So this is normal, how beastly…


I’m 24 years old, I’ve never had a job like you’ve had – if you don’t count petty theft, a failed attempt at drug dealing, moving contraband in jail and the odd jobs I now do to mostly kill time. From the tender age of 15 I was a whore and I stopped when I was 22. If I keep managing my money as well as I have I actually never would need to work again, even if I spent far more than I do now the money, investments and real estate would keep me very well for at least a few decades. Where I motivated by wealth I could find a nice upwardly mobile man, marry him, spit out a brat or two and join my peers at the gym and for Saturday brunch at Brighton beach, clearly I don’t feel that motivation. I’d rather go back to being a whore actually.

So I have been applying for such work as a non-uni but very well passed VCE student might get. I am phenomenally fast on a keyboard, and well spoken, well presented, good-humoured and I know how to ingratiate myself to strangers. I have a pleasant, refined accent, just don’t ask me to sing I’m fabulously tone-deaf and will probably damage your ears.

I haven’t had a great deal of luck especially living in butt fuck no-where central Victoria, I do stack up quite well against the local breed of females but a winning smile and a firm arse will only go so far when you are asked – “So do you have any experience?”

Not a lot that doesn’t include entertaining men no.

Bona Dea has smiled on her wayward daughter though and I have myself a casual job manning (womaning?) the phones, calling announcements and shuffling casual workers at a mill in a close by town – which the locals insist is a city. Who’d I have to fuck – well no one, strange as it seems to me, I remember eyeing off three other ‘girls’ as the lady called us and thinking, one is plain but passable – but I bet they all have credible history, me, well best not ask really, unless you want to see what I can do in the executive relief department?

I wonder how they fucked up the interview now, much more than how I managed not to fuck for the job. I’m nervous, laugh if you must, I’m not nervous meeting a stranger, seducing him and what not but the idea of 8 hours of things that normal people do – what do normal people do?

Life, it seems to me is largely winging it, make things up as you go, act like you know what you are doing, experiment and eventually you will know. Or have someone teach you, which I hope they do. So I decided I should try what ever it is you people do during the day, you know get a job? Beats trying to occupy myself from dawn till dusk.

Obviously I’ve spent most of the day picking an outfit, several actually, too dressy? Too young? Too much like I will put out? If only mother could see me now, harlot to “Good morning Scarlet speaking how may I help you?”

“As private parts to the gods are we! They play with us for their sport.”
Lord Melchett, Chains, Black Adder II

This product will change your life.


I went to uni almost two years ago, I decided that I needed a career, one that would make money, one that I could be proud of, say to people and they would think I was awesome and wasn’t selling myself for money. I chose a marketing degree, sadly I felt more a whore than I’ve ever felt. The entire focus of Marketing is to move product using whatever means necessary, there are no limits, it’s all fair as far as these people are concerned.

It’s often said that sex sells, that’s true but it’s an over simplification, this field researches paranoia, fear, avarice, jealousy, fervour, you name it with the sole purpose of making money, regardless of what they push, its effects on culture, humanity whatever.

It reminds me that wealth and the acquisition of it is as powerful a religion as any, like a cult the lecturers of this course stare incredulous at people who don’t dedicate their every living moment to the single minded pursuit of money. A great epiphany came to me one morning when I was attending a lecture on an individual called Abraham Maslow (google Maslow’s hierarchy of needs), anything can become a faith. If a person in authority has the thrall of the a crowd and promises them reward for their passion, dedication and rejection of what I would call an inherent social morality then there is no end to what they can abstractly promise and the fervour that they will receive back.

The man at the lectern, pulpit or street corner by virtue of whichever book he holds in front of him can convince normal people to achieve superlatives, kind or cruel. I don’t believe in a soul, but it felt revolting to be a part of that, even for someone like me who had marketed herself, lied and played a part, it felt like even my blood was being poisoned. It shocked me that no one of my peers felt anything but glee and prospect at what they were signing up for, so I quit.

It might be hypocritical of me to make judgements of others that push a product or a creed but everyone who has a tiny bit in them that hasn’t been beaten to death has a line that they won’t cross. True that can be forced or beguiled out of anyone, but this is the one thing that above all else disturbs me about this world, yes, everyone is a whore, it’s just a matter of degrees, but who really thinks about it? Who really questions?

