Adam's World / My Way
presenting Adam Donaldson Powell's visual art and literary works.
Adam’s World — an introduction to the art and published books of Adam Donaldson Powell.
Sitat: “Det er viktig å ha gode tekniske ferdigheter men kunst krever publikumstekke, publikumsvennlige ideer, budskap og evne til å bevege mennesker — enten til glede og inspirasjon eller forakt etc. God kunst formidler ut fra hjertet og tankene til kunstneren som beboer på planeten. Det tekniske blir ingen erstatning for dette.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
Quote: “It’s important to have good technical skills, but art requires crowd appeal, ideas of public/social interest, messages and the ability to move people – either to joy and inspiration or contempt etc. Good art conveys from the heart and mind of the artist as one who lives on the planet. Technical skills alone will not compensate for lack of this.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
“Every new painting is like throwing myself into the water without knowing how to swim.”
— Edouard Manet
“Like Vincent van Gogh, I am an impasto painter. My painting tools include brushes, knives, plastic, rags, sponges, credit cards, pieces of wood, leaves, fingers, hands, feet … basically, whatever it takes to create the effect, textures and spirit of the idea to be conveyed. I paint on everything I can find: canvas, paper, wooden boards, cardboard, cloth, styrofoam, rocks … It is both a passion and an addiction. Lots of dopamine in my brain, I guess.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
MAPPLETHORPE IN TRIPTYCH.
I decided that it was best to depict Mapplethorpe in an expressionist style – and almost like a charcoal and chalk painting. This to depict the simplicity he has hidden behind in his public appearances, and in his art photography. The wisdom of that choice is apparent in the picture in the middle, which deals with his internal perceptions of himself, and where the spectator’s eye goes straight to the majestic Cala Lily – The flower of Death – which Mapplethorpe was so keen on. And the flower is so calm and majestic that the drama of the expressionist style is immediately reset in a single glance.
Robert Mapplethorpe triptych – a work-in-progress. Keywords: Mapplethorpe, tabloid (lurid, sensational) art, guns as penises, penises as guns, splattered blood, blood stains, sex, AIDS, crosses, Calla lily (flower of Death), sado-masochism, fetish, narcissism, pecs and nipples, the body as a living sculpture, perfection vs. the glory of the imperfect, Don Herron’s iconic Tubshot photo. Each panel measures 40 x 50 cm.
NB. Yes, I address Mapplethorpe’s obsession with Black men and their bodies / genitals by featuring Mapplethorpe himself in mirror image — as both Caucasian and Negroid. In this way his desire to completely embody and define ultimate personification of sexuality will finally be complete. The iconic Don Herron Tubshots photo of Mapplethorpe was chosen as my model because I actually met Mapplethorpe at his loft when Don and I delivered the photograph to him. This triptych is my “tribute” to both Don Herron and Robert Mapplethorpe.
This abstract painting is about environmental problems related to pollution of the seas — both with waste such as plastic, but also with abandoned fishing nets. The colourful plastic attracts fishes, which consume it.
ADAM AS PAINTER:
“My ‘style’? I instinctively rebel against being conveniently labelled as ‘this, or that’; just as I rebel against the so-called ‘rules of painting’, or ‘rules of writing’ … or populistic black-and-white classifications such as ‘political correctness vs. incorrectness’ etc. Actually, it is the audacity of these concepts that annoys me. The need of others to classify me, my art, my writing … or anything, is surely an indication of their own egotism, insecurities, limitations and weaknesses. Alas, we live in a world of labels, ratings, and quality judgments based on popularity and price. The closest relevant generic style classifications of my own art might be perhaps ‘abstract’, ‘colour field’, ‘geometric’, ‘abstract expressionist’, ‘minimalist’ etc. But I always find my own ‘mix’ … with limitless variations. My art and writing are meant to be different and new; and pleasing, challenging and annoying — at the same time.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
“Vertigo”, 50×50 cm., oil on canvas with “watercolour effect”.
AT MOMENTS, “TOXIQUE” IS VERY SEXY:
SEE SEVERAL OF MY RECENT PAINTINGS HERE!
«Sunrise in early Spring», oil on canvas, 65×90 cm., 2018.
REGARDING MY INSPIRATION AND IDEAS …
“I see poetry everywhere. In fact, each and every one of my paintings is a poem or a story … with hints of a song, an opera, a dance, a theater performance.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
I am often asked where my ideas and inspiration come from. For those interested, see selected recent paintings accompanied by texts and thoughts HERE!
“Le jeune homme et la mort”, 65×90 cm., oil on canvas. This is my re-interpretation of Cocteau’s idea for the famous ballet. See my notes about this HERE!
The paintings include: 1) “Endless Winter/Climate change”, 15×15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018;
2) “Spleen – love dissolving”, 20×20 cm., oil on canvas, 2018;
3) “Roses and a teardrop for Las Ramblas”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. This miniature abstract painting was inspired by the terror attack upon the people at Las Ramblas in Barcelona. It depicts a rose-floral wallpaper-like background with a line/queue that is broken — interrupted by a single teardrop;
4) “Trou de la gloire/Gaufres bleues; Oui, l’amour est bleu … et la véritable gloire est un trou dans un mur qui s’effrité, («Gloryhole/Blue waffles; Yes, love is blue … and real glory is a hole in a crumbling wall»)”, 15×15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018. I accidentally stumbled over photos of “blue waffles” on the Internet. They were so disgusting and glorious that I had to challenge myself to interpret the magnificent phenomenon;
5) “Ghosts no. 1 — Climate change sucks the life out of Spring”, 15×15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018;
6) “Ghosts no. 2 — Climate change sucks the life out of Spring”, 15×15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018;
7) “Love between vampires: Yeah, Baby — let’s tear off a piece! (L’amour entre les vampires: Viens m’enculer!)”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. Whether our needs for giving and receiving love bring out the vampire or the angel in us, it is all an expression of our evolving humanity;
8) “Niqab — of love and fetish in an age of terror”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. Keywords: niqab, AK47, roses, blood, hidden passion, discomforting eyes, risks, fetish, love, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018;
9) “Pissing on our parade”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. “Pissing on our parade”, is a commentary on gay violence — i.e. violence, murder and terror committed both by and against gays. LGBTQ-persons are “people”, and prone to the same problems and personality issues as all others in society. However, whenever an LGBTQ-person commits an act of terror (Orlando), sexual violence and harassment (by the way, these harassments are seldom investigated as #metoo, or even hate crimes), murder plus cannibalism, or other acts that feel like a violation of what many consider to be basic humane and civilised values, it feels as embarrassing to me as a gay person as muslims must feel when yet another act of hate-inspired terrorism is committed in the name of Islam. It is also embarrassing to me as a human and as a soul in active incarnation. These individuals — regardless of whether they are disturbed, or just hateful — are pissing on our parade. Keywords: pissing, parade, #stopthebleeding, wounded hearts, rainbow, #stopthehate;
10) “Silence.”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. “Silence.” is about the news and important information that we do not receive, or that is kept hidden from us by politicians, corporations, scientists and the mainstream media. It is also about what most of us are thinking but do not talk about due to social controls on thoughts, speech and actions. Silence should be a beautiful thing — a reprieve from the noise of everyday life and stress … but sometimes the silence is something to be feared. When we fear it, silence is the new noise;
