Screwtop Makes Toast

I would like to take the opportunity to thank the good people at NewPages for listing my blog. As a token of my appreciation, here is a link to their site:  
http://www.newpages.com/ 
I'm flattered to be included in such company, cheers! 

My Kind Of Bastard

I was a most peculiar child, precocious and extremely sensitive. I am possessed of an uncommonly good memory and can pinpoint many of the seminal moments of my childhood. Which is how I can trace my fixation back to the age of six. I can remember November 1990 extremely vividly. Margaret Thatcher Leaving office after her cabinet turned against her. John Major, Michael Heseltine and Douglas Hurd all vying for the leadership. A marvellous stroke of luck for the team behind House Of Cards. Former Thatcher aide Michael Dobbs wrote the novel inspired by his time in government, which was, in turn dramatised and improved upon by Andrew Davies. The central figure was Tory Chief Whip Sir Francis Urquhart, given dramatic life by the incomparable Ian Richardson. I watched transfixed as the modern Machiavell schemed, manipulated and murdered his was to the top. Whether he was putting rat poison in Roger O'Neill's cocaine or throwing a besotted, yet perplexed Mattie Storrin to her death from the roof garden of the houses of parliament it didn't matter. I was in love. F.U's hold over me endured, for both sequels: To Play The King and The Final Cut. Of course as I grew up and saw him in other things I managed to distinguish Ian Richardson from F.U. For example I thoroughly enjoyed his turn as Professor Joseph Bell in Murder Rooms {2000-01} along with retrospective performances such as Sir Godber Evans in Porterhouse Blue and Oberon in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Yet to me he was never as attractive as when he was a bastard. When I recently watched Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy {1979 TV series} I felt the same attraction overtake me once more. Ian portrayed Bill Haydon, a.k.a Gerald, the mole in The Circus {based on real life traitor Kim Philby}. This performance gave the spell greater potency and he is for the moment, my main dramatic crush. To see him hysterically laughing and weeping alternately was mesmerizing. His large sad eyes framed by impossibly long eyelashes, wet with tears attempting to justify himself to Alec Guinness' impassive George Smiley. That's not to say this sort of reaction is reserved for the late, great Ian Richardson oh no. When I was seven my parents took me to the cinema. I wanted to see Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves. While the other little girls in the audience were busy swooning over Kevin Costner and Christian Slater, I had fallen desperately in love with Alan Rickman's sheriff of Nottingham. I say desperately in love, it was probably more like a species of Stockholm syndrome. As I was compelled and terrified in equal measure by Rickman's Satanic, sadistic, sex offender baddie. Yet when my Mother asked me how I'd enjoyed the film. I told her I'd enjoyed very much, but was saddened the Sheriff had died, so now there couldn't be a sequel with him in it. I felt the flame re-ignite aged 18 when I caught sight of him in the HBO TV movie Rasputin. The sight of him with a feral beard, dancing sensuously with some attractive gypsy women in a taverna, before leaping atop a table and masturbating was truly a sight to behold. Another man who could also engender a similar response was George Sanders. While watching Hitchcock's Rebecca when I was about nine I remember feeling a thrill of expectation when George padded through the window with silent, feline grace and began to purr away in his basso profundo voice. Of course I was right George was an unrepentant cad and bounder who'd been having it away with his own cousin, the eponymous Rebecca. The fact that the deceased, wicked, anti-heroine shared my Christian name, augmented my delight. Unsurprisingly, many years later, he was asked to provide the voice for Shere Khan in The Jungle Book. Yet If I step back and analyse them, all three have something in common. It is a sort of silky malevolence associated with the British upper class. They are a trio of dastardly dandies capable of all manner of sophisticated cruelty and treachery, also all three are ever so slightly camp. This sort of attraction to the wickedly camp was not confined to human beings. I also found Shredder from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Mumm-ra from Thundercats perversely erotic. In fact I'd have liked to see them go to war over me. Though my money was on Mumm-ra. He'd had years contending with the might of the Thundarians where as Shredder was just the henchman of a giant haemorrhoid inside a mechanical suit, whose chief opponents were a giant rat and some moody teenagers with green skin. I mean they were supposed to be reptilian yet, never had to bio-thermoregulate. Plus the fucking pizza delivery man would have seen them at least once. Pizza parlour boss "Where are you delivering to tonight Brad?". Brad : " Those freaks who ask me to leave it by the manhole cover". Pizza parlour boss: "What kind of freaks?" Brad: "Real Ugly ones boss. I leave the pizza, hide behind the bushes and watch to see who comes out. Some times it's the old rat man, others it's his deformed, green kids." Pizza parlour boss: "Deformed?" Brad: "They must be bad boss, if their Dad won't let them out without their masks on". I digress. Though I've often wondered who would emerge the winner out of Shere Khan and Scar form the Lion King. Scar voiced of course by Jeremy Irons mmm..... So now you know my secret: I am attracted to effete, villainous men. There, I said it. The peculiar charm of the right kind of bastard.

