Chapter 39 - Nimbin Again

"Synchronistic events provide an immediate religious experience as a direct encounter with the compensatory patterning of events in nature as a whole, both inwardly and outwardly."
C.G. Jung

April 2005
Its been nearly fours years since I got out of gaol. I made some massive changes in my life, got off the heroin and found a career as a career counselor. They say those that cant do teach and it seemed very apt that someone so confused about his career should become a counselor to others. But the deeper reason behind this career choice was to find my purpose, why was I here what did I have to offer, what was I called to do.

Elliot Smith committed suicide or was he killed. No one knows for sure he was stabbed in the chest by someone, maybe he did it, or maybe he was innocent, whatever the case he wrote some nice songs. Baby Britain was a favourite of mine as was miss misery.

But now as I find myself going through the process of breaking up another relationship I find my self thinking of Nimbin and oblivion. Pamela and I have been together for four years, we have had our ups and downs, and this year we became parents to a beautiful baby girl. The sexual fantasy party four years ago was a distant memory.

But I am not working, I resigned from my job due to personality conflict, wrote some books started my own business and let it fail and now find myself registering for unemployment.

After Hannah out baby was born I lost my job and spend most of my time smoking dope and playing Battlefield 1942 a computer game. It was the only thing I seemed to be able to control, I escaped into the game world to escape the reality of my failure to succeed, in reality.

Spawn camping, capping flags, and getting frags, an orgy of death in an online fantasy world, I escaped into this world where I could be a winner, where victory could be mine, it was clear and unambiguous.

I became one of the disappeared. It happens to all men when their partners give birth. The child is the centre of attention, the man is pushed out of the picture to the extent that he disappears. Is the mum ok, hows the baby is she alright……You have to agree that the baby is of prime importance but this does not deny the fact that as men we feel rejected.

But it just made things worse, Pam and I stopped having sex, I slept in a separate bedroom, playing games into the late hours of the night only emerging for more cones and food. I was totally disconnected from my real life, a life that had failed, but while I was online I was winning.

We have just broken up our relationship died a slow death, like cancer it gradually consumed the ties that bound us. I find myself thinking of ways to deal with the break up, and my mind goes back to memories of the past. Thoughts of heroin fill my mind, its been 4 years since I had a hit.


I pulled over and parked the car outside the Nimbin Centrelink office in the main street. Standing outside was a lightly built guy in his late twenties with a sparse beard, missing teeth and a hat. It was like he had been waiting for me.

As soon as I got out of the car our eyes met and I walked over.
“You wanna score some nice buds?”
“Nah I wanna get some harry”
I can see him thinking, he glances into space and then “Yeah no problem, what do you want?”
“Ah just a fifty”
“Wait here I’ll be back in a sec”

He comes back a couple of minutes later and tells me to follow him up the main street. A few tourists stroll down the street, people sit in the Rainbow café drinking lattes and smoking joints. We go down into the car park and he gives me a little tiny plastic bag with a quarter of a gram of heroin sqashed up into a ball. We shoot up in my car and then Ben and I have a beer in the pub and he tells me a little bit about his life. We chat for a while and I head off to do some exploring.

In the park I see Tonto near a park bench, he seems to be working on something. I walk over to have a chat with him, its been a few years since I last scored from him. The heroin has removed any sense of self consciousness and so I casually stroll up to him like an china plate (mate).

“Hey Tonto how are you dude?”
He looks at me suspiciously, not sure who I am or what I want.
“I met you years ago dude, you scored for me remember,…”
He continues to stare for moment then lowers his gaze and nods weakly, “Yeah I think so, whatch ya up ta?”
"Just in town hanging out and scoring drugs the usual......"

We have a long chat about drugs and Tonto tells me his life story...........

“Yeah I was adopted, they told me when I was young, they said ya know your adopted son, but they were alright, strict, dad was a builder.”
“You got kids Tonto?”
“Yeah a boy, but he’s in gaol, youth detention you know, fuckin drugs and the usual bull shit, haven’t seen him in years.”
“I came to Nimbin about 18 years ago”

“You play guitar man, we should have a jam sometime yah know…I love ta jam, I got heaps a mates that fuckin play all the time, been jamin with em heaps.”
“Well funny you should mention it but I have my guitar in the car.”
“Fuckin great man, we can go down to the café at the end of the street, theres a mate of mine there he’ll lend us a guitar to jam with, come on man lets go”

I went to retrieve my guitar and met Tonto at the Café on the edge of town across from the local primary school.