11) “White Noise.”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. “White Noise” is about the constant chatter of mainstream media — spitting out and vomiting the same news stories ad nauseum; in all newspapers, radio and television stations, on the internet … all over the world, 24 hours a day. The noise keeps us company when we are alone and trying to escape the silence of loneliness … and we eventually neither listen to nor hear the warnings, worries and hatred broadcasted and echoed from high and low. The noise is our new silence;
12) and 13) “Broken Hallelujah in the Landscape of Life.”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. “Broken Hallelujah in the Landscape of Life” interprets the crevices, rips, tears and shattering we all experience, expected or not; i.e. those moments and periods where our hopes and dreams, infatuations, marriages, friendships, ways of perceiving the world and other people etc. fall apart, unravel and demand re-adjustment — with new vision. Although often quite painful, these adjustments provide us with opportunities to re-invent and re-define ourselves. The choice is ours: to suffer for an indeterminate period of time … or to climb down from the cross and explore “the new”, seeking balance — with a positive sense of moderation.“Ariston metron!” (“Moderation is best!);
14) “#metoo: Men’s room — the writing on the players’ wailing wall”, 15×15 cm, oil on canvas, 2018. This graffiti painting reveals the angry and dissatisfied murmurings of some men on social media and (as here) on a men’s room wall. It is generally considered to be politically incorrect for men to voice concern over matriarchal feminism and the #metoo movement, and the fear of loss of basic rights for men. When these voices are restricted to hidden enclaves and not allowed to be measured and discussed openly then the ensuing negative consequences can be devastating. The frustrated graffiti text includes: matriarchy; man-haters; Fuck #metoo; Fuck no sex; men prefer 1) whores, 2) men, 3) sex dolls; custody rights; lonely; feminazi; dutch treat etc.;
15) and 16) “Weather forecast — Warning, High Probability of Nuclear Storm; Part One: Alert” and Part Two: Perfect Storm”, 15 x 15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018. Perhaps the most immediate threat of annihilation of the planet and humanity is the threat of nuclear war and a serious nuclear accident. This work predicts a future where such threats becomes part of the weather and terror threat warning system. Colour code: yellow and black; the smoky grey background tells the rest of the story;
17) and 18) “Memento Mori — Fama (Starry Night)” and “Memento Mori — Damnatio Memoriae”, 15 x 15 cm., oil on canvas, 2018: These two simple, if not “pseudo-naïvistic”, paintings are about the naive personal quests for fame after death, i.e to live forever through our children’s or others’ minds — by way of recorded fame in this lifetime and myths; and the opposite and more likely reality: of being dead forever/being forgotten. In “Fama” the subtitle “Starry Night” functions as a Hollywood star reference as well as is a commentary about Vincent Van Gogh’s failure to achieve notoriety and artistic recognition before after his physical death. His own personal “starry night” is rather a quiet internal burning and ember-like glow — without spectacle. For artists, authors and musicians this notoriety is often established and maintained by way of representation, archives and mention in museum collections, published books, recordings, Wikipedia, the internet, history books etc. However, with ever-developing technology and increasing limited space in libraries and museums these hopes of living forever are being thwarted. For others who try to establish themselves as television hit show stars, as bloggers and as reality stars the goal is perhaps even more unattainable. We cannot take worldly acclaim with us to the afterlife, but to ensure that we still maintain a presence in this world after we leave it physically has been a dream of many for ages. The looming question is: “What is the purpose of Life and achieving notoriety — do we live for the ‘now’, or forever?” Another important question is “Should all art be made with the intention of it living forever; what is the value of temporary, performance and disposable art?” And of course, “Memento Mori — Damnatio Memoriae” reminds us that — should we fail to achieve lasting fame — we will not only remain “still dead” but we will disappear … forever, and without a trace, save possibly a short-lived grave and tombstone.
These paintings comprise a series of miniature abstract oil paintings that are about feigning indifference in a crazy and brutal world because there is simply so much that seems out of our control and we must often pretend to be indifferent in order to survive from day to day.
“Love illusion”, 65×90 cm., oil on canvas.
ADAM AS PHOTOGRAPHER:
See my Oslo Street Art Documentation Photography (including documentation of works by The London Police, Galo, Shepard Fairey, Logan Hicks, D-Face, Will Barras, Faile, Martin Whatson and many unnamed graffiti artists) HERE!
ART CRITICISM:
I have reviewed art and photography: art photography appearing in photography book publications, paintings in public exhibitions, and art photography collections made for / on the internet. Here are two examples of my photography criticism using an epistolary format:
LETTRES À UN PHOTOGRAPHE FRANÇAIS
LETTERS TO AN ITALIAN ART PHOTOGRAPHER
SEE MY JEWELLERY DESIGN HERE!
ADAM’S ART IS IN SEVERAL PUBLIC AND PRIVATE COLLECTIONS (in Europe, USA and South America):
Adam sitting under one of his art photography works in the collection of Ullevål Sykehus in Oslo. The hospital system also has two of his paintings in its collection, including this one:
“The day after 9/11, oil on canvas” —
In the permanent collection of Rikshospitalet in Oslo.
A FEW OF MY PREVIOUS PAINTING STYLES:
See several of my previous paintings HERE!
“Crumpled paper, oil on canvas, 50×62 cm.”
“Austin, oil on canvas, 80×80 cm.»
“Tribute to Yukio Mishima: Spring Snow”, oil on canvas, 50×50 cm.”
“Seascape I” (original of a series), oil on canvas, 120×120 cm.”
Ah, feck it!
My two latest published books:
SHORT AUTHOR BIO:
ADAM DONALDSON POWELL (Norway) is a multilingual author, literary critic, and art photography critic; and a professional visual artist. He has published several literary books (including collections of poetry, short stories, and novellas, two science fiction novels, a biography, and a collection of essays) in the USA, Norway and India; as well as numerous works in international literary publications on several continents. He writes in English, Spanish, French and Norwegian. He has previously authored theatrical works performed onstage, and he has read his poetry at venues in New York City (USA), Oslo (Norway), Buenos Aires (Argentina), and Kathmandu (Nepal). His book “Gaytude” (co-authored with Albert Russo) won the 2009 National Indie Excellence Award in the category gay/lesbian non-fiction. Powell was also the winner of the Azsacra International Poetry Award in 2008, and the recipient of a Norwegian Foreign Ministry travel stipend for authors in 2005. Powell also took initiative to planning and organizing the “Words – one path to peace and understanding” international literary festival in Oslo, Norway in 2008. He has been an author under the Cyberwit label since 2005, and he has published 13 literary books since 1987.
Read some excerpts from the book HERE!
ADAM DONALDSON POWELL – WIKIPEDIA NORGE
BIBLIOGRAPHY:
Under the Shirttails of Albert Russo: an alternative biography, l’Aleph — Sweden, ISBN 978-91-7637-401-6, © Wisehouse 2017, Sweden.
Entre Nous et Eux: contes de fées pour adultes, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-93-85945-77-9, © 2017, India.
Jisei: death poems and daily reflections by a person with AIDS”, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-403-2, © 2013, India.
The tunnel at the end of time” (co-written with Rick Davis and Azsacra Zarathustra), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-160-4, © 2010, India.
Malerier og fotokunst, a short 38-page retrospective overview of some of Adam Donaldson Powell’s best known oil paintings and photographic art works”. Published by Cyberwit.net as a special limited and numbered full-color, soft cover edition (55 copies only), ISBN 978- 81-8253-154-3, India, © 2009.
GAYTUDE: a poetic journey around the world, co-authored together with Albert Russo 1[1], bilingual (French and English), gay poetry, 334 pages, Xlibris, ISBN 978-1-4363-6395-2, 2009, USA 6 [2].
2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel, 135 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-118-5, 2008, India.
