinion not enough discussion has been had in our country to educate the population on how to recognise the disease our forefathers fought so valiantly, to keep from our shores.

No matter what axe you choose to grind, if you don’t know when to stop you will defeat any good intentions you may have had by taking to the task. We all should be able to recognise the signs of the unsavoury behaviour, which tore Europe apart last century, before it becomes a nightmare. At street level fascism is not hard to recognise when it’s in your face. When your standing on a corner waiting to cross the road with a family of Asian tourists and a car full of strapping young Aussies drive past and hurl foul insults at the visitors, that’s fascism. When you’re sitting on a bus and a schoolie, heading out for a night on the town with his father and uncle, drops his pants and yells at the top of his voice towards a shocked group of Muslims women to suck on this, that’s fascism. Yet those lads would be first to sign up if called to go and fight a Hitler, a Sadam Hussein or a Kim Jong-il and we would support and honour them.

So, something’s not right in our little piece of paradise and not just towards foreigners or different religions. We can be intolerant towards our own, whether it be single mothers, dole bludgers, bikies or druggies. We did it to Commos in the sixties, Hippies in the seventies and Abos since day one, although it definitely wasn’t you.

On the acceptable face of it all we look great and our Media generally powders that face but scratch the surface and the puss begins to ouse. Now my thrust here isn’t aimed at trying to change anyone’s opinion, or to personally attack individuals, but to look at the interested parties that promote and profit by separatism.

Who profited when the English went up against the French? Who gained when America was spit asunder with civil war? Who were the winners, financially, of the first and second world wars and who were the big winners of the war against Iraq?

The answers to these questions should be obvious but lets state it anyway; the weapons manufacturers and their Bankers, the General and the Admirals, the richest and most powerful people in the world today.

These institutions manipulate the conscience of Australian today, they beetle away at our attitudes, they infest our political system, they shape our children’s future and yet we don’t seem to have any say in the way they go about their business. If they choose to have another big war tomorrow, what chance do we have of saying no? What say would you have in preventing your children suffering the same fate as our parent generation of war affected memories?

Anti-authoritarian behaviour can be counter-productive but it can also be the duty of all conscientious human souls who don’t what to go down an unacceptable path. What a different world it could have been if conscientious objectors had of been successful against Hitler and maybe we could of prevented the insanity of Vietnam. Real heroes aren’t always the ones who pick up guns and defend one group of people over another. Sometimes they are the quiet achievers who rot in a jail while fascist rule, like Nelson Mandela, Tank man or Aung San Suu Kyi.

So in conclusion, go ahead and enjoy yourself when your recounting a story of how an Asian held the bus up because they didn’t know enough English or what a bunch of losers boat people are, but if you really want to make a difference try saying no to the profiteers of war.

PEACE MAN

What never ceases to astound me, is how relatively normal people are kept in a state of Bi-polar disarray by the rhetoric of a system that constantly proclaims the necessity for buying one extreme view, over the opposite extreme view. For example;

If one is so bored, or boring, they find themselves listening to the goings on in the Canberra Headquarters for Bickering Over Fiscal Facts and Indigenous Needs (BOFFIN’s), then what they would be taping into is the torrential flowing river of hot and steamy bovine droppings that forks into two separate and totally incompatible tributaries; the La-boaring and the Lie-beral. The fumes emitted from each of these great national steams are equally toxic, while the air over the middle ground only reeks when the wind is blowing from one direction or the other. Groupings of Gucci clad orators float downstream on rafts of tightly bound policies crying out to potential punters for the support and succour they desperately need to continue on there course. This adds to the acidic nature of the atmosphere and seems to have an intoxicating effect on all, especially when the two parties of rafters are within earshot of one another.

Now this could be viewed as good fun, or a sport, if not for the fact that if one breaths the air for to long they end up mutating into a one eyed monster and because it is a national obsession, the trolls are in plague proportion. If you are relatively unaffected and happen to express an opinion, you will be immediately surrounded by one or another of the optically challenged and beaten with a big stick.