There have been several attempts to convert me to a good Christian woman, earnest people who quote some passage that grants ‘a wretch like me’ the chance at a divine get out of jail free card, but I can’t even pretend I buy it, if I am open and honest and I look at everything I still come up with no. Threats of hell, slurs about my morality, promises of a community in which I would be loved, I just see the same thing I saw at uni. The same goes for politics, suspend all belief, trust the man, my country right or wrong…

If this is enough for you, I envy you in no small way, maybe I’m utterly corrupt, polluted whatever it might be, I just don’t buy anything any more, and its actually liberating. Walking away from a preposterous income and the lusting want of men was actually harder, for me, but it started a domino effect, now with everything I look for the precarious tiles of hidden persuaders, they why not of reality but of people who claim to understand it.

A product is following my blog on WordPress – Detol, its a disinfectant for cuts and all kinds of things A friend of mine said I should do a mock blog of ‘the lives of products’ I had a good laugh at that, I think I will. Once was lost, and all that.

“Girls, You can do anything”


I went to a very conservative high school they really didn’t take a lot of lip or attitude from you and you’d be suspended, or worse expelled. The first offence which could be anything from swearing to not doing your homework they called your parents and made you sit outside the office which was all glass so that other girls could snigger at you and spoke to your mum and dad about what happens next.

Next was a suspension, they gave you a week or two were you were banned from school grounds, you would still be expected to do your work by the way. This was a disaster to us, to be suspended mean’t that you were marked and a failure. Last came expulsion, there were things that would get your arse thrown out immediately, like fighting, physical fighting, that was out, see you, the end.

Of course it was bitchy, 1500 girls together? Yes, there were bullies but they had to be careful, bullying was one of those immediate expulsion offences, so they had to keep it lean, most of the time they did that after school.

So the environment was driven for results, the entire school was focused on producing well scoring girls who went to uni, that was on all the literature, posters and website for the place, but one thing they really did drum into you was that despite what people said of females on TV and the outside world we were the equal of any boy/man, and possibly better.

Our school averaged in the top five of the country, we were taught to have pride in that, and we did, as far as it went we strove for the best, when they gave us tests they would talk about national and international standards. To be taught in such a way was exhilarating, from your first year to be told to aim for the stars gave you the courage to do it. As stuffy and conservative as it was, I really wish all girls were taught that way, it worked for me.

That may sound spurious considering that I went on to become a whore but I tell you this much, as shit as life gets it’s worth remembering that whatever task you have, whatever horror is before you, nine times out of ten if you set your mind to it, you can overcome it.

Many of you will not have had that kind of privilege, yes that’s true, but bear in mind that at 14 I left home, my education was worthless on the street, my inner urban snootiness was something that marked me for particular hatred. I adapted, I learned to modify my behaviour to suit my circumstance, eventually I ended up in Juvenile detention, again I adapted, I can’t say it wasn’t hard, it’s the closest thing to hell inside as I can imagine but I lived.

When I got out I had nothing, no where to go, no money no possibility for employment so I did what I was offered. I wish I hadn’t, I really do, there are some things in life a woman should never have to do, some things you just cannot wash out of shake off. Chances are you have some of those issues as well, abuse, rape, bullying, you might not be what people think is attractive, you might not do well at school all kinds of things. You’ll hate yourself, some of you will see nothing before you but a life of disappointment and loneliness, would it surprise you that most people feel like that at least for one period in their lives? The truth is life is struggle, the dreamy Hollywood idea that you will meet Price Charming and he will make you feel like a part of a whole and look after you is a fairy tale.

It’s a tough world out there, most of us when we are growing up don’t realise it, we think it will be different for us, we’ll change the world, luck will be with us, our guardian angel will look out for us.

If that happens I don’t know who to, I’ve never met anyone like that, for me, and I bet you, life looked rosy at some point then reality arrived.

Hard, yes it is, but there are paths for you, you may not like them, they will be difficult, you will doubt yourself, you might lose loves, fall on hard times but take it from someone who has been through a meat grinder, it is possible to survive, to live life fully after seemingly endless abuse and heart break. Because you are female is not a curse, it’s not a hindrance, its just harder, you don’t have to become hard inside, you just have to put your shoulder against the door and push, and push and push. It will be difficult and you will want to give in, I did, but I did manage to get to the other side.