Critical Essays, literary and photobook criticism by Adam Donaldson Powell and Dr. Santosh Kumar 2[3], 108 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-110-9, 2008, India.
Le Paradis (Paradise), 80 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-103-1, 2008, India. Inkluderer bilag med symboler fra Universelle Lysspråket, som opplevd av Laila Holand.
Rapture: endings of space and time (86 pages), Cyberwit,net, ISBN 978-81-8253-083-6, 2007, India.
Three-legged Waltz, (80 pages), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 81-8253-058-X, 2006, India.
Collected Poems and Stories, (175 pages), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 81-8253-028-8, 2005, India.
Arcana and other archetypes, (special limited edition – hardback collection of poetry), AIM Chapbooks ANS, 2001, Norway (now out-of-print).
Notes of a Madman, (hardback collection of poetry), Winston-Derek Publishers, Inc., 1987, ISBN 1-55523-054-7, USA (now out-of-print).
(Above photos of Adam taken in NYC when he was writing his first published book: “Notes of a Madman”)
CHECK IT OUT:
And here is a quick recap/overview of my published books. For more information, please see the next pages of this blog.
MY AMAZON.COM AUTHOR PAGE: HERE!
MY CYBERWIT.NET AUTHOR PAGE: HERE!
“Death is creative, but not picky — she will claim us according to her time schedule and whims, regardless of cause of Death. Don’t obsess over Death. Live each moment as if it were your first and last.”
— Adam Donaldson Powell
Lost in Space/Return of the Anunnaki — searching for meaning in a sea of nothingness.
Soul evacuation/Requiem for Earth, 100×150 cm., oil on canvas.
Vortex, 40×40 cm., oil on canvas.
Read excerpts from my two EXTREME SCI-FI NOVELS: The Tunnel at the End of Time and 2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel.
Read about the Universal Language of Light HERE!
WORLD WAR III? … l’union fait la force!
WORLD WAR III: USA VS. RUSSIA? — Revisiting “The tunnel at the end of time”. When the book was first released in 2010, many saw it as extreme sci-fi. Now it seems rather real.
07
Funny about the military missile
platforms in space.
Only one-third of them are pointed
to Terra; the rest are pointing
to outer space.
Presenting the introduction to “The tunnel at the end of time” (the sci-fi novel which takes conspiracy theory and religious propaganda to their extreme … and beyond). Introduction written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.
(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)
PART ONE: LEFT AND RIGHT HANDS OF THE GODS.
01
Это возникало из – за щитов …
из – за ракет, которых “там” не было сначала,
но которые будут “здесь” в конечном счёте.
Yes, the shields … humans are born with them,
much as angels are born with wings.
It is propaganda, of course …
the truth has always been an existential relativity.
Funny …
They say I am balding … getting old and senile.
But the truth is that I have always been bald.
I am “Transforma” … the symbol of the old
empire now fallen.
I am … the bearer of vision and conscience.
I am … the judge and the predator.
I am … the eagle.
We saw it coming, didn’t we “Vrebatima”?
I kept silent … and no one believed you.
But who is laughing now?
Yes, only us …
The Armageddon was inevitable …
We needed it, and so we created it.
But it is only illusion …
Только иллюзия.
02
No illusions!
No delusions!
We knew only the Truth of Destruction!
We – Über! … and my one-legged
father taught me only how to kill:
kill Buddha!
kill Hitler!
kill yourself!
my mother – Nothing, but older
and more sorrowful …
my father – Nobody, but more merciless
and sadder …
Look: my daughter goes from Emptiness
to Emptiness in order to kill every tear
before her birth:
And now Absence doesn’t cry anymore,
Emptiness doesn’t spend any more money
on funerals –
that’s the Truth of Non-existence!
“Nothing” is my mother –
“Nobody” is my father –
and there are no tears between
them
Nein!
03
левая рука Бога?
Ahh, the left hand of God!
yes, I saw it once: floating
over the Sahara.
Little did I then know that
it was the rosebud of Intervention.
Who could have guessed?
It danced so gracefully, like
Salome’s dance of the veils –
stirring up a frenzy of sand
against the windless sky
I miss the slithering creepy-crawlers
which once tattled the mysteries
of the night. They are long gone;
as are the polar bears, the whales,
the crocodiles, the bees and the sharks.
What have you done, Terrans?
What were you thinking?
Lost in meditations upon finances
and power, you lost sight of the
greatest wealth you owned.
And you crowded only a few
humanoids onto your hastily-built
arks when the floods and dis-ease
ravaged so mercilessly.
Some called it the work of
the antichrist, but the antichrist
was humanity itself: which
had been too long on the rampage
of greed and apathy and imbalance.
You raped and you raped;
and defiled both humanity and
nature.
A barren Terra wails but we
are not comforters Vrebatima.
(nods)
We are merely the scribes
who observe and note the
crimes for future reflection.
Tell me a story Vrebatima,
but allow me to keep my Buddha.
I have nothing else.
Tell me again about the
fires and the tsunamis and
the screaming; and
the fallen Buddha statues.
Поведайте мне Vrebatima …
сообщите мне!
Break with your emptiness
and violate the nothingness,
Vrebatima.
Tell me about the dried-out
moss on the floors of the
naked forests, and of the
sad Russian lullabies sung
by the dying hummingbirds.
Remind me of the carcasses –
long since picked clean by
crows that had become vultures
out of necessity of survival.
Jog my memory, O Vrebatima:
сообщите мне!
04
Believe: in the Sacred Rats.
The Execution of the world is –
the execution of a Ritual.
An angel, rushing down,
made a heart-rending cry:
Let rats fuck their daughters;
coin dolls born from the
Dollar –
On the gold of their fathers
fucked in manure …
Let rats fuck their daughters!
…………………………
Power
Power
Power of prices alone –
ascending from the worthless world
to Zero:
0000000000000000000000!
After zeros
(instead of bullets)
only holes are left –
0000000000000000000000!
There are no more
Great Chinese Walls!
The decay!
The Empire died like
a pitiful trembling
rabbit.
In cash-machines there is
a “share” for each –
the Universe will no more be
rammed through by the hawk.
It’s clear now:
God didn’t die –
the Will died …
Der Wille zur Macht?
Nein! –
Das Nichts zur Macht!
Das Leere zur Herrschaft!
0000000000000000000000000!
05
I am fucked … we are all fucked.
The Great Bear is howling in
the Siberian woods …
and Vrebatima has hunger
in her soul – as do I.
Our forefathers were perhaps
foolish to give up the Cold Wars,
to kill Saddam Hussein and
to invade Afghanistan.
I followed the Sacred Rat,
and he deceived me
time and time again …
fucked me up real good.
As the leading superpowers
we had control – and we
agreed to disagree, making secret
strategies together, for viewing
and consumption by the world.
The people of the world were stupid.
They never understood the farce …
that every argument and action
was contracted and choreographed.
We provided both excitement and
the security of balance.
But now we have lost our rhythm,
and our equilibrium is shaky at best.
I miss the rat …
Do you still remember how to
dance Vrebatima?
You used to be so elegant …
a true Russian princess.
Let me rest my beak on your
womb my beautiful predator;
and please caress the feathered
nape of my neck with your
claw – two unlikely lovers
baring resemblance visible
only to the initiated:
of beak and claw, both royalty and
scavengers of the spoils
of imbalance.
Where is Buddha? He has
disappeared from the mountaintop.
And where is Christ? He has
descended from the cross.
(It was cold here on Terra,
and we needed the wood.)