Shocking as this situation is, there could be a way out if those who have managed to keep a clear head could get themselves organised, stem the flow of excrement and divert it into the desert of Who Cares. This would begin a new way of dealing with the Fiscal Fiasco or the War on everything where ordinary citizens could have their views recognised, on any particular issue, without having to go down the old rivers of inane argument and pathetic party policy.

Think for yourself, Kevin is not always right and Malcolm would say anything just to disagree with him. The Tax Payer funds that type of insanity and you should be appalled and insulted when you here the obviously ridiculous bickering’s of the Government and Opposition. Decide how you would deal with it, speak to those you can trust and don’t forget; the One Eyed Monster is out there! .

CHAPTER FOUR

Back on board the ship, everybody was keen to know what had happened, but Buzz kept putting them off by explaining he would reveal all later when they were heading away from N.Z. Now they were well out to sea and already had their evening meal, drinks in the ships bar was the order of the moment; Nat and Buzz had kicked back into the corner lounge with large brandy balloons, half full of their favourite liqueur, trying to stay out of the way.

Gradually, the area before them radiated out with the curious, all faces looking their way and some not so patiently.

‘So tell us what happened up there?’ Laurence finally asked

‘Yeah, who was that freaky old woman?’ added Jim

Nat was the first to answer ‘She says, she was once the Queen of the Southern Seas commanding many men and their ships.’

‘What, canoes?’

‘No, merchant ships that travelled here from China and all the ports in-between.’

‘She must have been a bit of a Dragon Queen.’

‘I’m sure she was because her father left behind ‘a mountain of wealth’ as well as all his ships.’

‘What was your impression of her Buzz?’

‘Awesome! She sucked me into her whole world and spat me out totally satisfied that I was the wiser for having bumped into her.’

‘Does she have the goods?’

‘You bet! She showed me her secret place, it was rimmed with jewels, bulging with exotic treasures and the gold, the big eagle we all desire, was glistening in its nest. In an ecstatic vision she gave it to me and all I had to do was get it off from where it perched on top and secure my load for a wild ride inside her cave of treasures, to where it gushed into the light as a dangerous river. I fought bravely against savage attacks firstly relying on the shield she had given me but eventually I had to resort to using my sword in such a ferocious way, thrusting, twisting, turning over and over, on and on until I went over the falls and lost consciousness.’

Everyone just sat there stunned by this description of his journey into the heart of darkness not knowing what to say. Buzz had anticipated this reaction, or lack thereof, and came up with the question on all their lips. ‘Where does that leave us?’ and then proceeded to answer his own question.

‘I know this was only supposed to be a fishing trip but I am now sure we are poised on the edge of an exciting discovery. Although many of you think that I may have gone over the edge in more ways than one and I don’t have anything more to give you at the moment; please give me some time to process it all and I promise to come up with the next step by morning. So let’s rig for silent running and chill out, while I retire to my cabin and come up with our next destination. Are you coming Nat?’

‘No, I think I will stay here for awhile.’

Buzz shrugged his shoulders, finished his drink and headed off to contemplate their future. After pampering himself with a hot shower and the balm of a big bed to himself, he drifted off and found himself back in the past once again.

Days alone on the raft gave him the time he needed to begin to feel at home in this new form he found himself in. He was much bigger and blacker than he ever would have thought possible; full of energy, testosterone and a desire to survive. His clothes had been shredded, leaving him in a near naked state, on a river with no signs of any kind of civilization. He could have been anywhere at anytime but because of the climate and the position of the stars at night he gathered he was where he was supposed to be; about to emerge out of a westerly flowing river into the Kawhia Harbor.