I sat down and tuned up, Tonto went into the Café and I could see him chatting to this guy who was quietly strumming on a 12 string.

“What can ya play?”
“Mostly play lead, do some rhythm for me mate”
“Alright”
Tonto began to play the first few bars of Wish You Were Here, I joined with him and together we filled the cool evening air with the melancholy sounds of the Pink Floyd classic.
Although we were both pretty wasted it sounded good, although I wasn’t in a fit state to judge, no one at the Café seemed to complain so it cant have been too bad, but we enjoyed ourselves, drifting into the groove.

I ran into Rusty he is gone grey now but has maintained that same intensity.
“hey Rusty, its me Dave”
He stares at me as though he doesn’t recognize me, “Oh yeah Dave, welcome home mate, its been a while.”

I see Michelle sitting in a café, she looks the same, but a little pale I haven’t seen her for 8 years. She is sitting with a group two other girls and guy intent on their conversation. I don’t want to talk to her, but I do, I am a little confused. I have never bumped into her since we broke up years ago, it seems strange to cross paths again today.

Tonto asks me”You heading back to Brisbane now, ya reckon ya could give us a lift to Lismore, I’m gunna catch the train to Sydney, buy some fuckin rock and bring it back ere.”
“Oh, I dunno man “ I have a quick flashback to the day I met him 15 years earlier and our little journey from Lismore to Nimbin.
“Look I ‘ll give ya shot of speed, yeah, its good man, come on dude, do it for an old mate…”
“Ah alright, lets get going hey, you got some picks?”
“Nah we’ll have ta stop at the hospital.”
“OK”
So I drove up the street about 100 metres to the hospital that was in the same street as the pub and all the other shops. Tonto hopped out of the car and hobbled in his soiled rags that hung from his body, his matted long hair cascading over his drooping shoulders.

We booted up the speed and he was right it was good shit. I was awake alert and ready to go.

After what seemed a very quick trip from Nimbin I pulled into the train station at Lismore and Tonto says, “Do ya wanta drive me ta Sydney, we could make some tidy cash mate, I’ve got more go-ee here it’ll get us all the way, I’ll pay half the petrol and well score some wicked smack when we get there, I know this chick shes on the game, but she’s pretty fuckin hot ya know, well anyway, well be scorin some rock from her. Bring it back to Nimbin and double our money, no worries, just sell a few fifties they’ll be gone in a day easy, come on mate it’ll be a fuckin blast.”

His enthusiasm was infectious and the speed affected my judgment and at that moment a drive to Sydney seemed pretty manageable so I said,” Aright lets do it!”. He gives me some speed for the drive and off we go. We shoot up more speed as we go, I feel like I am flying, driving to Sydney, fucking no worries.

“The cops just think I am the town drunk, and fuckin dero, but little do they know what I’m really up to.” , Tonto hiccups, looks at me and grins, displaying his bright red gums and black gaps where his teeth used to be.

During the whole trip Tonto keeps telling me when we are going over the speed limit. He replaces the bulb in the headlights that has blown.

We pick up two hitchhikers one is a young murri guy and other is a chubby guy in his early forties. Tonto insists that we pick up all hitchhikers, it seems like a good idea.

Driving through Grafton we do a loop around the gaol and he tells me “they look after me in there, yeah I got plenty of mates inside, not like that for other people”

We eventually arrived in King’s Cross, its about 5am its cold and dark. By this time I had come down, being in Sydney didn’t seem like such a great idea, I just felt burnt out and vulnerable. I began to think about getting out of there. While Tonto went to the ATM I went to a newsagency to find a street directory, I knew that I would need help to get out of Sydney alone.

Tonto went to use a pay phone to call his contact. I watched him as he fumbled with the phone, his filthy fingers struggling to find the right numbers, he paused and stood there, nothing happened and then he put the phone down. “No answer, its pretty early though, we’ll go score off the street and then wait till she’s on.”

Tonto staggered down the road and wandered up to two dark figures, a scrawny women with frazzled bleached hair and bloke in a black trench coat. The coat looked cheap and he was wearing worn joggers.

After chatting for a moment to them Tonto came over to me, “This chick can score for us, but we need to go for a drive. “
“The chick can come but tell her boyfriend to wait, only room for one”

I didn’t like the idea, all the bravado had been sucked out of me by the speed, now I was just a weak lost little boy, with no fucking idea, I didn’t like driving with people I didn’t know, but scoring seemed like the next logical step.