They are both having tea
with Nietzsche, who is
dressed up like a ballet dancer.
Where am I, Vrebatima?
I am lost in my own transformation …
in the winter of my own samadhi.
Wake me up from my dreams …
but let me hold onto my illusions
and my delusions.
I need the escape … I crave the drug.
Maya is heroin for the tired soul.
I am fucked …
I am …
I …
06
Ich –
Ich bin –
Ich bin tot –
Ich tot bin!
I – Vrebatima! Я – Mahakala!
I – Yama! I – Shiva, dancing
only on corpses …
I – Destroyer of this
too (super-too!) human
Universe!
I – Bhairava, but not rapturous
God Eros –
to hell with sex, Transforma:
Cut off the balls of each
inamorato!
Shoot off the head of each
beautiful doll!
I – des Todes Tod –
I – Clear Death –
I – Clear Death –
The ABSOLUTE OF ATTACKING DEATH!
For: all “people” are riffraff!
For: Transcendence Itself
and He who transcends wants to drink
their blood and shoot them down!
What, Transforma, didn’t you
know that?
Didn’t you feel the Clearest
Unevitable Essence of Death?
I – DESTRUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I – ABSOLUTE SPIRITUAL BREACH!
NO PITIFUL REMNANTS!
In the ass are fucked
only yelping sluts …
… all soft ottomans
have been shat on by young
pussycats …
But Nietzsche ordered
to bomb Las Vegas!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
07
Funny about the military missile
platforms in space.
Only one-third of them are pointed
to Terra; the rest are pointing
to outer space.
Man is a predator out-of-control;
a soul-virus and a threat
to the whole universe.
I mourn for the aliens who were
tortured and killed by us, in
order to steal their intelligence.
Information we were not ready
to use properly, and which led
to our own demise as a world.
And the Intervention (says the
voice in Transforma’s head).
(sighs)
And the damned garbage floating
around in the Terra orbit system …
as below – so above.
What? Shhhh! (says Transforma
to the voice in his head)
The old USA was a “whore-goddess” …
a giant golden vagina with penis-like
hairs, hoarding and fucking and
standardizing all in its path.
“In God We Trust, and his name is
Dollar.”
Blah, blah, blah …
and all that blaehhhh …
(Transforma laughs hysterically,
then sobs, and hiccups and farts.)
You know, you tell me to
forget about sex … but
did you know that
I was once fucked by the
finger of the God?
It is true; by the middle finger
of his right hand.
Impaled, like the Spaniards who
were forced by the Incas to sit on
sharpened tree stumps until
their guts exploded … as
punishment for their greed for gold.
Yeah … (thoughtfully). Impaled.
At my moment of death I saw the
Sky of the Last Days; the Destruction
was a magnificent show:
beautiful pink, orange and purple
skies, with mushroom clouds as far
as the eye could see – and beyond.
And all was so quiet, too;
except for the gentle lullaby that
hummed in my head.
Сладкая колыбельная.
Сон – это спасение… отсрочка.
Sweet lullaby.
Sleep is salvation … reprieve.
To my left there is a child in
tattered clothing, half-starved and
too resigned to beg anymore …
and to my right there is
a whirling dervish, spinning
’round and ’round – lost in
his own private ecstasy.
Both are barefoot.
Alas, there is no death …
only sleep.
08
Are you listening, Transforma?
Ich ist das Nichts zur Macht!
Ich ist das Leere zur Herrschaft!
Between us there can’t be
Any Harmony.
Between you there can’t be
any Germany.
The Fair Eagle of Severe Spirituality
has died forever.
The Chinese “I Ching” hexagrams
didn’t turn into Ravenous Beasts.
Confucius is not inspired by
the voids of “Mein Kampf”.
But, Transforma … Tao killed the
dragons in vain –
Now bullets won’t
find the revolver!
Nobody will shoot
The Yellow Emperor!
People forgot:
God’s Dick – is the Ram of the Sky! –
The Аmerican Saturating Revolution
is not worth even a single dick of the
japanese kamikazes!
Europeans …
pleasant Takheshi Khitano
will never repeat the hara-kiri of
Yukio Mishima.
Look –
exponent of piffling lives
“life of spirit” after suicide by
Hitler.
09
бритый
Bald … barren … bare
as the mountaintop on
which we stand.
Our new vision shall
rise from the ashes,
as the Phoenix.
And I shall learn
to love you Vrebatima.
If not, then we shall
ride the missile of Hell
together – bareback …
(snickers)
a crazy cossack
and a psycho cowboy
Azrael is my witness …
we will never die …
only our bodies will wither
and disintegrate to dust
and we shall be remembered
in the annals of history …
perhaps as mere footnotes
remembered only by trivia fanatics
in decades to come.
But I will always dream of
our voyage, Vrebatima –
over and over again,
like a merry-go-round that
never stops, changing simple
joy to horror.
A bittersweet nightmare …
If only the dreamer would
never wake up.
Can you promise me that …
Vrebatima?
Бритый
yes, I love my bald dreams …
and Russian caviar.
10
worms …
only worms …
now only worms are – Holy! –
always continuing, creeping through
dead God …
Snakes slide away …
Rats run away …
The Mystery of Creatures wakes even God up …
But when Jesus hears the word “culture” –
He doesn’t take out a revolver:
John Lennon can masturbate,
jump, masturbate, jump,
masturbate, and jump
on and on …
Do you see, Transforma –
even Lord Krishna left the Battlefield
and took Arjuna with him.
What for, O Lord?
To fuck Saint Silvia
in two holes.
Do you understand?
Gods and people – are only the Spirit’s Porno!
Ja! Ja! Ja! –
Buddha’s ejaculation into His own
Skull!
Nobody wants to eat
corpses of sybaritic
natives …
Germans?
Where are the marching
Germans?
… there are no Wild
Holy Exotics …
… no one exercises
in Breaching of the Spirit …
… there’s no one to be fed to
the rats …
… the blood stopped to look for
Light …
…a dick doesn’t thirst for twats
of the Sun …
………………..
ex nihilo nihil fit.
satori?
samadhi?
Shun’ja!
(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)
PART TWO: THE GREAT ENDING OF THE END.
01
ego cogito, ergo sum?
Auf!
Auf! Nicht röcheln!
Nicht röcheln!
cogito Todt Ist,
sum ist Summa Summarum
Nichts =
Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!
Auf –
Auf –
Nicht!
Here is the Key to it all:
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
das Nichts zur Macht!
das Leere zur Herrschaft!
02
(sobs)
You undress my gods shamelessly,
Vrebatima!
I huddle and shiver in the shadows
of my own spirituality.
There is no god but God …
and I am God – naked
and exposed in the face of
my own and collective
illusions and indiscretions.
What is the use?
Billions upon billions of gods
running around, making their
own realities in confusion.
Let us cut out the spiritual pork!
Bring back the Age of the Guru …
and bring back the Prophets.
It is too much responsibility to
be my own god.
Tell me what to believe …
show me how to act.
Lead me back into the
Darkness.
The Darkness of the Eternal Womb …
the elixir of Nothingness.
03
I am not a Dark Tao. I’m not Nirvana.
I am not Om ……………………..
I am – Isana. I am – Nataraja.
I am – the Clear Transcendent of Death.
I am – The Left Hand of God –
and I can only Kill.
I Kill all the Truths.
And first of all – Myself
as a Truth …
I AM – ABSOLUTE BREACH OF SPIRIT!
That’s why – Killing myself! –
I know for sure:
Western gods – shit!
Eastern gods – huge
manure heap!