Although it was familiar there was no signs of modern life as he had remembered it, but just before dark, in the middle of the river as it was beginning to opening up into a harbour, he spotted a ship on the horizon and by the time he’d drifted to it, night had fallen. It was an ancient bark of the style Arabian traders had been using for centuries and he was prepared to take it by force if necessary. As he drew alongside, the onboard oil lanterns illuminated a small but dangerous looking crew that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Sinbad the sailor movie; so he tied the raft to the aft of the craft and climbed on board.

One of the sailors, wearing little more than a loin cloth, was leashed to the bow of the ship as if he were the ships dog. He waved to indicate he was friendly and did nothing to alert the others, twelve in all, gathered around a cooking pot in the middle of the main deck, looking much more like a hungry band of pirates.

The cook sat in the middle, wearing a turban, pantaloons and shoes that turn up at the tips; stirring a pot of fish head stew and occasionally adding colourful spices. The biggest man sat closest to the fire, playing with some kind of wooden toy; the smallest man had shimmied up the mast like the ships monkey, to a platform lashed at head height and was whittling away at a slab of wood. A half a dozen bare-chested, tattooed and pierced types stood around a barrel of rum, looking as though they were quite content to quaff the night away and Captain R. Sol, as Buzz had named him, was presiding from atop his soap box giving the others unreasonable orders in a menacing fashion.

He was undoubtedly the ugliest of men, with a head that was way too large for his flabby body and ears that were way too large for his fat head. To make matters worse, he had stretched his earlobes into large loops that hung down to make a trinity with his pierced double chin. He brandished his sabre several times and slapped the face of anyone who dared to speak back to him and when it looked as if he was going to spill the gizzards of a terrified sailor, Buzz swung from his hide with a rope that was strategically positioned. He landed smack in the middle of the fiasco and pinned the shocked despot to the mast with the tip of his sword; when amazingly enough, the monkey man smashed his carving onto the hard head of Captain R. Sol who staggered a bit; but didn’t go down. Instead he raised his sabre above his head and begun to swing it in the direction of our hero’s neck who ducked, weaved and ran the b-laggard though, dispatching him to Davey Jones’ locker before he spilled his guts all over the deck.

———————————

Natalie burst into the cabin startling Buzz, who leapt out of the bed naked and challenged the intruder with a non- existent sword. Her mood suddenly changed and in between bouts of laughter, managed to squeeze out a ‘what the…., hell do you think you’re doing?’

He immediately realized his error in thinking and sat back down on the bed, red faced and began to explain to Nat what had just happened in his alternative reality.

‘It was truly amazing! I felt as though I was trapped inside a virtual reality game fighting for my life and for some greater purpose yet to be revealed. All I want to do is get back to it and find out more about it; I can’t really say much more at the moment except I know where we are going to head, North East.’

She was quite amazed at what he had to say, began to understand better the line he was following and started to realize the importance of supporting him in the direction of his strange methods.

He asked her if she would mind helping him get back to where he was in his dream state and then give the crew a message,’ As we go past New Guinea keep an eye out for pirates.’

Nickolas pumped Elisha for more juice on her feminine cohorts but as that channel seemed to be running dry he decided to call a general meeting at the Octagon. Small planes flew into Dunedin from all directions and the old devil, St. Paul himself would have turned in his grave if he could have heard the conversations being had in his chapel. These were the people who were supposed to be running things on behalf of Nick’s family’s interests, in this part of the world, and what had they done for him when they were finally called into action? Absolutely bugger all, he wanted blood and by Christ he was going to get it; who was responsible? Who were these so called best in the business remote viewers? Why had nobody picked up this Dragon lady before and now that they knew about her, where was she? Did they realize the importance of the opportunity that had been squandered and why in the devil’s name, didn’t they secure the harbour when they had the chance?

There were still a few asses smoking by the time Nick’s transporter flew out of New Zealand’s south island and Elisha had her hands full just trying to get him to relax, but eventually he come around they both kicked back on the big bed and smoked some of the world’s finest weed.