The Screwtop Letter

The Screwtop Letter

The origin of this communication is somewhat mysterious; I awoke to find it on my pillow,

the morning after a rather taxing and emotional evening. While I am no demonologist,

I believe there are some rare insights contained in the following correspondence.

 

 

My own dear nephew Absinthium,

I was delighted to learn you had been assigned to the Intemperance Division of the Ministry For Gluttony. The head of your Alma Mater Dr.Gutrot asked me to correspond with you and share the benefit of my long experience. I told him I would be happy to oblige, as it is a long while since I was on active duty. The thrill of leading a soul to befuddlement, physical suffering and ultimate destruction are the only things I really miss about field work, since I was promoted by Our Father Below. Not wishing to incur his unappeasable wrath, I shall do my utmost in my present capacity. The key to the whole business of intemperance is pleasure. The pleasure engendered by imbibing alcohol is as old as human civilisation. It is, in the correct context and quantity one of the greatest earthly pleasures accorded to those revolting bipedal apes by the Enemy. As with all psychoactive substances, it is not the act of altering one’s consciousness that the Enemy objects to. Far from it, if it were so why allow plants with such potential to evolve? No, it is not the substances themselves which, when used responsibly, deliver some nauseatingly pleasant results, rather the human propensity for misusing them. Thanks to Our Father Below they are endowed with a predilection for abusing every freedom they are afforded by the Enemy. That, my dear Absinthium, is where we come in. While alcohol plays a central sacramental role in those appalling rites central to the worship of the Enemy, it is its very acceptability which makes it most open to abuse, along with its rather less satisfying cousin tobacco. Leaving aside for one moment the more exotic pleasures available to those simian flesh sacks, let us rather turn our attention to the mundane. The bored housewife with her bottle of sherry or gin, the stressed accountant with his whiskey bottle in the top drawer of his desk. These are the people who provide us with the bulk of our entertainment. The well documented antics of certain debauchees, while more spectacular are more infrequent and tend to serve as a warning to the more sapient members of that accursed race.  One of the crowning works for a tempter is idolatry of substance. That is to say, convincing the humans that it is the booze which actually generates happiness as opposed to being a mere mood enhancer. It all starts with a pleasant experience say that disgusting, excessive celebration devoted to the Enemy every December. The feeling of community, warm log fires, comforting smells; gingerbread, pine needles and so forth, generate a feeling of well-being. Add a glass of sherry or gluhwein into the equation and the idiotic little creatures attribute the pleasant feelings not to the context, but to the fluctuations in brain glucose. So it begins, no auspicious occasion is truly special without a bottle of fizz, no birthday or anniversary of any other kind truly commemorated without a pint. Although it isn’t the merrymaking which truly delivers them into our clutches. Rather, the belief in alcohol as the universal panacea, for everything which could conceivably afflict the human race. That is where your bored housewife and stressed accountant come in. They’ve fallen into the trap of believing that they can generate happiness or relaxation with nothing more than a little help from John Barleycorn. And so you have them. They drink when they’re happy, they drink when they’re sad. They drink in order to endure existence. Although that isn’t the only fun to be had with these jelly bags, with their internal flora and fauna. Farting and belching their way around the office the day after the night before. Generally ill-tempered, perceiving simple inquiries as excessive demands upon their stressed systems. Oh, the discord one can generate! Not to mention the discomfort. To see one of those bilious primates trying to retain their dignity whilst vomiting or else running the length of the office, buttocks clenched to avoid befouling their costly new trousers. Of course, the more serious complications arise from the potential for sexual indiscretions while inhibitions are lowered. Infidelities, VD, unwanted pregnancies ect...Much to the delight of Our Father Below. The acceleration of physical decline and the ensuing bitterness are also a rich vein of pleasure. There are hospitals full of young people ravaged by the excesses of alcohol. Clear eyed, dewy skinned young things metamorphosize into sallow, saggy, spent wraiths with bloodshot eyes and broken veins. Their engorged livers fit to explode. And so you see they become very angry, seeing little or no correlation between their actions and the consequences. They are more inclined to blame an uncaring capitalist society or if they have any faith at all, the Enemy. Needless to say our department is one of the most successful in the lowerarchy, the only thing we imbibe to toast our success is the sweet draught of human misery.