I know! – the old Will to Power
should be replaced with Nothing to Reign:
das Nichts zur Macht!
I see! – The Great Noon should
turn Emptiness into Domination:
das Leere zur Herrschaft!
The existing formulas are not enough:
“Be strong”, “Werdet hart” …
Now you should Kill
“yourself” – within Yourself …
and even –
the Omnipotent within you!
Exactly so! It is only by killing the Omnipotent,
that you can understand the last
Truth of Horrors’ Horrors:
“The Devil is Dead” – it is truly more
horrifying, than “God is dead”.
O Great Gods! You are – Stinkers! –
too many of you … but You are all still
alive. What a Lie …
only one Devil is the Spirit of Honour! –
because he is always dead.
Deus est mortuus?
Diabolos mortuus est!
04
I stand naked before you, Vrebatima …
yeah – even naked before myself
and the god within me.
I have faced Death,
but Death was only mortality:
an experience that I longed for
only because it was faceless.
Hiding a secret that no one
really cared about anyway.
I am not proud, Vrebatima.
I weep for Amerika …
and the “dream” …
long since exposed as illusion.
Yea, I am naked and dirty, Vrebatima
… and blinded by the sunshine
reflected on the snowcaps.
I hear you … but you must
court me if I am to believe you.
I only know Détente …
I have never known Love.
Silence is greater than
the absence of Noise.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare.
It is in the Nothingness
that I find meaning, and there
that my Existence has value.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all intent;
an existence devoid of fear
and purpose.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare
as the Now … the moment,
of Silence …
without expectation or
apprehension.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
as the word “no” –
whispered in orgasmic
ecstasy.
бритый
Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all humanity
and self-respect
by the airport scanners.
05
Also sprach Zarathustra:
Gelobt sei, was hart macht!
Naked? … But that’s not enough –
you need more,
you need to strip your skin off
while still alive:
reveal your bones –
reveal your intestines –
reveal your Emptiness!
Aha! … Transforma demanded
“to cut the spiritual pork out of gods” –
and suddenly … immediately surrendered
without a battle.
Spiritual rebellion but for a moment?
Do you only wish to “suck off” the Gods? –
in this case Hölderlin will question you with severity.
It’s better to be like Lord Krishna –
to fuck the 100 000 beautiful gopis
immediately and all at once.
But it is – the same decadence, Transforma!
Better yet, let me quote
“The Dhammapada” for You:
He killed his mother and father, and two kings from
Kshatriya’s caste, destroyed the kingdom together
with its population, the brahmin became imperturbable –
Does it mean anything to you?
Here are the words regarding Spiritual Luxury from the regal
“Bhagavad-Gita”:
I have become Death,
I have become the shatterer of worlds!
Kill the Gods, Transforma!
Kill this eternal whining, crying, quaggy,
tear-dropping god Eros!
Kill your own dick!
Exterminate all the stupid lovers,
poets, readers, spectators of Your
Exhibitionist mania –
shoot them all down!
As earlier in old, good Germany,
we will talk in the language
of the Clear Transcendent –
Transzendentalphilosophie!
THE HIGHER TRANSCENDENT IS SHAPED FROM NOTHING –
WITHOUT dicks!
WITHOUT twats!
Only – “das Ding an sich”!
Do you know that Kant was good at shooting
with his “Shmaiser”?
hitting: 10 out of 10!
And can you do that?
I remember, that in “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”
the following was written:
There will be a time –
Hitler constantly shooting himself
might miss sometime
and make a hole in somebody’s head –
it will be Your head, Transforma!
It is so mulish
that even Buddha could break
a stick against it …
Bang! …
Bang! …
Bang! …
How many sticks are necessary to break
against your bald head?
The Right hand of God should do
more than just masturbate.
Stop wasting seed
and tears …
Buddha said: no more Existence!
THERE WILL NEVER BE EXISTENCE!!!
Nullpunkt!
Nichts!
………………
Schreibe mit Blut:
und du wirst erfahren,
dass Blut Geist ist.
06
Vrebatima, surely I will never
reconcile with you in this world.
The old rules worked just fine
until recently; money, power,
greed and the threat of missiles
and sex have always been
our personal gods.
Do not fool yourself.
I will send you some beautiful
black orchids, dripping with
the blood of one thousand
national anthems … and then
you will understand and
once again cry tears of joy
for our lost Cold War.
It was our only hope for peace.
Our only real expression of Love.
The only proof of Existence.
What is the use of Divine Intervention?
What was the point of the crucifixion
or the Holy Wars?
If we achieve peace then we must
find new enemies in outer space …
it is the way of humans, Vrebatima.
It is the way of the Warrior God.
Meet me at nightfall – in the barren courtyard.
And bring your Sword of Silence!
07
… this and then there is Victory?
I will quickly draw a Sword of Silence,
strike a blow –
and Silence has already approached …
………………………..
………………………..
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… ……………………
08
(sobs)
… and so it ends, Vrebatima.
In cold silence – détente.
Once again we agree not to
communicate, not to seek
resolution or understanding.
Is it really human nature and
the way of the gods, or is it us?
If it is truly destruction that we
both really want, then surely it is
Silence that is the Great Destroyer.
(sighs)
It is an uncomfortable silence, hostile and
fraught with projections and scheming.
It is a “noisy” silence … quite different
from the Oneness of Unity and
the Absence of Separation.
It is a silence that makes angels and
the soldiers of Divine Intervention
cry with sadness.
(indignant)
But it is a silence that we know
all too well, Vrebatima …
and so far, the only silence
we truly trust – deep down
inside ourselves.
(snickers nervously)
Es triste … pero es cierto.
09
Be afraid of the Absence of
Evil:
not the dark,
not the beast,
not the blade,
not the poison –
but the Tear Itself will kill
the child!
The Grass Itself will kill
the lamb!
Not the shadow,
not the tiger –
but the Aroma and the Rose will kill
you!
I saw the terror of the first flower
on a Spring Field:
alone – it didn’t want
to bloom for the Sky …
didn’t expose
itself to a Kindred Sun
and the first dew
trickled down it
and the first moth
was startled by it
and the first bee
flew away
show Your Nothingness on
the petals!
expose Yourself
without any blooming!
You are – the Void
without name
and shape …
Come from
Nothing …
And Again
Vanish …
10
Expose yourself – and wake up.
Yes … wake up.
Wake up and
destroy the dream.
Embrace the nightmare
of Nothingness.
Caress the baldness.
Lick the Sword of Silence.
Stop waiting for Divine Intervention.
Become the Divine Intervention.
Let it be your zazen.
Sing me a lullaby without words,
and without sound.
I no longer believe in the messiah …
or in the antichrist.
I see both in my own reflection
in the mirror of darkness.
The only tears that I have left
are tears of blood …
it is only blood that I can offer you,
Vrebatima.
Tear down the cross and
send the virgins home.
I, Transforma, will sit on my mountaintop
and you, Vrebatima, will sit on yours.
We will bridge our differences by
watching over the goings on and
when necessary – cooperating on
keeping the populace in blindness.
Together, we will maintain the smokescreen,
with the help of religion and the media.
Always a sideshow on the stage of consciousness …
distracting the masses from the real danger:
the sweet-sounding lies that soothe and abet.
I believe in the worms, Vrebatima …
and the unspeakable names of
the gods within all who both embrace
and cower in Darkness.
Tear down the cross and
send the virgins home.
THE END.