‘You know Elly, you got to admire these assholes whoever they are. They have successfully fucked over a couple of Washington big wigs, on that Breastplate affair; laughed in our faces while acquiring some state of the art defence equipment and now we haven’t got a clue where they are, when we seemed to have had them in the palm of our hands.’

‘They are certainly spicing things up, Sir.’

‘But what is it for? Why are they taking so many risks?’

‘They are obviously not stupid.’

“Then what could be so big that they would risk coming out of hiding for?’

‘What about that old witch; I wonder where she’s disappeared to?’

‘Probably up her own fanny, I’m sure it’s big enough.’

Nick burst out laughing at his own joke, which was great from Elly’s perspective; it would certainly make the rest of the trip much more bearable if he got into a good mood and you never know, she might even get to sleep in and let Nick get up without waking her; that would be nice for a change, she thought to herself as she nestled.

By the time she had her next thought, it was many hours later and Nick was poking her into consciousness’ I’ve worked out a solution.” He announced with great gusto ‘While you’ve been napping, I’ve been hard at work. Remember that Collins class sub we acquired cheep last year?’

‘Yes.’ Murmured El

‘Well it seems, even though the things as noisy as hell, some enterprising young employee had the foresight to fit it out with some kind of experimental tracking device. They have located an Unidentified Submerged Object moving at high speed in a north-easterly direction away from N.Z; they can’t catch it but they may very well be able to follow it to where it’s going.’

‘So what can we do in the meantime?’

‘I thought a little R&R at your favorite Port Douglas resort.’

She immediately jumped on top of him and bounced around for ages, yahooing at the top of her voice.

Meanwhile, in his dreamtime, the big, dark and swarthy Buzz had successfully navigated his new bark and crew to within sight of land, for the fist time since he had decided it was up to him to pilot this ancient mariner’s dream adventure back to Persia. It seemed to him that the crew were well qualified to do their jobs and were happy to be working for him but since none of them could read the charts he had found in the old captain’s chest, they could all perish at sea unless he did his job well.

So it was cheers and the last of the rum when they left the big swells of the open ocean behind and ventured into the safety of a harbour, where they hoped to take on supplies of water and food. Buzz preyed there wasn’t any nasty surprises awaiting them as he dropped anchor and authorized the first landing party. Before night had fallen they had managed to locate clean water, capture fresh meat and everyone from the vessel whom had come ashore was enjoying solid ground under their feet and the warmth of a large bonfire.

It must have been the glow of the fire that attracted the wild life because before they had finished their dinner, they were surrounded by savages wielding spears and clubs, very much looking like they were interested in making our travellers the next course. Buzz grabbed for his shield and sword, jumped to his feet in front of the pyre and the other formed the second line of defence directly behind him; but as the awesome figure of our hero and his weapons came fully into view, the near naked warriors dropped to the ground and prostrated themselves as if before a god. The enormity of the scene unfolded as the whole tribe came out of the woods to join their warrior men in worship of their new found god; Buzz, the magnificent, contemplated the significance of the gifts the tattooed, bejewelled woman had given him in her cave and wondered to himself, who she really was.

Before the night was over the beach head had turned into a makeshift resort with all the hospitality the natives could muster, including their most beautiful women, nothing was to good for their divine visitors and by the time they were waving goodbye, days later, the whole crew had sated all their immediate needs and stowed aboard their vessel sufficient provisions to complete the next part of the journey. The goddess of the southern seas had shined upon them from a high and everyone was in a state of awe over how blessed they had been.

The wind stiffened from the correct direction pushing them back into the fast flowing currents of the open ocean, charts were checked, hatches battened down, sails trimmed and because they were heading into Indonesian waters, permanent lookouts were manned to keep watch. Every sailor whom has ever plundered an exotic spice from the equatorial islands they were about to pass by, knew about the boogie men who haunted their treacherous waters but never the less they were alert for the most dangerous of scenarios, Pirates.

Chapter Five https://wayneswordpress.wordpress.com/2009/06/06/the-eagle-of-shambhalachapter-five/