There were many times I wanted to give up, sometimes I felt numb and empty, cold and unwanted, but eventually I came to understand that we, not others make ourselves, that I am not the sum total of failure and disgust, I am changed, I will do what I need to do to get by. I stopped suffering my life, regretting it and let myself live.

I always remember my principal standing up on the stage saying that, and she was right, Girls can do anything.

Through a scanner blondely…


I think I need new glasses, my eyes are trying to shield me from the horrors of people’s poems on the internet, this may be evidence of Lamarckian evolution.

Never type pussy into google unless you are a 16-year-old boy, even then be careful there are things you can’t unsee.

There may one day be a cure for AIDS but stupid is a life long affliction.

If you change the subject of a blog to the blogger’s name it is usually more accurate.

Trees don’t hug back, they in fact don’t like you at all touching them, that’s why their bark is full of spiders, tics and ants.

The main difference between republicans and democrats is 50 IQ points.

Almost everything gruesome tastes like chicken, except for genitals.

People are more concerned about what’s wrong with other people than they are with them.

Some people where born without a sense of humour, those people use the words ‘you’re doing it wrong’ a lot.

Boobs have hypnotic powers, to men, straight men, and lesbians, some, the ones that are not into bums.

Child proof containers are a passive aggressive insult.

There is an unwritten time limit to stop signs which the driver behind me always seems to know.

Spiders orgasm when you scream.

Given the right seat bicycles are more fun on bumpy roads.

Hippies don’t believe all that shit they just hate water and soap.

Non smokers are shit lovers, that tiching noise they do, they do when they give oral

Global warming is caused by global warming.

Truth is when you convince yourself everyone else is wrong.

Some men have bigger boobs than me, and ironically I can’t stop staring at their boobs either.

Tractors cannot be made to power-slide, no matter what I try.

The cutest things make the worse farts – dogs & Boyfriends.

Alcohol temporarily boosts ‘rightness’ in the drinker.

Jealousy


Love, was it so easy in 1956? Or an I thinking rumpy pumpy?

Love, was it so easy in 1956? Or an I thinking rumpy pumpy?

About a week ago I decided that I’d never find this man of my dreams everyone keeps telling me about, this man who would be all things to me, which I began to settle for decent guy, caring, into me, non-abusive, intelligent then finally with a pulse. Obviously I need either a lobotomy or no standards at all – that was a joke boys don’t be so seriousful.

Last night as I often do out here in the raging metropolis of trees, frogs and poisonous snakes I went to my artist friends house to have dinner and watch a horror movie. I say horror movie but it isn’t always, sometimes its comedy, girl movie or something arty. Last night her partner was home, he’s been away doing a job overseas, I know him less well than my female artist friend, but he is wonderful too, they both are on the strange side. On their own they are lovely, together they are a comedy duo, they spent all night teasing each other, the pets, society and everything.

The movie I chose (I’m the one that usually picks them seeing as I have one of the biggest movie collections on earth) Forbidden Planet

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049223/?ref_=rvi_tt

If you don’t know this movie you are not the movie buff you think you are, its possibly the best Sci-Fi film ever made, nay film! With only a few annoyingly male chauvinist pig moments it is utterly cool, from the freaky music effects, to the awesome sets. flying saucer, monster and long dead alien civilisation this move will change not only your life but your very genetic sequence and the destiny of man kind! Ok, got a bit carried away there, that might be the Citalopram talking.

Point of all this? A happy couple, totally at ease with each other, relaxed enough to tease and make fun of themselves, you can be rich, young, pretty and smart, whatever. Whatever I’m doing I’m doing it wrong, happiness is possible its just not what anyone ever said ti would be.

I asked them how they met.

They where working at a bar, one day a guy put on a shit song on this retro music machine, a big biker type, he played it three times, she said to him if she heard that song again she’d kill herself. Her partner went over pulled the plug out of the wall and said to the biker -

“kill me if you have to just don’t play that fucking song again.”

Dis Pater adque Morta


Today I went to my third funeral here, I watched another family I care for bury a loved one. I’m beginning to think that I am either a magnet to mortality or that I am one of the nastier ‘fates’. Other than a period after my father passed away death hasn’t been far away, and I feel like I know him. I’m Dis’ little helper, there when people die to do my comforting thing. Sometimes I wonder if this isn’t a punishment for abandoning my family.