Photo: azSacra zaRathustra (courtesy azSacra zaRathustra)
Photo: Adam Donaldson Powell (courtesy Adam Donaldson Powell)
THIS WORK IS THE INTRODUCTION TO MY BOOK ENTITLED “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME”. ORDER “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME” AND SEVERAL OF MY OTHER BOOKS FROM CYBERWIT.NET OR AMAZON.COM
EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL:
ACT 10: “Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us!” Hamlet Act I sc. 4
“Lugh, work your way towards me, this one seems to be following me, and has at least one guard with him.”
“On my way, ‘Ifafi. Same here. I think we need to be in as open a space as possible – towards the center of the dome.”
“Agreed. On my way.”
As the pair converged towards the center of the dome, ‘Ifafi grasped the handle of Ga’s sword which was still sheathed, and loosened the tie of his cloak. As soon as they were within eye contact of each other, both ‘Ifafi and Lugh turned towards their adversaries which were advancing a few yards behind them.
Addressing them with all the authority of his angelic presence, ‘Ifafi stated “I don’t know who you really are, or what this little masquerade game is all about, but it will soon be over. We will find the real Niall and this charade will end.”
“No, it is over for you.” The Ekbar double closest to ‘Ifafi responded as he pulled out a gun.
‘Ifafi shucked his cloak and drew Ga’s sword simultaneously. A shot rang out, but was deflected by a lightening fast swing of the sword, as ‘Ifafi took wing towards his adversary faster than Lugh had ever seen any angel move, and with another fierce swing of the sword, the head of the fake Ekbar/Niall was rolling on the floor. The other Ekbar and his companion began to flee, as had anyone else within view. Lugh took flight giving chase, but the elusive doppelganger apparently also had an escape route planned as he disappeared into a hidden panel behind an information kiosk.
“I’ve lost him, damn it.” Lugh transmitted to ‘Ifafi.
“Let him go, I just got a mental image from Ga, we are needed below. Meet me back here. This poor bastard was just wearing a mask.”
By the time Lugh got back to ‘Ifafi, a small crowd of bold, but curious onlookers were beginning to advance as were a number of security force members. “We have to leave, now.” Ifafi said to Lugh who was looking at the unmasked dismembered head lying in a pool of blood on the floor.
“’Ifafi, remind me not to piss you off.”
“Yeah, that was a bit messy wasn’t it.” ‘Ifafi half-chuckled as the pair quickly made their way to their well-planned exit.
Back on Alpha Level, upon realizing the enormity of the conspiracy upon seeing the body of the Prefect laying before him, Ga had paused to send the image to ‘Ifafi.
Turning back to the Sergeant, Ga stated “I must return to our headquarters. Join your men. If you can apprehend one of these fake Ekbars, then do so, I have many questions. If you must wound one to do it, so be it. There has been enough killing here today, but the one we seek is not here. This has been a distraction, a ploy. I will not take a life without reason. Beware, they will have many allies and accomplices, even among the security forces. It is likely they will attempt to lead you into a trap. Keep them out in the open if possible, but they seek me, and my team. I will not be made the fool.”
“Yes sir.” replied the Sergeant.
Grasping the dagger from the body of the Prefect, Ga wiped the blade on the tunic of the body, and returned the weapon to his belt. He then grasped the small device Ulrich had given him as he turned to return to the security offices. “Ulrich, it is more critical than ever that you get to Epsilon Level and make your preparations. We need to immediately shut down all outside access to the facility. No one must leave, and no one must enter. He is still here, and I must make sure he stays here.”
“You’re correct that he is here, Ga, I picked up a faint signal from the NSA chip just a second ago. It appeared to be inside the tunnels, but it was too weak and to brief to get an accurate fix. I have picked up no less than twenty of these fakes though, all throughout the facility. Who the hell are they?”
“They are part of a deception, but also an elaborate plan to distract and ensnare us. One of them was no less than the Prefect himself. His body lies in the main corridor of Alpha level, near the entrance. They are wearing masks.”
“Holy shit! If the Prefect is involved, anyone can be suspect.”
“Exactly. Now you see why your mission is so critical. Do not fail me, Ulrich. All rides on your success now.”
“I shall make all possible haste, Ga. I will not fail.”
“Thank you, Ulrich. Keep me posted.”
Within minutes, ‘Ifafi and Lugh had returned to Alpha Level, and rejoined Ga at their makeshift headquarters in the security offices.
‘Ifafi looked around and asked, “Where’s Ulrich?”
“He’s on his way with the Lieutenant and two other trusted officers to Epsilon Level to hopefully set both our trap and our failsafe.”
“Good. What the hell are all these Niall/Ekbar look-alikes all about?”
“Obviously, it was Niall’s plan to distract and ensnare us down here, but there must be some other motive to it as well that I haven’t quite figured out yet. It is way too elaborate to be just a hoax, and way too transparent to be just a trap for us. Right now, I am assuming that is also a way to mask his own escape from this facility. He wants us to be chasing ghosts, so to speak, while he carries out whatever plans he has. I refuse to play his game.” Ga replied as sternly and angrily as ‘Ifafi had ever seen him.
“So what exactly is your plan?” Lugh asked.
“Ulrich discovered that the original plans for this facility, before the intervention changed everything, was to have the central operations center housed in a rather secure area on Epsilon Level. After the intervention, the newer facilities where our quarters were, were constructed. However, they left the original ops center abandoned, but still fully functional – as some sort of back-up, apparently. Ulrich believes he can bypass both the new ops center on level II and take control of all the environmental systems and other systems housed down on Zeta level as well. That is if Niall has been careless enough to overlook the old ops center and hasn’t done any major redesigns of the old systems that were down there. At the very least, we should be able to seal off the entire facility so that no one can enter or leave.”
“Ah, so whatever he has planned, you intend to trap him here with us.” ‘Ifafi replied.
“Exactly. He will have to come to us.”
There are only three of us. Ulrich will be totally absorbed in his duties.” Lugh interjected.
“I am aware that we are spreading ourselves thin. We have a few members of the security forces. You haven’t met my new friend, the Sergeant. I believe he knows this place as well as anyone, and was loyal in my brief battle with the Prefect. I believe I have a way to tilt the odds a bit more in our favor as well. We will address that shortly, and I shall need your help. Which brings me to your escapade in the dome, ‘Ifafi.”
‘Ifafi seemed to almost blush. Lugh had never seen quite that reaction in an Angel. “Ga, if it’s about your sword, it wasn’t damaged. I just reacted. It was all I had.”
“It’s not about the sword, I’m glad it defended you well. However, we must give you both a few lessons in subtlety. Flying around the central dome in full few of literally thousands of humans and aliens is not exactly keeping a low profile.”
At just that moment, the device in Ga’s ear buzzed again lightly. “Yes, Ulrich. Speak.”
“I’m on Epsilon Level, but it wasn’t without incident. We were attacked by one of the Ekbar clones or whatever you want to call them and his entourage. The Lieutenant is dead. I was grazed by a stray shot. The other two security guards with me managed to kill the two guards with him, and wound the fake Ekbar, but he escaped.”
“Are you certain it was one of the fakes?” Ga asked.
“Yes, at that distance, and with whatever he is using to cloak the signal, I would have been able to pick up at least some trace of the NSA chip.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, just a slight flesh wound. Looks far worse than it really is.”
“Very well. We shall join you as soon as we can. Start your operation as quickly as you are able.”
“We must hurry now. Ulrich may have been detected and I don’t want to give Niall a chance to figure out what we are up to. I just wish I knew what his scheme is.” Ga stated flatly to ‘Ifafi and Lugh.