So we drove round the block, she used my mobile to call her dealer, and within about 2-3 minutes a dude appears up the street, wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, he moves with a steady beat, he looks fit. They call him the boxer.

He walks over to the car, “150”, he says
“For a quart, no way man, you said 130, “, Tonto looks to the women in the back of the car, she looks stressed

“Just fuckin take it, he won’t fuck around”
“You want this or not”, the guy in the hood doesn’t wait for an answer and starts to walk down the street.
“I fuckin told you, you should have just paid him, its fuckin rock man.”The women shrieks
“Go after im” Tonto hands her the money
She glides out of the car and scampers after the disappearing figure. She catches up to him, he stops they exchange things, he continues on and she heads back with a bounce in her step.

“Lets go have a taste,” his face has changed, he is clear and energized.

“I cant do this again man, I wont do it, what the fuck am I doing in Sydney. I don’t want be a fucking junkie, Oh god what am I doing,” the reality of my situation dawns on me, as the first rays of light illuminate the dirty bodies sleeping on the church steps.

With reluctance and in a mild mannered yet forceful way I said “I have driven you to Sydney man, now I need you to get out of my car…”
Tonto looked at me, with an incredulous expression, he hesistated as if he thought I was joking with him.

As Tonto steps out of the car he says “Now don’t make yourself a stranger, we could make beautiful music together……”, the absurdity of his comment fails to brighten my mood.

There was no way I was going to do it to myself, all the memories of pain and despair came flooding back, those dark moments in gaol, alone, I could never go back, I had to escape.


So after spending about 30 minutes in Kings Cross, I panicked and spent the same amount of time trying to get out of the city. Even with the street directory I had purchased I could not seem to navigate. I was caught in a vicious circle of one way streets, that seemed determined to capture me. My brain was fried and would not compute, error, beep, beep, beep. An all pervading power took over “Alright get him out of there the system has broken down, hes fucked up, lets get him outta here.” So they did.

“Pam its me”, sob,” I am in Syndey?”, tears are flowing down my face
“What are you doing there”
I didn’t want to admit my mistake I wanted sympathy support and so I said “I tried to kill myself with an overdose.” Maybe it was a subconscious suicide attempt.
“What! How did you get there? Are you OK?”
“Yeah I am now”
“Christ Dave, what are you doing to yourself.”

When I got back from Sydney there was a note on the table, “Dear Dave, I am sorry that I cannot be here for you, but I am concerned about the safety of myself and our child, I have gone to stay with friends love Pam”

I had mixed emotions about the note, I felt deserted and outraged, as if I was a threat to anyone other than myself. I was horrified that she taken our child and refused to tell me where she was.

Four days later she returned while I was smoking cones in my room.
“Oh you are still here, you said you were going to leave.”
“Yeah I will, but it takes time, you can’t just turn up here and demand I leave.”
“I told you I would be back today and you agreed to be gone. “
“Well I will but I need more time.”
“I want you out now, for mine and our child’s wellbeing , your not in a fit state of mind Dave, you know that”
“Well you are going to have to wait, I don’t have anywhere to go or any fucking money.”
“Dave get out now or I will call the police.”
“And say what to them, dob me in for smoking pot, I am not doing fucking anything, I am sitting here on the computer smoking pot, with the door closed and you come storming in here demanding that I leave.”

The only form of interaction I received from government was a child support form while I had no income having yet to receive sickness benefit. So distressed by the break up I could not work.

The Red Cross rang I got a job, its nice to have time to myself again, and my publisher likes the book maybe its going to be ok.

Sexuality is created and molded by society to suit the prevailing trends of the time. I feel at ease with myself most of the time, I don’t want to kill myself because I have an ambiguous sexuality by today’s standards, but other people might wish to kill me because I bore the shit out of them. But really I have now come to see how truly distorted and depraved are the popular conceptions of sexuality that are promulgated by the media.

Furthermore, I accept and embrace the fullness of my desire and if I shall wish to bed a woman in the morning a, transsexual at lunch, a young man in the afternoon, a couple of lesbians in the evening, then settle down for a snooze with my mistress, perhaps including a horse for afternoon tea and a small hamster on the weekends then that’s just fine so long as both the horse and the hamster are fully consenting adults. But really, animals dont do it for me, they may be cute, they be fluffy but thats where I draw the line, but hey I don't mind if you people out there get into this stuff its just not my cup of tea ok, so yo know cheers.

The following quote refers to a concept that allows us to move beyond a straight dichotomy of sexuality to a continuum through which we can all move at any time.

