Conversation With A Worm

Hi. I am alone. It’s dark in here. Where shall I begin? Are you comfortable? Well, I died in 1991.
I never got to see the Spice Girls live and heaven knows what happened to my CRUISE!
Well, life It was good if you count all the nutters I had the acquaintance of knowing. Vainglorious
petty, too intelligent for their own good, scatty brained monsters of the sort you find in the thriller
movies hacking bits off unsuspecting victims part of a lifelong orgy of bloodlust and domination.

over humans.
Sorry I got nostalgic for 1991 there! It was a good year for potatoes too!
So, I’m dead. Funny it’s not as terminal as I had expected unless you count being buried six foot under
with nobody for company except you and you don’t talk too much. Don’t worry anything you say will embarrass me
to death! I’m already embarrassed. Fuck! I can’t even talk to a worm. Is it my self-esteem still? Or are you a large personality
? Hi Mr Worm with God-like powers! Hi, My name is Andrew Watkins Esquire. Dead as a hedge. With orange hair.
No green! Green hair with orange polka dots. and yellow streamers. Oh, those days! I used to go to a park when I was younger
and we would see swans geese and ducks children would run about and people would stand around a talk while the youngsters played
in sand pits. Some people fished. And I walked along wearing a sunhat. SPF 50!

Are you getting hungry? I am. perhaps I could eat my arm? I’ll chew on this brass handle instead. It lasts for ages I can tell you. Like a gobstopper,
it is I can tell you. I was talking to myself there. Worm? Worm? I can’t feel you. Say something. I thought I just felt a truck go by. A fourteen wheeler
y’know? I chose this place because it’s on the road. Didn’t want to get bored KWIM? KWIM? (you’re a useless conversationalist) Too late. let’s play truth or dare!
Whats the worst thing you have ever done? Ever eaten a worm?
I must have dozed off there. Why is it so DARK! I got spooked again. This is death. Screw this. I hate this coffin. I hate this life. I hate being alive. I am supposed to
be dead and unaware. Why am I thinking like this? Where is my mind? Who am I? Who are you? What are we?
Hi back again! I, no YOU worm are a rugged conversationalist? You never get bored. You never cough or walk off to make a drink or bugger off completely. You are probably
the second most bestest friend I have ever had.Next to me. Next to my dad.

Oh, Sob I’ll never see him again. No what about heaven? Will I ever get there? This is hell. Hell level unknown. Level 2 Pay at the Door. Well, you can have ALL my money mother fucker!
I have been so up myself recently giving everything a moral value and insisting that everything was wise in hindsight if you know what I mean. Like I was clever and made good choices. I mean
I ended up here alone except there’s no wife to chow down on a brass handle with and nano worms where my eyes used to be. Fuck! I can’t even DIE properly. The Egyptians had the right idea
Burry all your mates with you (servants and gold) plenty to chat with and chew on. I wonder if gold tastes better than BRASS? Where is the internet when you need it?


Oh, God. I am still scared of dying! It’s like Groundhog day ever decreasing circles (Seventies sitcom) Worm Can you make a cocktail? I’ll have stiff wicket which is Pimms and Guinness OK
Cold meats! Ham! Picalilli! Beetroot! Pork, Beef, Chicken!. God, we are not going OUT! Worm, grab yourself a plate!.

That WAS nice!Worm. I’m going to have a nap now. CUL8R!

Chapter One Of Unknown Fantasy Novel

Writing for kicks.The wind was blowing leaves down the road and I was walking in the same direction with less hurry about my shuffling gait. I saw her coming out of the Tesco Express with a pushchair. I ran up to greet her but in those twenty feet something happened. She grew taller and her mouth became a bear’s mouth. And her red jacket was torn as her hairy arms extended down towards the buggy. She looked at me approaching with cold black eyes and I was not a little reminded of the eyes of a shark. Bear or shark she was only five feet away from me approaching at speed when it happened.  Lava began spewing out of ground red and very very hot. My shoes were melting beneath me. The paving slab began to slope and I looked at her. She was hovering some fifteen feet above ground the rotocopter holding her while she in turn held the push buggy. As I fell to my knees on the paving slab now almost tilted to 45 degrees slowly sliding into the lava a giant Eagle came down and plucked me from the paving slab at the last second. We both hovered there the girl and the rotocopter and me and the eagle.

‘Hi!’ said I trying to wave but being restricted by the eagle clamping me at the shoulder with its giant claws.

‘That was close,’ said the girl waving at someone in the rotocopter.

‘Yeah, close!’ I said laughing I looked at the Eagle but he was not laughing – His beak the paragon of all seriousness.

‘So what now?’ asked the girl?