Deep below, now on Zeta Level, the real Ekbar/Niall was moving forward with his plan. He had managed to have constructed, under the prefect’s forged authority, a rather elaborate bunker, apartment, and suite of offices. He summoned his closest accomplice, a young human, who had been the Prefect’s Aide de Camp, Arthur Kent. Arthur, only twenty-three years of age, was descended from old British royal bloodlines and very much acted the part – always very formal, and his education and training very evident.
“Yes sir, you called?” the young man responded as he opened the door to Niall’s private office.
“Yes, how is our plan proceeding?”
“I’m sorry to report, sir, that the Prefect is dead. He was killed on Alpha level by Ga. ‘Ifafi and Lugh managed to escape the dome after killing an operative there. Ulrich was spotted in the tunnels somewhere near the entrance to Delta Level, but managed to elude our operative there, but was apparently wounded in the battle. We presume that ‘Ifafi and Lugh have re-joined Ga by now, but we still have not figured out how they are moving so quickly and freely, or why Ulrich had gone deeper into the facility alone, save for his security escort.”
“Bloody incompetents, all of them, especially our esteemed Prefect. I should have killed that bastard myself and Ga would have been dead by now. All of this masquerade business seemed ridiculously complex anyway, but it may yet serve its purpose. Well, it is of no matter, Ga and his team will die if I have to kill everyone on Alpha and Beta levels to do it, which is precisely our next move. Have Wilhelm prepare to flood both levels with the nerve gas agent.”
“Yes sir, but don’t you want to try to get at least some of our operatives out first? Also, should I send another team to search for Ulrich?”
“That would be my first choice, Arthur, but I don’t want to do anything to tip my hand to these … these … abominations. They must die. Nothing must interfere with the master plan. Ulrich is of no consequence, we shall eliminate him later. Arthur, you are too young to understand, but this has taken years to prepare. Some sacrifices are necessary. Were it not for the Divine Intervention, and the meddling of this infernal Federation, this would have all happened in 2012. People like you and I have been chosen to rule this planet. We have been given an opportunity like none other in human history. We have spent generations controlling genetics to achieve a superior race, and with our technology, the messy business of pairings and breeding is no longer even necessary. The day of the eugenics wars has arrived, and we shall be the master race – the only race. It is the next step in evolution. First however, we must eliminate … well … the undesirables. The engineered viruses stockpiled here and in sister facilities in Archangelsk and Brazil will be released on what is now left of the population of this planet, and will spread globally within seventy-two hours. The irony of the plan is that the very vaccines given to most of the population over the past generation to fight various other engineered viruses such as certain strains of influenza, and even HIV, were specifically designed to actually break down other parts of the human immune system, making it one hundred percent vulnerable to the weapon we shall release soon, while we and others like us, who truly have nothing to fear from this little bug, just sit back and watch.”
“Yes sir, I truly do understand, but there is something I have always wondered about. Won’t there be a few undesirables who may not be affected – some that for whatever reason weren’t vaccinated?”
“Probably, but they will be so few as to be insignificant, and can be easily found and eliminated in other ways This facility, and the few others like it, will finally serve its original purpose. Now, though, back to the business at hand. How long to prepare the gas for Alpha and Beta Levels?”
“At least ten to twelve hours, sir. It will have to be done manually and carefully to ensure there are no leaks down here. All the safeguards are yet to be tested.”
“Very well. Well let’s get it ready, but I’ll signal you before we begin. Make all haste.”
Back on Alpha Level, Ulrich was calling again and had instructed Ga on how to put him on the speakers at the terminal he had been using, ” I’m in, and I now have control of the computers down here. It looks like everything is just as I thought. I have also established a link to our com system back in our quarters. I have just gotten a communication from Lysiel. It appears that the Federation agents in Buenos Aires have good news. Chavez, the brain behind the anti-NWO militia movement in South America, has been captured. And secondly, Ilya (Antonin and Niall’s accomplice) has just broken down in an interrogation round and he has revealed some significant information about Niall.”
“Yeah?” replied Ga eagerly.
“It would seem that Ilya was the one who hypnotized Niall years ago when his microchip was first inserted.”
“Hypnotized?” exclaimed ‘Ifafi. “For what?!!”
“Well, apparently it was part of the indoctrination procedures back then. But the important thing for us to know is that Ilya gave Niall a hypnotic suggestion that would help him to control his microchip detection. The suggestion was in the form of a code word.”
“Yeah, well? Spit it out man!” said an agitated Ga.
.
“The code word is: ‘cage’, and every time Ilya hears that word his microchip signal is disabled — essentially making him invisible.”
“Can Niall control this himself … and does he know about it?”
“Apparently, they think that the only ones that know the code word are Antonin and Ilya. And, by the way, that was the other news: Antonin is dead — he committed suicide before he could be transported to the rehabilitation facility on Zeta Reticuli. The threat of deportation was what got Ilya to crack under the last interrogation. It must be quite a nasty place if these NWO guys are so afraid of it,” said Ulrich.
“No nastier than the NWO-facilities right here on Terra,” said ‘Ifafi with a smirk. “Besides, I have it on good knowledge from Lysiel that we are closing in on the ‘Big R’s’, and that they also will soon be transported to rehabilitation centers. So it will soon be a ‘status symbol’ to become rehabilitated. Personally, I feel that those ruling NWO and Illuminati family members need to be tarred, feathered and run off this planet as soon as possible … I am not even certain that rehabilitation of them is possible!” They both sniggered, and ‘Ifafi continued: “But didn’t Niall use ‘the cages have been opened’ or something like that when all this started? I’m guessing he must know and be using it. Maybe Antonin told him the code word.”
“Let us hope not, and perhaps the phrase including the code word is Antonin’s idea of a ruse. Sounds like his sick sense of humor. Well, well … this explains Niall’s disappearances on our surveillance system, and it also gives us some leverage. We must be VERY CAREFUL not to use the word ‘cage’ around him … and also to cut him off every time we think he will use the word himself,” said Ga thoughtfully.
“Cut him off?” asked Ulrich.
“Yeah,” replied Ga. “ ‘Ifafi and I must try to read his consciousness and thought patterns in detail every time we are in communication with him in order to anticipate what he might say. It is a good thing that Antonin is gone and that Ilya is under control… But this is very good news, that Chavez has been finally caught. The Federation is fighting against both the NWO and the anti-NWO militia groups, and Chavez’ groups were really starting to be a huge problem for us. I also must assume that Ilya, and Antonin are vital components of whatever the master plan is, and that Niall doesn’t know they are out of the picture. Alright then Ulrich, we will be joining you in a couple of hours or so down there. So finish your preparations quickly. Good work!”
“Will do, Thank you, sir.”
About that time, the Sergeant came in with a shackled and bloody unmasked Niall’s double in tow.
“Sergeant, you managed to catch one.” Ga stated with a smile.
“It wasn’t easy, sir, as soon as we picked him up, a mob started to attack us, until I grabbed his face and peeled the mask off and laid down some crowd dispersal gas canisters. I guess they figured a fake wasn’t worth the effort.”
“Very good Sergeant, what happened to the other one?”
“Dunno. He just vanished. Obviously there was some planned panic escape. I’ve been here since the place was first opened to non-CIA personnel in 2009, and I thought I knew every escape hole there was, but that guy simply vanished.”
“Do you know this one we caught?”
“Yes, sir. His name is Smythe. He was the head of the communications section last I knew. He was in charge of all the telecommunications functions of the entire facility.”
“Thank you, Sergeant McConnell. Meet the rest of my team, this is my partner, ‘Ifafi, and our dear friend, Lugh.”