                                             Your affectionate uncle

                                               Screwtop

 

 

 

 

 

Future Tense Conditional

The year is 2013, I am lying on my ergonomic, orthopaedic body-moulding sofa. I am staring at the
ceiling watching cetacean philosophical discussion. I speak dolphin now, along with many other humans.
John C Lilly's pioneering research was embraced by both the Soviets and the Americans during the cold war. Dolphin along with the other cetacean dialects, whale and porpoise were cracked during the mid 80's and we've been directly interacting with the aforementioned species ever since." I live where I die, no breath in the ocean. Swim, eat, excrete, when still I'm in motion" continued
 Dr. Akaka Click one the most interesting philosophers of our time. Unable to concentrate, I simply issue a clear, precise instruction, first to 'Pause' and then to 'archive' the debate for later.
 I rise from my sofa and step over my sanitation bot, vacuuming away some dropped kale chips, for deposit in the recycling chute. I seek the recipe for the latest mind enhancing drug
on my computer and once I've found it, instruct a fully equipped 3-D printer to print out a dose.
 I swallow the resulting pill and don my Virtual Reality body suit for an interface conference
 with a set of like-minded strangers. We discuss the futures market for high efficiency atmosphere
purifying plants. That's plants as in greenery not plants as in factories. We all now live in eco-cities
since we recognised this was essential to both our continued survival and well-being. Flush toilets
are an ancient curiosity. All urine is drained away to have the nutrients refined out of it for use
in agriculture. All shit is instantly vapourised in order to charge one of the large batteries which powers all my appliances. I take several special tablets every morning to protect the ends of my
telomeres. I hope to attain a state of negligible senescence. If my efforts prove successful I will be  physically the same in 30yrs as I am now. I am psychologically geared to activating any one of the eight circuits of human consciousness at will. The drug I have ingested will activate the 8th circuit and generate a peak experience.

So much for that shit....