‘Well I don’t know,’, ‘I was thinking, well, like you know you might want to come back to mine. Bring the baby if you like,’ I added in what I thought was a generous manner. I glanced at the Eagle who I could swear was grinning to himself.

‘Sorry no can do. I got to get Chiral ready for dinner and Karate. Maybe next time though. Here take my number,’ she said holding out a piece of paper. It was too far for me to reach and it fell down. The Eagle spotted this and suddenly we were flying down towards the boiling lava where he grabbed the piece of paper in his beak before it was consumed by flame.

‘Cheers Eagle!’ I said, thumbs up to the girl. ‘Thanks,’ I shouted above the groaning lava below.

‘See ya!’ said the girl who was now back to fully human form.

‘OK I’ll call you’ Thanks!’ I said. The rotocopter was heading up over the hill where hopefully there was no lava. I looked up at the eagle who just seemed preoccupied by flying I was scared to interrupt him lest he drop me. I remembered the girl and the piece of paper in his beak and spluttered the word ‘home’ as loud as I could muster. The Eagle gaze seemed to briefly meet my eye and then we turned southwards towards Home. I recalled was where I was with the girl when we played that excellent game Exodus and Endgame on PC.  She had won that one but now I had her number.

‘Home Eagle, Home’ I shouted ‘homeward bound!’

We soared above the trees and the conflagration faded into the distance as we neared Steady Farm where I am my parents lived. It was untouched by the flames. Great! I had been victorious.

The Machine Of Love

The machine of love mirrors your pain back to you amplified

and exploded into genuine details all that you are. It might have you wondering if you are not alone after all.

If someone else has bothered to write it down, and had it made into whatever and you identify it must be genuine, thought or real in millions of others eyes. Like, love. It’s an illusion love. The acorn is not the tree no matter how much you believe it. Is it genuine DNA of love, though? Did this same DNA program our parents into bathing us, feeding us, clothing us, taking us to school? Or is this a different love? Is it a selfish love born out of compliance or fear of  facing the consequences of neglect? Genuine DNA seems to need no effort other than doing the right thing that’s why we believe it’s genuine. But the acorn is not the tree. What is the tree? It’s an image of free will, nature, and Gods Grace working together in harmony.Gaia. But what we actually see is different.We see action and reaction, cause and effect. Including the man made reality of genocide, murderers, psychopaths crime and all deviation. What is more real likely to happen to you? Deviant psychology or the things that happen in the image of Gaia? Do you trust Construction or emotion your molding or manners? Does psychopathy exist or it is natures guilt-free narcissism taken to extremes? Aren’t we all like that? Anyway does an acorn even resemble the tree?  But a tree can contain a million acorns. That’s what the scientists would have you believe. As would your parents . It’s  responsibility and it’s in our DNA. We are responsible for the planet and its inhabitants. We are custodians of nature. If you are struck by lightning or a drowning refugee then you might ask that not reciprocal is it? You begin to think It’s a random event and you are unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or if you were on a dinghy trying to cross the Mediterranean sea then a plain faced bore might surmise  ‘you had a death wish’ ‘you didn’t want to live’ ‘you were being deviant’.They’re the risks!

Thankfully we exist in a forgiving world so that all natures wrath even when all brought down at once on you is unlikely to kill you unless it is biologically or psychologically pointy stick like and wielded with deadly intent. I am not trying to scare you. You know the risks.And then there’s the social world, the machine of love made real in a network of people? Fantasy of politics or cogent reality made real by sites like WordPress, DA, Facebook Etc. I think the love flows around and my node is positively glowing with love.

Anyway. I wanted you to go away with a positive impression and mostly to enjoy understand and to pass on the word about my blog. If you think I should get out more and make REAL friends then perhaps this post was not for you . If on the other hand, you are impressed then I implore you to follow me and to indulge your fantasies while you still can.


Death On the Moor Chapter 3

Smelling bad and festering with yellow maggots and pus in the jellyfied state is how I imagine briefly Myra would look on her deathbed, laid flat on  a mortuary slab in an old building with peeling paintwork. I was there looking at her while someone held a clipboard. Then I was thinking about my poster on my wall then back to the mortuary scene, before I think again of the task in hand, retrieving the dead sheep from the hill and bringing it back to the farm where it will be collected and burned.