“Pansexuality (sometimes referred to as omnisexuality) is a sexual orientation characterized by a potential aesthetic attraction, romantic love and/or sexual desire for anybody, including people who do not fit into the gender binary of male/female implied by bisexual attraction. Pansexuality is sometimes described as the capacity to love a person romantically irrespective of gender. Some pansexuals also assert that gender and sex are meaningless to them.”

Chapter 23 - Falling asleep at the wheel

``As a net is made up of a series of ties, so everything in this world is connected by a series of ties. If anyone thinks that the mesh of a net is an independent, isolated thing, he is mistaken. It is called a net because it is made up of a series of interconnected meshes, and each mesh has its place and responsibility in relation to other meshes.''

Buddha

Feb 1999

I was woken up by a passer-by who saw the accident. When they found me, I was unconscious and leaning against the steering wheel with the horn blaring. The car was written off, but I was unharmed yet again.

The witness called the Police and a tow truck. I was off my face but the car did not look badly damaged. Still smacked out I sat down and started playing my guitar as though nothing had happened.

I denied being under the influence of anything other than my prescription medication, Serzone, which is an anti-depressant. To my utter amazement they seemed to believe me. I knew that my eyes were pinned and I was sure that I had probably slurred a few words but for some reason the copper let it pass.

(Who ever did the programming for the copper really screwed up because in real life there is no way he would have missed my pinned eyes)

The copper took me to the Nimbin hospital so that they could take a blood sample. They breath tested me, but I refused to have blood taken, so they asked me to urinate in a bottle.

One side effect of heroin is being unable to take a piss, so I stood in this small room for 15 minutes trying to take a leak.

They must have got bored waiting because they decided to just let me go. I was very lucky again.

The tow truck driver gave me a lift back to Lismore. He attached the wrecked Commodore to the truck and we drove down the main street of Nimbin. It reminded me of an old western with the villain being dragged out of town by a horse. I felt foolish, only a few minutes before I had arrived in town to score and now I was leaving the car a total right off. I was sure that Tonto was watching and laughing.

Chapter 15 - QUIVAA

"Take me, I am the drug; take me, I am hallucinogenic. "
Salvador Dali

April 1996

While dealing the ganga I would usually smoke from sunrise to sunset consuming massive quantities of the shit. This was in the days when ‘skunk’ was still relatively new. After a while it really seemed to do very little, and these were the times when I craved a shot of smack. Something that would really change the colour of my day, harry!

At a time when my drug use was on the climb I saw a position advertised at QUIVAA (Queensland Intravenous Aids Association) for a heroin home detoxification worker. Now although I was smoking copious amounts of pot, injecting heroin daily and taking anabolic steroids, I thought I was perfect for the job. The position involved supporting people in their own homes who were withdrawing from heroin.

QUIVAA is an organisation that was established to address the spread of HIV among injecting drug users. The organisation is run by former and current injecting drug users, which supports the philosophy of harm minimisation. The key points of this philosophy are that you can’t stop people doing certain things but you can minimise the harm they do to themselves and others while they do it. Therefore, QUIVAA supplied clean injecting equipment, condoms, lube and advice all for free.

The interview went well and on the way home I visited Alex and scored some smack. Alex lived across the road from Churchie, a private Boys high school, at East Brisbane. In his house he had Star Wars figures and spaceships set up all over the room. Bongy had introduced me to Alex because he was taking over Bongy’s turf.

“Hey Alex, how ya doin dude?” Alex smiled at me, he was sitting at the table with a small pile of white powder making up fifty dollar deals of smack, small white triangles of paper with a pinch of white powder.

“Good man, yourself?”

“Yeah not too bad, hanging for a hit though.” I replied

“Well your in luck cause this shit is fuckin awesome. Man what the fuck are you doing to your arms man, they are fuckin massive.”

“Oh yeah still training, have been for years, off and on, a bit of gear and yeah big arms.”

“Training? Gear?”

“Oh just with weights and roids mate, used to do competitive bodybuilding. “

Jeff my mate from Uni was living out west at Quilpie, to get away from the heroin. I had given him his first shot. Every fortnight I would send him a parcel on the bus that travelled out there. The parcel usually contained about 4-5 ounces of ganga and maybe a gram of speed or two. I would wrap the pot in 5 or 6 layers of bags with coffee beans in each layer to disguise the pungent odour, and then place the whole lot in a box wrapped in paper.