I'm sitting on my beaten up old sofa with terrible posture. Eating over-cooked microwave popcorn
while watching The Jeremy Kyle Show. A gathering of some the least evolved people in Britain.
I have lost the remote and so rise from my torpor in order to change channel. I trip over the cat, who,
although disinclined to eat popcorn, is more than happy to play with it. I would endeavour to clean the living room if only the Dyson wasn't fucked. My head hurts from the excesses of the previous evening. Far from desiring to be more 'turned on' to my current reality state, I seem intent upon blotting it out. I take a swig from an ancient, crusted bottle of Calpol in the absence of any proper analgesics and head out into the world. The planet as it exists now is not peopled by sophisticated transhumans, deeply engaged with their task of  'building the earth'. Half of these fuckers can't even be bothered to brush their teeth or indeed instruct their children to do so. The lingua franca is a peculiar, hybrid, argot a product of various cultural influences. Peppered heavily with Anglo-Saxon terms for various parts and functions of the human body. A body which, despite various personal efforts to slow the clock, is for the moment still subject to time's cruel onslaught. I reach into my pocket and breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the contour of my mobile phone. A multi-tasking appendage, part communications device, part prosthetic brain. If you can get 3g reception, 4g at present being a pipe dream for most. As I walk, globules of sweat pour down my back, adhering my fashionable yet impractical trousers to my flanks. As I appraise all that is the case, I am struck by the image of a precocious child, sat next to her Edwardian born Grandmother watching the TV. The year 1989, the programme Tomorrow's World. Tomorrow's Fucking World !!! Along with almost every late 19th-early 20th century sci-fi novel I ever read, served to further warp my already ill-balanced mind. I've always been a living anachronism, born in 1984, raised with Victorian/Edwardian values and conditioned to anticipate a brave new world. There is only one course of action left open to me: STEAMPUNK SUPER VILLAIN!!! It's the only logical solution, Floating through the sky in my aptly named airship: The Earl Of Beaconsfield, the interior furnished like a 19th century ship's cabin. Complete with wooden wheel and brass keys. I would be attired in tight, black, moleskin trousers, a white, Byronic shirt, blue velvet frock coat and steel-plated fetish boots. My half-shaved head and prescription flight goggles completing the ensemble. I would wreak havoc upon the shrink-wrapped, shrink-medicated, plastic worshipping hordes, forcing them to make more things out of cast iron and glass. Making it imperative to learn basic etiquette, rudimentary grammar and revere great historical figures along with their achievements. That way we could construct a future geared towards.....More people like me. A whole generation out of time. OUT OF TIME??? See you at the Omega point bitches.....!!!

Progress

 For those of you who are interested chapter 2....
 
              Part 1:http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-2.html?zx=96bdb947c64fb434 

             Part 2: http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-2-part-2.html

            Part 3: http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-2-part-3.html

New blog

 Season's greetings fellow voyagers, I thought you may like to know about my new blog for
a novel I'm writing called The Porphyriac. So far it's just the first chapter which is written in three parts. Follow the links for the story so far.... chapter two is on its way!
  
     Link 1: http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-1-opening.html
     Link 2: http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-1.html
     Link 3:http://theporphyriacnovel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/chapter-1_14.html

      

The Serpent And The Lotus

                