When people from Sydney make the inevitable jokes about Melbournians other than calling us arty wankers they say that our uniform is black. This is true to a large extent, people in Sydney tend to be more colourful, we are snobbier and more conservative. I have no end to black numbers in my closets to pick from, and not only little black dresses, but the whole gamut of garments fit for mourning and poetics.

My teens seemed to be a chain of deaths, mostly of people I was ‘associated with’ if any thoughts of my own mortality where triggered by that they were brief, mostly when I think about death I think of my father and how unfair it was that he was taken from me, how unworthy everyone else’s lives where compared to him, yes, honestly that’s how I see it. In a world of mean selfish trifling pricks why take him?

I almost feel as comfortable with death as with a client, rarely do I actually think about the deed and the event at hand, like an over polished river stone death like water runs off me, tears, I don’t cry you have to punch me pretty hard now to make me cry. And I don’t love anyone enough to cry over their passing, sorry that part is dead, long dead, over used and well past replacement time.

Like all good actors I can make myself cry, if a cop pulls me over I can be convincing, and I know it’s convincing because I get off. The pain, if I feel any is when the mire of loss of my father is stirred up deep down inside me.

I listened to the passage from Ecclesiastes, a lovely book actually, one of the few parts of the bible that isn’t abused to belittle others, its one of the parts that gives me a little pause in my atheistic fear that one day I’ll be burned at a stake.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
 
a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace,
and a time to refrain from embracing;
 
a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
 
a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
 
a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
 
What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboreth?

Beautiful words, it might surprise people to know that I have read the whole book of Solomon, and a few others, apart from the Psalms its one of my favourites. I remember the same thing from my father’s death, it seemed meaningless prattle to me at the time, the rubbing of salt into my heart.

It’s a vicarious thing I do, going to the funerals of these families, and yes I am jealous, what a thing it must be to have a family that cares for you, that will mourn your passing, in many ways I deserve my solitude and in other ways its the fuel for the hatred that kept me warm these almost ten years.

There is no epiphany, no eureka moment here, not even much of a point other than I am tired, I feel aeons old and like a crow that death sends ahead of it.

Hug your family, remember one day you will be alone and you have no idea what that can really mean.

Der Todesfall


The place where I live has very few people my age, at times this has been very difficult for me, I’m used to having my friends around and spending time at cafe’s, bars and generally socialising as a means of unwinding. I’ve always had a tendency to introversion and introspection, if a person is like that for too long it’s difficult to change, so they say. There was a point I remember where I decided, not entirely on my own, that I needed to be more social, so I watched how people did it and practised, by trial and error I worked things out.

People are all nervous about being in crowds, of being judged, of not saying the right thing, and the extent that we feel alien.

Last night the bother of a farmer I have grown close to died, I got a call from a distraught Maria that Dario’s brother had passed away after many years of illness. I was a little surprised that she called me, but both are old and have trouble driving at night so I drove them the short distance – Dario was going to walk and its been raining hard for quite a while.

I won’t go into detail, it’s not my place but it was an unusual experience for me, not so much being around death I have seen a lot of that in the past. I expected a lot of wailing but everyone was stunned to almost silence, there was a lot of hugging and stillness, accept for the family madman who I took outside so he could rant his mourning out and leave the others in peace.

Making cups of tea, getting water and helping both the ambulance drivers and the cops with paperwork I managed to keep myself busy because otherwise I struggled very much with anything to offer these poor people. Death makes all of us reassess our mortality and the precious little time we have with our loved ones, Dario’s family isn’t what you would call affectionate but as time went on they all realised that a valuable part of their lives had gone, leaving them to consider the pettiness of long held grievances.

I got up early this morning and went over there, as sad as the event is I noticed where there was hesitation to hug, everyone comforted each other in a much more personal and tactile way. Conversations about his brothers’ life, his quirks and deeds became longer and more animated. This was a lovely thing to be allowed to be a part of, I’ve never seen the kind of closeness in a family that is always eluded to. Death has always been a horror to me, but I saw how it can be something that draws people together and exposes the better parts of humanity.

 

I might be a little quiet for a while.

A Shamed harlot


I like to think I am open-minded, I certainly have little of what the average person would call ‘shame’ especially about my nudity. But I never really got into porn, I can remember being uncomfortable with it as a girl, as a working girl it was so much like ‘work’ and like most harlots I look at porn stars and think, you’re no better, possibly worse for doing it without ‘precautions’.