One week there was a flood out west and all the roads were closed. As a result all buses were cancelled, but I had already placed my special package on the bus. I turned on the T V to watch the news anxious about the fate of my little package, “flooding throughout Queensland has caused widespread havoc, even the State government jet was called upon to ferry supplies to isolated communities, cut off by the flood.” The showed vision of a bus loading its freight and mail onto the plane and I watched as one crewmen gingerly picked up my package and placed in the cargo hold.

The Queensland Government came to the rescue, they helped me to get the good buds to where they were desperately needed, nice to see the government get something right for once.

It was Thursday I had three ounces of prime skunk, but business was slow so I decided to take a trip into the valley to see if I could drum up some business. Taking a handful of pot from one of my bags I made up a couple of fiftys and a couple of twenty-five dollar bags.

Before I left I had a shot of smack, it made it easier for me to approach strangers, getting rid of inhibitions like alcohol, but with clarity.

I caught the train in and headed for the Valley Mall. I sat down on the ground with a paper and surveyed the scene. People were always looking to score and if you watched them carefully you could pick your marks.

I noticed a young block wearing a black t-shirt, checkered flannel, black jeans and boots, he has a goatie and shaved head. To me a prime candidate for a dope smoker, so I approach him, "He mate, how ya goin, you lookin to score any ganga at the moment?".

He pauses for a moment before responding, "Well matter of fact I was lookin to score what you got man?"

"Prime skunk weed my friend $25 or $50 bags...."

"I'll grab a fifty."

"Cool just follow me into the toilets and we'll do the deal."

Once in the men's toilets we did the exchange, I got the cash and he got his weed. This bloke ended up becoming a regular customer I would deliver to him and his girlfriend at West End every week.

Chapter 9 - Waking Up from a Bad sleep

“The Talmud teaches:

Just before a baby is born,

an angel shows it everything there is to know

and learn

on Earth.

Then at the moment of birth,

the angel touches the infant’s upper lip,

and the child forgets everything.

We spend the rest of our lives

remembering

what the angel showed us.

This is a generic guide

to the meaning of life.

It does not describe one view

of the meaning of life

and recommend you adopt it.

It helps you remember

what the angel showed you.

The angel showed you

the meaning of life.

In case you have not remembered yet,

here is what the angel showed you.”

William Blank

April 20 2000

They say before you die your life flashes before your eyes, well it seemed as though I had just had a brief recap of my life, again.

When I woke up I was in a hospital ward. The last thing I remembered was getting the smack filled red balloon from Lee and shooting up in the toilets. I wondered if like Neo, I had made the right choice.

I could hear the chorus to Jethro Tull’s “Skating away on the thin ice of a new day”.

Bright fluorescent lights greeted me. I felt groggy there was a drip in my arm and they had taken my shirt off. Sitting up I felt disorientated but hungry. A nurse was serving lunch and so I requested a vegetarian meal. The nurse smiled and brought me a salad sandwich, which I quickly gobbled up.

I wondered how I had got there, I could see that I was in a hospital but had no recollection of travelling there, more lost time. Maybe I had been abducted again, or was it just another OD.

People often asked me why I was a vegetarian. I wasn’t raised that way, I had enjoyed my meat. In the years leading up to my conversion I had a few different experiences. I had eaten meat for 24 years, I have never liked eating meat that was grissly or tough, or had blood or other signs of life. When eating my mince I would often think about where it came from.

Aside from the philosophical, environmental and spiritual reasons for being vegetarian I was having major problems with stomach ulcers and constipation. As soon as I stopped eating meat these problems disappeared. This makes sense because meat requires a very high level of acidity to digest and meat has no fibre and can therefore exacerbate constipation. Furthermore, you can get all the nutrients you need from a vegetarian diet.

So I believed that eating meat was unnecessary for humans. The nurse who brought my lunch came back and said, “So why are you a vegetarian Dave?”

“Well there is no need to eat meat, we can get all the things we need from a vego diet………. People have the long intestines and teeth of herbivores, while carnivores have short intestines to expel the flesh that quickly begins to putrefy once consumed. When meat is eaten by humans it stays caught in the folds of the intestine to rot and putrefy, and this is major factor in conditions like bowel cancer“

“You sure about that man?”, the nurse looked doubtful.

“Not only is it unhealthy to consume flesh but its brutal to raise mammals that are sentient beings to be callously slaughtered. Furthermore eating meat is environmentally damaging, in order to breed more cows countless millions of hectares of rainforest, the lungs of the earth are cleared, to make way for cows who produce methane one of the major greenhouse gasses. Depending on the type of animal it takes between 10kg and 20kg of feed to produce 1kg of meat, therefore reducing the amount of grain available for human consumption and exacerbating malnutrition in third world countries. Furthermore, producing meat consumes massive amounts of water when compared to the amount of water required to produce a vegetarian diet. For example 50% of U.S. water consumption goes to livestock production, and check these quotes out......"