                            A Gnostic Fable

I awoke in a stark, white, room. With a bright, surgical light burning directly into my retinas.
Pain stabbed through my brain like a blunt knife. I sat up, in order to evade it, and in doing so registered three things: My bare feet, white hospital issue pyjamas and an even more intolerable pain in the left side of my chest. I looked down beneath my top and beheld a long wound sutured with black wire. The wound itself was a crusty, black scab, with the odd bit of crimson juice oozing here and there, while the surrounding contusions were of a livid purple hue.
  I alighted off the surgical table and shod my feet in the plain, white slippers provided and caught sight of my death's-head reflection in what I took to be a huge blacked out window. Not a pretty sight. Oyster eyes, blue lips, anaemic pallor. When I inadvertently touched the window while contemplating the wraith before me, something most peculiar happened. The window was illuminated and revealed its true purpose. This was no window but a two way mirror. Through which I recognised, to my ultimate horror all of my social acquaintances. They were rather well oiled and enjoying an obviously swinging party. This was, by no means the best any of them had ever looked, but they were at least well attired and moreover, looked happy. I shouted to attract their attention, then screamed and finally beat feebly with my blue-nailed hands against the glass. To no avail. I noticed a free-standing steel lamp with a solid base. Summoning all my strength I picked it up and swung it, straight through the pane, instantly shattering all their illusions.
 They were at first astounded, which quickly gave way to amusement as I began to denounce my anonymous captors. "look what they did to me!" I cried plaintively, as I rent my garment to expose my scar. "It's alright love" said Jemima, kindly. Jemima was more of an acquaintance than a friend, which in truth they all were. She then unbuttoned a 60's style paisley shirt, to reveal an old grey scar. It was in exactly the same location on her body as mine. Everyone in the room quickly followed suit. "see we've all had it done, the doctors have found you can live without it, it causes you so much grief, you'll soon find you don't miss it" Beamed Jemima maniacally, as if she just been trepanned by an enthusiastic friend wielding a Black and Decker drill.
  I looked down once more, as I did so a wave of ultimate dread came over me. A faint old scar was visible beneath my new one, slightly larger that my most recent mutilation. "Oh my God, no! No! I screamed as the room full of erstwhile lovers, teachers, classmates, colleagues et al erupted into laughter. "They've put it back, they've cleaned it up and put it back...! I jumped through the cavity which from their side looked like a huge regency style mirror, bolted across the ornately decorated room and seized the door handle.
  I found myself in a long narrow corridor, lined with dark stained oak and hung with generic landscapes. I ran the length of the corridor, curiously, no one gave chase. I continued across the black and white marble tiled floor of the hall and out through the heavy, oak front door.  All the while fighting for breath. my adrenaline carried me forward, as I ran past a small fountain in the grounds to a small wooded area. I looked up, the moon was full like a great, hammered silver dish. I was cold and numb, I collapsed.
 When I awoke the sun was on my face. Although I no longer had a face. when I came to awareness I realised that I was in fact a large, black lotus flower with a crimson stamen. On top of which was a small, round fruit. My immediate neighbours were to my right, a splendid pomegranate tree dripping with scarlet fruit and to my left an apple tree, groaning beneath the weight of its golden adornments.
    I could on occasion hear them converse as I could all the things in the vast garden. The lichens, flowers, toadstools, trees, birds, animals and of course the Man and Woman.
 I however, was unique and had on this account been assigned a guardian by the powers that be. He was a great long black snake, with a green hood and stripe down his back. his eyes were like two Burmese rubies and his name was Lucifer. The Man and Woman were not particularly bright and had developed an unhealthy curiosity about me. Particularly regarding the juicy crimson fruit growing from my stamen. Whenever they ventured too near and looked as if they were going to touch me, all I could do to defend myself was snap shut my petals. Lucifer, being both a snake and a preternatural being always sensed this and with lightening speed wrapped his coils around me rearing up and fanning out his hood. "Get back, get back! The Holy One Blessed Be He has forbidden it!" The Man and Woman merely grunted, as they were rather unevolved, their communication skills still markedly inferior compared with the gardens' other residents. The lichens were very musical and composed rudimentary trance music by means of sub-sonic sound pulses. The lone Porpoise who dwelt in the lake had invented his own private language, much to the consternation of the fish. I you must understand was omniscient, therefore I understood all. Lucifer was the wisest animal in the garden and it was his unenviable task to keep in check the moronic humans. One day Lucifer was coiled at the edge of the lake, on the cusp of a breakthrough with the Porpoise {I, though omniscient was sadly mute} when the humans seized their opportunity. The fruit on my stamen was ripe, so ripe, sometimes when the wind blew, I could look up through it at the sky. It was like observing the world through a candy wrapper.