As there are no labourers in the workforce. not that’s it’s a job entirely of labour. The sheep need a familiar voice around after the other night when the jaguar struck again. I volunteered for the job. I got the job. And seeing as how I am bust tomorrow over at Myra’s, tonight is when I am gong to do it. Shouldn’t be hard really. Just tie a bowline around the two back legs and lift mostly off the ground and drag  back to the farm. A mile and a half over grass and through two fences. Should be easy. Getting there in this cold will be a challenge though hence the vodka. I can feel the warmth in all my extremities and can feel it’s giving me a buzz despite the early frost. I break into ‘Jean went out and bought some old barn, only to find it contained – another barn,’ an old song I learnt as a child and was walking along merrily blowing a great load of breath into the frigid night air. I turned a corner and heard a movement from the woods., like an animal, a big one. I stopped and swore wishing that I had bought my flashlight with me.

‘Whose in there then?’ I said into the bushes ‘Anyone in there?’ I stepped into the forest by about two metres and looked around. Nothing in the clearing up ahead and nothing in the trees. It’s the vodka playing tricks on my mind I hope I added. I turned around to go back to the path and that’s when I heard it again. A thud on the ground I felt more than heard. It then trailed off. I turned around quickly shouting this time ‘Whose there?’ but again I could see no-one.

‘HELLO!’ I shouted but there was no reply. I took another swig from the bottle to settle my nerves and shouted a threat into the darkness lest there be anyone wanting to fool around and headed on back to the path.

Bloody sheep, bloody imagination.

I saw in my head where the sheep minus its brain had lain, right up in the corner of the top field by the dry stone wall. When I got there I could have a sit down first finish the bottle then take the fastest route back home with my load.

Feeling good, I was about to round the corner to the field when I heard a shotgun blast from the top of the field nearby and shouting and screaming.

I ran towards the sound and just heard the gurgle of a death rattle in the mouth of Ted Flanders one of the men from the village always preaching about this and that and one firmly in favour of catching the Jaguar alive.

In the moonlight, I could see that half his face was covered in blood and that his jacket was hanging down between his legs. He turned and fell and I could see that it wasn’t his jacket but his entrails flowing from his stomach that had been ripped open before he fell by what I thought… A Jaguar?

Up ahead was a commotion lit by a Coleman lamp sitting on the wall that one of the men must have bought with them. I heard another shotgun blast and what looked like a man with the head of a jaguar in the flash. I threw away the bottle of vodka in disgust and grabbing a stout stick from the ground rushed up closer to see what was going on.

I saw another body lying on the ground, Aldred Baker, another village man, then I saw his son Jeff Lying on the ground missing one of this arms. And I could hear a gnawing sound and a guttural roar coming from up ahead. Someone screamed, A high terrible sound and then all went silent.

I dropped to the ground. The Coleman lamp above in the field was showing a scene of carnage but no sign of an attacker but something was wrong with me. My face and jaws ached and I could smell the blood and there was something wrong with my fingers.

I lay there in the wet grass and tried to gather my thoughts but all my thoughts were on the pain in my head and face and the feeling in my hands and feet. I tried to stand up but puked instead. I felt bad. very bad but excited by the smell of blood which seemed to permeate every thought and instinct.

I sensed, more than heard a body move  above me and turned over my arms held in front of me in defence. And what I saw coming out of the ends of what used to be my hands surprised me more than the face of the jaguar/man  creature who was now helping me to my feet. I had three-inch claws instead of the hands I used to have and from what I could tell I had grown fangs in my mouth that extruded from my jaws and wrapped around my lower jaw in imitation of the monster now gently mopping my brow and making purring noises. What was happening?

I was gently lead to the body of the former shotgun wielding farmer Giles May He Rest In Peace whose neck was broken judging by the odd angle of his head. I felt sad in the parts of me that were still human but also sad on a new level too aware that a ritual had not yet been completed.

My companion picked up the farmers corpse by his head and bent over him. I heard a large crack and knew that was the man’s skull be opened from the top.  I knew then what I needed to do.

I tried to pick up the shotgun from the floor where it lay loaded broken but ready to fire, but my claws could no pick it up. I cried tears of blood trying to pick up the thing but then realised I could probably do more damage than I could with the shotgun through my claws and teeth. The jaguar-headed and human bodied man was now slurping over the head of the deceased farmer paying me no attention so taking advantage of my position I launched myself at its neck ripping it open from behind  and felt a  great pleasure in feeling its hot blood spurt over my claws. Despite its injury, the monster turned around to face me dropping the corpse and drawing itself up to its full height. Instinct took over and I launched myself again at its throat and with my teeth ripped out what was left of its neck. The creature fell backwards in a spray of  bright red arterial blood and then lay silent.

I was breathing heavily through my nostrils and the smell and taste of human blood were heavy in my thoughts as I figured out my next move.

I moved over towards the dead creature that had taken so many of my friends lives and lifted it up till I held its head in my hands. I opened my jaws as far as I could as I reached down and bit hard. After it was done. I sat down and waited for morning.





Death On The Moor Chapter Two

Death On The Moor Chapter One