“Cow farms, for example, produce millions of tons of carbon dioxide and methane per year, two major greenhouse gases which together account for over 90% of US greenhouse emissions, significantly contributing to global scorching (what is euphemistically called global warming). Global warming is already having grave effects on our planet.”

“Every year, about 125,000 square miles (325,000 sq. km) of rain forest (along with the more than 1,000 plant and animal species that live there) are lost (or become extinct). More than half of that land is now used for grazing cattle. An estimated 80% of annual world deforestation is related to animal agriculture.”

http://www.brook.com/veg

"Sounds pretty convincing but I dont know, I really like my burgers...", the nurse shifted his weight onto his left leg and put his hand on his hip.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong I’m not a preacher, though I might sound like one, I mean I used to eat heaps of meat all the time, but I had some bowel and stomach problems, combined with my exposure to Greenpeace, meditation and travelling through India lead me to change my mind. Never looked back since. “

“I believe that people will look back on this time and see the meat industry for what it is an animal holocaust, but on a much grander scale than that perpetrated against the jews.”

“There have been some great vegetarians in history Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Leo Tolstoy, Paul McCartney, Pythagoras, Sir Isaac Newton, and lets not forget Weird Al Yakovic, and oh yeah Rastafarians are vego too.”

“Truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds theirs. We live by the death of others: We are burial places! “

Leonardo da Vinci's '

“Wasn’t Adolf Hitler a vegetarian?”, the nurse had this got you now look on his face.

“Yes he was, but you know there are always exceptions to the rule.”

“As long as Man continues to be the ruthless destroyer of lower living beings he will never know health or peace. For as long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other. Indeed, he who sows the seed of murder and pain cannot reap joy and love." ^[4]

Pythagoras

“I had a copy of Mein Kampf was on my bookshelf. I had tried to read the whole thing a few times but the his writing style made it tough going. I would occasionally pick it up and read a few paragraphs, but there is no doubt he was a crazy mother fucker “, the nurse confessed.

“I was fascinated by the enigma of Hitler and felt that some of his ideas were spot on. Vegetarianism, art appreciation, environmentalism and to me he was also a powerful father figure, a role that was conspicuously absent from my life. Although he was a rather strict and somewhat unforgiving dad………… “, as he spoke his eyes shifted up and to the right as he recalled the many films and books he had read on the subject while working night shift in the morgue.

“I often thought how so many people had misunderstood Hitler. “

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, I said.

“Hey they say that Hitler was a frustrated artist but he wasn’t frustrated at all, man. He was expressing the full glory of his artistic passion through ‘Blitz Krieg’! He was the greatest performance artist ever! I mean he had his shortcomings there is no doubt about that he killed lots of people which was obviously fucked up, but you know nothing is totally good, and nothing is totally bad, we need to be aware of this, The man was a fuckin genius, albeit a severely disturbed one.”

"But if we just suspend our moral judgements for a moment and think about it World War II was performance art on a grand scale. The Germans did it in style; great uniforms (designed by Hugo Boss), slogans, flags, speeches, stylish cars (BMW, Mercedes). The awesome weapons and technology, all driven by the rabid fanaticism of the population, stirred up by the master agitator Hitler, " he moved his arms to simulate marching in a goose step as he reveled in his favourite topic.

“ National Socialism wasn’t a political movement it was an artistic one, its just that they were very organized and aggressive in pursuit of their artistic ideal. The whole thing with the final solution was about removing undesirable elements from the canvas that was Germany “

“Nazi theory indeed specifically denies that such a thing as "the truth" exists. […] The implied objective of this line of thought is a nightmare world in which the Leader, or some ruling clique, controls not only the future but THE PAST. If the Leader says of such and such an event, "It never happened"—well, it never happened. If he says that two and two are five—well, two and two are five. This prospect frightens me much more than bombs […] “

George Orwell

Nazi’s and the postmodernists in a pact to take over the world.

“Man you are so full of fuckin shit, the guy was a fuckin psycho who caused the deaths of millions of people, jeezus Christ dude cant you fuckin see that?”

“How the fuck do we really know what he did. I mean history is always written by the victor and of course they always distort it.”