As a blogger, or a reader of blogs I tend to the more – shall we say exotic? So a lot of what I read is challenging, sexy or dirty, not all of it though, far less than you might imagine because to be frank – I’m bored of most of it. I find a lot of erotic fiction dull, poems to do with sex even less inspiring, most of the time, not always.

Maybe it’s residual prudishness, trying to reassert itself after my life as a pro, I do think there is a time and a place for it. So the point is now on my feed I have two people who’s writing I like who publish pic after pic of nudity and yes even some porn. Maybe it’s that the pills the doctor gave me have for the most part removed my mojo but I’m thinking of dumping these good writers for it, shame really I like what they have to say.

I’m not as obsessed by sex as I gave myself credit – or self scorn for, I’ve been told in the past my descriptions sometimes border on the clinical, yes, it’s a job, sometimes to me it felt like licking stamps and filing or whatever the hell people do in jobs.

The irony of it all.

The morals of a whore


People misuse the word whore, that is to be expected, culture changes the meaning of words as it moves on, worlds like glamour, now it means the execution of or the state of fashionable beauty once it meant bewitching (literally) beauty, a spell that men fell under when gazing upon breathtaking beauty.

I see cannot remove myself from the idea that I am a whore, for a long time, most of my life since childhood I was one, it to me most likely means a different thing to – attention whore, media whore or lying whore. Husbands, jealous boyfriends and the projectors of unrequited love often use that to describe the object of their love who has gone elsewhere.

Most of my friends, and people who read me know I was a whore, they often tell me not to call myself that because it’s an awful thing to say, then I hear them use attention whore, dirty whore and so on. I understand they don’t mean it to reflect badly on me but those same people would never say greedy Jew, dirty nigger or even call someone a cunt. Like I said, I do understand that they are not thinking of me when they say it but if nothing else I am observant and I notice detail, I pride myself on this, and so far it has served me very well.

The staple of a whore is adultery and fornication, the act of engaging in cheating on a married woman – although not that we mean it personally of course, men chose us not vice versa and flouting the concept of chastity and the now archaic use of the concept of virtue, sex for the sake of itself. Yes I will argue virtue is another word that has become something else, but maybe later.

A man engages a whore knowing that he is cheating on his wife, the whore herself generally expects that of her client, if she doesn’t she is naive, and the two engage in sexual acts to satisfy his need for them and her need for money. This is seen as offensive, that a woman would offer the sanctity of her body for money, somehow this is the worst filth imaginable, unspeakable right up there with murder to some. There is something evil about doing certain things for money, sexual work, mercenaries and advocacy are often seen in the same light. If you must fuck you fuck for breeding only or your husbands ‘needs’, if you must kill you must kill for king, God and country and if you must speak out you must only do that for nobility.

Rather dubious company we whores are lumped with don’t you think?

The assumption is that a whore and these others are monsters who lack morality and even may well have malice (in the arcane sense of the word) in mind, I’m actually surprised that there are not five horsepersons of the apocalypse, the obvious missing link to me is the whoredom.

I did find my situation abhorrent when I first sold my body and affection for money, but I got used to it, for a series of reasons, security that I thought money would buy me being the utmost, and honestly, it worked, sorry but it did, although it does open a can of worms that has no end. I do know women who did it for other reasons, that they where beautiful but otherwise lacking in marketable abilities, for family, for all kinds of reasons. I don’t know one, so far that did it for the intent of evil, that isn’t a justification or an excuse to my mind but significant nonetheless. If we lie to ourselves about the moral implications then we are deluded, granted.

I’ve watched people around me engage in adultery, which strictly speaking is to my mind sex in breach of vow for reasons not of money but for lusts. Recently I watched two people, popular have a very public end to a very secretive affair, his fault of course, despite the fact that everyone – including her knew he was married, and he wears a ring, see – details. The man was almost tarred and feathered, where she received copious sympathies. Two months later they are back together and everyone talks to both of them I think I am the only one still what-the-fucking.

During my time as am escort – it’s a nicer word – several men tried to lure me away with promises of a regular ‘income’ and various other gifts but I refused, maybe I’m jaded but I knew I could do better myself. The premiss was always ‘give this all up and I’ll take you away from it all’ really what is works out to be work for me at a cheep rate. Incidentally none of these men ever left their wives but they did put that on the table.