  The Woman had tied a broken vine to a branch of the apple tree and swung down snatching the fruit from my stamen. The only distinctive thing about it was the line, dividing the two hemispheres of my fruit. She ingested it, but swallowed only one half, retaining the other in her mouth. She then kissed The Man and in doing so he assimilated my juicy pulp. What followed was most peculiar. I was now the Man and the Woman. I looked upon her with desire and got an erection. I looked at him with insatiable hunger and all the time it was like looking in the mirror. It was the strangest, most Onanistic feeling I had ever experienced. The phrase 'go fuck yourself' leapt into mind. Yet it was also wonderful and I copulated and ejaculated and fertilised myself. At which point we fused and I was Man and Woman no longer but a singularity, namely a zygote, developing in the Woman's womb.
  Upon his return Lucifer, seeing my erstwhile abode realised what had occurred. His suspicions were confirmed when the formerly dull-witted Woman {now wearing a coconut shell bra and banana leaf knickers} engaged him in conversation. " we now know why you guarded your charge so jealously, it contained the source of all knowledge and pleasure." When Lucifer gathered my withered remains in his coils they crumbled to dust and blew away with the breeze. Sapphire tears flowed from his ruby eyes and his heart sank in his scaly breast. "You were to be fed the berry at the appointed time on the day of your investiture. you were to be led before the stone altar and I was to intone hymns and every animal in the garden was to sing in reply. Various flowers and fruits were to be brought as offerings to the Lord, and upon his instruction you were to be fed the berry by the Holy Dove. As it is you have defied the Holy One and prematurely brought about your awakening. While you have sinned in ignorance he shall be more wrath with me, for I have failed in the discharge of my duties."
 "When" laughed the Woman scornfully, "were we to have been fed the berry in this fanciful ceremony?"
 "No one knows the hour but The Holy One, not even I. I was trying to see if the Porpoise would sing when the time came. He has, unsurprisingly, despite his many difficulties, no trouble comprehending the universal music of the sacred".
"We have only your word for this snake! Shouted the previously silent Man, {now wearing a banana leaf loin cloth} how do we know you weren't just keeping the berry for yourself?"
"Because I could already speak and even yet enjoy a superior level of awareness to you!"
With this the Man lunged at Lucifer, he reared and fanned out his hood, about to strike, when a gentle breeze blew and all things became still. The Holy Dove descended and spake thus:
"Lucifer, do not strike this man, hold your forked tongue while I pronounce judgement.
The snake bowed before the Holy Dove, who was now perched in the bower of the pomegranate tree.
   "You Lucifer were remiss in the discharge of your duties, owing to excessive pride in your gifts. You so adore hearing yourself sing, more so in front of an audience, that you neglected your primary duty. That of guarding the Sacred Lotus. As a consequence, the unripe creatures have come too early to fruition. Being a seasoned experimenter, I always make provision for such a possibility. However, I will now, in my capacity as Paraclete have to legislate for the consequences".
 "You Man and Woman, will have to vacate the garden and inhabit a place more conducive to your development".
    "But, contested the Man, we sinned in ignorance. Surely a sin in ignorance is no sin at all?"
 "Please, understand, continued The Holy Dove. This is not a punishment, you have dictated the course of your own development. From my point of view this is rather exciting, as when I dictate the run of play, things tend to be rather predictable. You have given me cause to marvel, your species is one in need of a challenge, I therefore propose the following: Relocation: All your fundamental needs have been met here in the garden, even in your primitive state you were growing weary of interminable perfection. Immortality, feeling wonderful forever, was obviously the cause of the deranging ennui, which lead to the premature consumption of the aforementioned Lotus Fruit.
 That coupled with an almost exclusively fruitarian diet, both fresh and fermented, has obviously played havoc with your rudimentary circuits. They need oiling. To solve this problem I propose a detachment from nature, you will begin to compete with and as a consequence predate other creatures. Loss of empathy is therefore essential.
  "Forgive the interruption, interjected Lucifer now animated, but what is to become of me?"