“Oh great, now we’re onto your conspiracy theory bullshit hey!”

“No not so quickly my friend, you cant just write it off as a conspiracy theory, I mean what the fuck does that mean anyway, I mean anytime two people get together to plan some thing they are conspiring, right I mean that’s what the fuckin stupid word means aint it? But just as an example, Hitler Time man of the year 1938, the British Friekorps, and the traditional salute of the American people”

“Got mit uns” or “In god we trust”

“The whole spectacle of combat, the surreal beauty of the destruction set to symphonies of screaming Stukas and roaring Panzers.” I was bemused. “How could anyone not see that it was a master at work, the greatest art installation ever?”

“But was the Reich destroyed or had it simply morphed into the new world order. The Americans had claimed the spear of destiny and with it they unleashed a power never before seen on earth. “

“There was this Taiwanese advertising agency that created a campaign using the slogan, “Declare war on the cold front” alongside a picture of a smiling Adolph Hitler arm raised in a Nazi salute to advertise a German made heater.

“He was the Time magazine man of the year in 1938”

“Bullshit”

“No man, its fuckin true, just look it up mate.”

“The Roman salute with a closed finger, flat palm down hand raised 45 degree angle was the civilian salute of the USA from 1787 – 1934 or there abouts and they changed to the hand over heart with rise of Nazis.”

“Its like using Pol Pot to promote Cambodia. But its interesting how other cultures view things. “

”Hitler viewed himself first and foremost as an artist, his activities were largely directed to the promotion of the arts”
Frederic Spotts

Albert Speer also made the observation that Hitler always thought of himself as an artist first. Hitler created his own Virtual Reality called National Socialism. such as the His vision of the Aryan super-state was expressed both in art and politics. Utilizing superior marketing and the power of iconographyswastika, the Nuremburg rallies and SS uniforms designed by Hugo Boss. “

“What the fuck you talking bout, Willis, Hugo fuckin Boss, whats he got to do with it?”

“Boss founded his family-owned garment business in 1923. The company struggled for a time, fell into bankruptcy, and then, during the war, made the uniforms worn by the German SS, storm troopers, Wehrmacht and Hitler Youth. It's likely that the factory was manned by forced labor including concentration camp prisoners and prisoners of war.”

Nazism was the modern equivalent of ‘Back Yard Blitzkreig’. Funny that the creators of this gardening show chose the word blitz, you see they knew that Hitler was really an artist. They aimed to remodel the world according to their own specific aesthetics and Blitzkrieg, from the (A person of German nationality) German for "lightning war", was a tool to achieve this ends.

“Hitler was a performance artist. His artistic tools were hypnotic oratory, moving spectacle, elegant design and the fine art of genocide”

"I think [Hitler] saw the Nazi movement as an art movement, and I'm not the first or only person to say this, can you imagine Tony Blair redesigning the political theatre of England? Only an artist would do that."

Meyjes

“All racism, on some level, is aesthetic, as a projection of "the ugly." Hitler's "taste," according to Ms. Rothschild, was a key factor that motivated his actions to eliminate the Jews, whose physical appearance offended his aesthetic preferences.

“Many people seem to suggest that Hitler was a "failed artist." He was masterly, first as an orator and then as an all-around impresario of political theatre.Hitler redefined the political speaker, helped create the science of propaganda and showed the unparalleled might of public spectacle in swaying the minds and heart of the populace.He should be on the the list of the 20th century's great artists his choreography, casting, set design and screenplay for World War II and the Holocaust were very original.................Hitler was a master at staging a really big show--the kind that millionaire rock stars now routinely offer their fans."

Martin Knelman Reporter the Toronto Star

“The highest art will be that which has been visibly shattered by the explosions of last week, which is forever trying to collect its limbs after yesterday's crash”.
German Dada manifesto

"It had been the great ambition of his [Hitler's] life to become an artist - an ambition which he sternly sacrificed to his conviction that he had a mission and that his political plans... would be the salvation of his country." Heinrich Hoffman, Hitler's photographer wrote in his memoir Hitler Was My Friend

“PK Dick believed that all political tyrannies were aspects of one cosmic oppressor: the Black Iron Prison a timeless archetype that he associated with the Roman Empire. Dick sometimes thought that history was an illusion and that the Nixon administration's dirty tricks only proved that ‘The Empire’ never ended. “

All the wars in history are created by the Black Iron Prison to further its power and control.”