Does this make men seem conniving and selfish? It’s not meant to be a judgement, I found being judgemental of my ex-clients one of the least useful pursuits of my time as a whore. Lust is a force of nature, it’s tied to ego, its primal. there are a billion reasons for it, and I expect a billion reasons to fight it, like everything, many sides I’m sure everyone has their opinion on this.

I felt ballsy honest as a whore, it was in some ways liberating, and others enslaving, alienating, to me the whore is a stone in the shoe of the purist, while we have sexual organs it will never go away. It will remain a profession that attracts the ire and scorn of people who beat desire into submission. As undeniable as evolution it is there but some refuse to acknowledge it.

Should it be legal? In my country it is, and closely policed, a bit too much if I were asked, banning it is stupid, like the ‘war on drugs’ doomed. I’ve read all kinds of reports one way or the other, saying that in countries like Holland it’s lead to virtual slavery, well, in countries where it is illegal it is slavery – here at least I did OK out of it and can now at least look at it for what it was to me. Yes, when I was a street-walker there was a lot of addicts doing it, but in my experience the drugs led them there, not vice versa. What is the moral to this? There is none, sometimes things just are not moral one way or the other, morals came after prostitution this is the one thing I am sure of.

Fuck the prolls, lets dance.


I am opinionated, and it strokes my ego to think that I am smart and a little on the hot side, so I expect that I am a little up myself in those regards. From my perspective I’ve done the hard yards and people who I deem unremarkable I don’t have much interest in. Some I find irritatingly stupid, unlearned and frightful bores.

Given the choice I spend my time with people I find at least interesting, intelligent, those that have lived life and have the eloquence to express that in interesting ways. It further, in my opinion ingratiates me from the gutter to the stars that I have been to the lowest and highest of places, and lived to tell the tale. I find joy in the company, physical or written of people who have in their style been to either.

Because of those that I have come into intimate contact with on my low road to high places I also judge people based on what has tempered and built their person, hopefully one that sees things in either my line of thinking or something I admire, balls, brashness, fine feathers and style.

Meekness isn’t something I admire, the worst untruth I have ever read is that these people ‘shall inherit the world’, I expect this will happen after this rapture thing that every dullard thinks will scoop them up from the banality of their existence to s state of grace. Do they really believe this, or is it in fact that they have suspend all thought to surrender themselves to the universe’s greatest lottery. I don’t know, nor do they or you so it’s a pointless waste to wonder, I think.

Where I don’t agree that ‘Bonny feathers make bonny birds’ there is something to be said in that, if you take the metaphor and not the literal. Most pretty polly’s are dull-witted, but if it’s a matter of brains, wit and other songs then yes, they do.

I like to poke the loud, people who wrap their lives around a strict ‘ism’ in the same way that the believer clings to book, and I don’t mean the thinking believer I mean the ones who buy literal sentences of ideals that were written by others and tie them to their bodies like a strap on dildo and try to fuck you with another’s weapon.

Guns, god, glory and country, could anything be less personable? But again, it’s not the core of this I object to, the true, the earnest, it’s the countless cowards that hide under these banners that will fuck the world into ruin before ever acquiescing to reason.

There is a nasty mutation somewhere in our genome that drives people who feel disempowered to find some form of idealistic hammer to beat others with. To assert that they are privy to the voice of god, the one true path or the flag of the greatest nation on earth gives them the power and sense of purpose they have lacked all their miserable lives.

The rest must conquer that lacking that we are all born with, we must reason and struggle our way towards what light we might make of our lives in the face of jeering zealots and patriotically inebriated madmen. I don’t question their god, their fealty I question them and their willingness to say this is the ultimate truth, in the infinity of the universe, the mind-boggling expanse of time I say this is the answer with my sadly limited open mindedness.

Surely the divine is all encompassing, cognisant of how we are small things in a small pond that we are rapidly over using? How many sages have been stoned to death by the literalists.

So go to hell, and if you are right and I am wrong there will be such a place, but if in the afterlife there is a god that sees into a person’s soul I am quite sure that you will pay for squandering the mind you where gifted for the sake of dogma over realities.

For the rest, we will learn of each other, the deep things we feel, joys, sorrows, humour and angers, the colourful journeys we have and are making of our lives. I don’t know everything, that much is obvious, but what I do know, and what I do feel I offer to you, as payment for your thoughts.