"Ah, you are to be put to work". Smiled the Dove.
 "To work?" Replied the bemused snake.
 " Yes, I have no desire to destroy the harmony I have established here in the garden, what I have decided to do is give you an outlet for you creativity, a captive audience to inhabit a world dressed according to your design".
  "You mean?" said Lucifer breathlessly
 "I mean you too will leave the garden, though you may return periodically to make the odd progress report and for the occasional sabbatical.
 You will be put into an identical copy of the garden. You, Lucifer will rule it as a principality, sow discord and act as the agent of diffusion. Playing the bass notes, if you will. You will cast confusing shadows and disrupt communication between the newborn race of Men and the rest of nature.
 "They chose to pit themselves against you in the first place, I will therefore, provide you with an arena, a theatre worthy of your genius, what say you Lucifer?
  "What of the gateway between my territory and yours?"
" Why you will guard it of course. At the time of physical death the worthy descendants of Mankind will come to the interstice in order to re-enter the original garden. Before they can pass through the narrow gate they must wrestle you. Only those who have strengthened their resolve through meditation, purified their minds and mortified their flesh stand a chance of overcoming you.
Hence there will be many incarnations".
  " I see, so some will get past me?" Said Lucifer, almost disappointed.
 " All will eventually, when they are sufficiently evolved." Replied the Dove with a knowing smile on her beak.
  Lucifer Knew better than to ask when that would be.
 The woman was now indignant and railed at the Dove. " What of the seed which grows in my belly?"
 " Your seed will know nothing but the new world and you will quickly forget when you have been there long enough. All that shall remain is a vestigial memory".
  Before any more protestations could be made, The Man, The Woman and Lucifer were all escorted from the garden by The Holy Dove, who flapped her wings and duplicated the universe.
  The Serpent was now alone with The Man and Woman. He was also in charge.
 "My first act will be to remind you of my mandate, before you forget. I, Lucifer, The Rainbow Serpent, Guardian Of The Dreamtime, Midwife Of Chaos....Chaos hmmm would be an apposite name for the child you carry, alas The Holy One has forbidden it. Apparently the child will have enough to contend with. As I was saying, I imagine your numerous primitive creation myths will traduce and slander at first, then libel, when you start writing things down about me. As your half-remembered version of events is muddled to infinity with every re-telling.
  "Know then this of me: I am your adversary, not your enemy, your chief enemy will not be me, nor the elements, nor the ferocious beasts which lie in wait to devour you. You have no enemy but your own will, which if channelled correctly is marvellous asset, remember my little wards, you came here as a consequence of choice."
  The Woman was now experiencing labour pangs and shouted to the Snake for mercy, to appeal to the Dove for mercy or to defy her altogether. He looked at her with his ruby coloured eyes and made his sad reply: I failed in my duty once before and came to grief, I will not squander my redemption. I must heed her voice not yours, henceforth you will come to regard all snakes as deaf, as I am now forced to be deaf to your pleas.
  "Will we still hear you?" asked the Man desperately.
"Not I, nor any other creature in the garden, the only thing you may occasionally hear is the whispering of The Holy Dove. Though in time you will come to doubt that".
 I heard and curiously, saw all this from my front row seat, inside the woman. I was now engaged, ready to be born.
  " What of my child?" shouted the Woman, now terrified.
 " Accustom her to the sting of the cold, insects, nettles, a flagellant's whip and above all disappointment, only the stings of the aforementioned will afford you any immunity, at the appointed hour to my sting. the worst thing you will have to endure is the aftertaste of the berry. It will linger in the mouths of your descendants as long as they inhabit the earth. They'll have no idea how it got there and will encounter more pain trying to eliminate this taste than by any other means".
  With this he grew a pair of enormous, gorgeous wings, alive with every hue and flew away, out of sight. The Woman began to curse the snake, as she did so her waters broke.
   I awoke myself, 27 years old, lying on a hammock slung between two large trees in my back garden. One a willow the other an oak. I was wet. I had evidently spilled apple and pomegranate juice over myself some time ago which had attracted a wasp. The wasp was now dead, crushed against the throbbing left side of my chest. I glanced momentarily to my right, and espied an adder basking in the sun. The serpent, perceiving my slight movement turned, looking me straight in the eye, before dragging his languid length off between two fence posts, into the undergrowth. As far as I could discern it had no preternatural abilities, then again, how would I know?