“Very pleased indeed.” The Sergeant stated, shaking both their hands.
“Sergeant, Please cuff our friend here to that chair, hands behind him, and please excuse us. We don’t have time for the usual interviews and shall have to use some unorthodox interrogation methods that you probably don’t need to see.”
The sergeant grinned broadly and quickly complied with the request and exited the room.
“What are you going to do to me?” the prisoner asked.
“We are only going to find out what you know.” Ga stated flatly.
“I am former MI-6. I will tell you NOTHING.”
“Oh, I suspected as much. You don’t have to, but I hope there won’t be any permanent brain damage.”
“Brain damage?” the man’s eyes widened as the three angels approached him, shedding their cloaks with their wings beginning to stretch.
“Ifafi, Lugh, join me if you will.”
Ga placed his left hand on the man’s head. ‘Ifafi placed his right hand on Ga’s shoulder. Lugh placed his left hand on Ga’s opposite shoulder. The man began to tremble noticeably as his eyes rolled back in his head. Soon, the man began to scream.
After the Sergeant dragged the unconscious prisoner from the room. Ga turned to his companions. “If what this man knew is even close to accurate, it is time to summon some help immediately. Then we shall join Ulrich on Epsilon Level.
Conjuration of the sword.
‘Ifafi, Lugh,. I need your assistance here in an angelic ritual. Lock the door.”
Lugh locked the door, and they were directed to assume their places in the Great Triangle of Angelic Strength, which had been marked onto the floor with chalk. ‘Ifafi was on the left hand side of the triangle, Lugh was on the right hand side and Ga faced them at the apex of the triangle. Inside the triangle was a plinth supporting a large purple candle, which had been inscribed with various symbols from the Universal Language of Light and Latin words. The candle had been annointed with eucalyptus oil, and it burned a strong and steady flame.
Ga raised his sword above the flame from the purple candle in the center of the angelic triangle and began to recite in Latin the “Conjuration of the Sword” from the Grimorium Verum:
“Te Gladi, Vos Gladias, trea Nomine Sancto, Albrot, Abracadabra, Jehova elico. Estote meum castellumque praesidium contra omnium hostes, conspicuusque nonconspicuus, in quisque magiceum opum. Nomeno Sancto Saday, qui est in imperium magnum, et his alio nomine: Cados, Cados, Cados, Adonai, Elohi, Zena, Oth, Ochimanuel, primoque ultimo, Sapientia, Via, Vita, Virto, Principio, Oso, Otatie, Splendoro, Luce, Sol, Fono, Gloria, Mono, Porta, Vite, Lape, Scipio, Sacredo, Pravo, Messiah, Gladi in omnium meum negotia regnas et in illos res quem me resistunt, vincite. Amen.”
He then looked at ‘Ifafi and Lugh and asked them to chant the invocation together with him … in all thirty-three times. Lugh thought he would pass out by the time they reached the 29th invocation but a stern look from ‘Ifafi prompted him to snap out of his drowsiness. As they completed the thirty-third incantation Ga proceeded to consecrate his sword with the Power of Archangel Michael:
“Oh Holy One – Angelic Warrior of Warriors. I beseech Thee to lend me the power of Thy Holy Sword and the sharpness of Thy Mind in my battle with the Antikristus … herewith known as Niall. May the force of Holy Strength and the Light of Angelic Conviction be forged from Thy Sword unto mine. In the Name of the Almighty — the Name only recognizable in the scream of the infant at the moment of birth and the final gasp of the dying mortal at life’s transition – I stand before you O Archangel Michael and ask you to embody my consciousness, my Spirit, my Mind, my Body and my Sword for the next twenty-four hours. I am at your service O Lord. In the Name of the Almighty, and in the presence of my two angelic witnesses in this sacred Triangle, I tell you verily that: I AM MICHAEL … I AM … THE SWORD!”
And with that the flame in the purple candle was suddenly snuffed out but the room was all but consumed by Darkness. Ga had taken on the spiritual energy and visage of Archangel Michael and had begun to glow and vibrate with an amazing intensity, never before experienced by the angels conducting the ritual. Ga appeared to have grown to over two meters high in stature and his sword was ablaze with the power of Divine Light. Lugh’s mouth was hanging open in amazement, and ‘Ifafi just grinned from ear to ear while mumbling: “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!”
The sword was so powerful that Ga could barely hold it steady at first. It seemed to weigh 20 times what it normally did, and the slightest movement had enormous swing to it. They broke the triangle and ‘Ifafi and Lugh were sent to retrieve their own swords. When they returned minutes later they were challenged by Ga to a two-on-one practice duel. They were without a chance or a prayer … Ga’s new-found agility, strength and directness of mind could not be matched even by two against one.
“I think I am getting the hang of this now,” grinned Ga.
“Kewl!” exclaimed Lugh. “Could I try it?”
“Sure,” said Ga while winking at ‘Ifafi. They both knew that the only one that could manage the sword was Ga, as it was Ga that had conjured the force of the Sword of Michael into his sword and Ga that also had received the transference of Michael’s angelic warrior consciousness. Lugh could barely lift the sword above his head, and could not master the seemingly erratic energy of the sword at all. The sword actually threw him about from left to right until it finally literally flew out of Lugh’s hand and returned to the firm grasp of Ga, where it belonged for the next twenty-four hours.
Both ‘Ifafi and Ga had a good laugh, and Lugh looked sheepish and embarrassed at first but soon joined in on the laughter. And then while Ga went off to meditate, ‘Ifafi and Lugh practiced their fencing skills – each determined to show off his own sword mastery.
Ga returned shortly, refreshed, and summoned the Sergeant. “Sergeant, you will remain here, have your hazmat suits on if you or your men venture out into the main corridors, and have your breathing apparatus at the ready. This man we seek is capable of anything. I need three of your best men and best shots fully equipped to accompany us to Epsilon Level in ten minutes.
REVIEW BY DR. ISAGANI R. CRUZ, THE PHILIPPINES:
The Tunnel at the End of Time is a masterful symphony of languages, religions, cultures, and literary techniques, all journeying to one inevitable destination: the individual wrestling with self. Covering our most human to our most divine urges and activities, the poetic, science fictional, experimental, even cinematic book leads us through words to what is beyond or behind words: the inscrutable mystery of our own being or, more precisely since the book revels in Emptiness, our non-being. In the process of stripping away the several skins that we use to protect our inner selves and to keep us from exercising our freedom to live a full life, the book also comments on writing itself, turning itself inside out, so to speak, so that we are forced as readers to become the writers themselves, merging our selves with theirs without meaning to and without remembering the meaning that we wanted to find, finding ourselves apparently in the future but actually in the present, or even more precisely, in the past, as time stops for us. In the end, the future humans, aliens, and angels turn out to be really us today, as we find ourselves aliens within ourselves, alienated not from the world as lesser writers would have put it, but from ourselves, as only the truly alive realize, perhaps as only angels really know. For those less inclined towards philosophy, the book offers gripping suspense, continuous action, and provocative scenes; the narrative scaffolding, however, is there only to lead readers to deeper levels of reading. I recommend this book to everyone honest enough to admit that we do not know ourselves or that we are not just nothing, but perhaps even Nothingness itself. Have fun, but be warned!
– Isagani R. Cruz, Professor Emeritus, De La Salle University, Manila
The tunnel at the end of time, an extreme science fiction novel by Adam Donaldson Powell (Norway) and Rick Davis (USA), and with a poetic foreward by Azsacra Zarathustra and Adam Donaldson Powell, can be ordered at Cyberwit.net.
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