After eating my fill I pulled out the drip, put my shirt on, and while still a bit dazed, made my way to the exit. No one said anything to me. It was as though I was a ghost, unseen by all. For a moment I imagined that I was a ghost and this was all just some cruel game. But my knees hurt, must have been where I fell over when I overdosed.

As I walked out the main entrance to the hospital, I saw a familiar face. It was someone that I had known quite well, but I couldn’t place him.

Later I would recall that it was a friend from school; I hadn’t seen him in years and barely recognised him. We had been close then, with similar goals, university a profession and adventure. Yet as we passed by it was clear to see the contrast in the two different paths we had travelled.

I had gone to university, but I never really adjusted. I started 5 degrees but only completed one. Feeling lost and uncertain I carried on developing the heroin habit I had acquired while still a naïve student, keen to experiment.

While Dorian Grey had studied law and was now a partner in a large law firm. I lived on the streets, and couched surfed (stayed with different friends), boarding houses, assorted hostels, and my parents homes. Meanwhile, Dorian studied hard, completed a dual degree in Arts/Law and all the while no-one knew about his secret, his passion.

Dorian was handsome of average height, with a slim physique, and impeccably dressed in the finest Italian suit, glistening shoes and clear lightly tanned complexion. While I was clad in a black stained t- shirt and cargo pants with thongs, my matted hair, obscuring my dark eyes and pallid complexion.

And now as we passed each other at the hospital it happened. I remembered why I was here. Was it a chink in the matrix,…………………ah mushrooms what intense experiences one can have. Dorian was a friend from my real life, and I recalled THE GAME and the challenge. I knew what I must do psilocybin……

“In the Amazon and other places where visionary plants are understood and used, you are conveyed into worlds that are appallingly different from ordinary reality. Their vividness cannot be stressed enough. They are more real than real, and that's something that you sense intuitively. They establish an ontological priority. They are more real than real, and once you get that under your belt and let it rattle around in your mind, then the compass of your life begins to spin and you realize that you are not looking in on the Other; the Other is looking in on you.”

Terence McKenna

I was the messiah sent to save and so I would. Or so I told myself.

The question was would I do it. I mean we all know what we should be doing right? But how many of us do it?

The earth that breaths, I recalled a trip driving through the country side picking gold tops in the fields and eating them whole. The trip came on quickly and powerfully and in no time I found myself seeing things very differently.

It was as if I had been transported into the future and everyone I knew was gone and past away and I was observing it. I felt terrified in a detached way, what had happened where were they, oh the despair. Then the landscape morphed into a technicolour cartoon like world.

"Because modern institutions depend on the transmission of a certain world view and then willing acquiescense in the truth of that world view by the populations into which it is being exported. In other words a kind of cultural brainwashing is necessary for modern cultures to work at all. The consequences of the acceptance of this situation of brainwashing is further acceleration toward catastrophe."

Terrence McKenna

I realised that everyone was just sexual, that this absurd dichotomy of hetero – homo sexual was such a joke. I could see through the bullshit but I could not tell anyone it was my secret knowledge.

You see I was Dorian and it was that simple, and what I was seeing was an aspect of myself. That self that had chosen a different path.

Physicists talk of the multiple worlds phenomena that every time we make a choice we create a new reality and a new stream of consciousness. Small changes can create vastly different outcomes. A butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world can create a tidal wave on the other side.

Wandering out into the morning air I felt strangely euphoric I had survived again. I had wasted my money though, and I was pretty straight now. As I walked out into the street the sounds of life enveloped me, and I thought about my next hit.

The last words I heard were “Allah Akabar”, and they came from my own lips.

A burst of flame and a tremendous force knocked everyone in front of the hospital to the ground. Glass and debris were scattered as the force of the explosion devastated the front entrance to the hospital.

My ears were ringing and I could see people mouthing words but no sounds came out.

The carnage was horrendous. Pieces of flesh scattered across the ground, mutilated limbs and agonised screams echoed through the area as my hearing slowly returned. People moaned in pain as confusion and panic set in.

Off to my left I could see Dorian, it looked as though he was unconscious, the explosion had not caused any obvious damage to him, but he was still, lying face down legs akimbo.

I clutched at my abdomen I had caught some flying debris in the stomach and spurts of blood were shooting forth, I was bleeding profusely. The pain was excruciating I felt as though I was going to black out, and then I did.

All around us was chaos

All those years before in Saudi, the airport in Riyadh Osama, that missing time those lost moments and terrorist attacks, a mole waiting to strike.

John Howard was visiting the hospital that day he was killed instantly in the explosion that ripped through the outpatients/emergency area.