Come CLEAN, Pinky Poo! You can run but you can't hide...

[Source unknown]

"Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty, but you're under arrest!" 

"I love the Malaysian sense of humour, it's so... English!"

I found the Queen in the Yellow Pages.

[First posted 15 July 2011]

Internationally, it's game over for Najib ~ by John Mallot

COMMENT Ever since he became prime minister in 2009, Najib Razak cut a very impressive swath overseas.

Armed with his impeccable English, a product of his British education, and dressed immaculately in his elegant bespoke British suits, Najib talked a good game. He traveled the world and spoke of how he wanted to reform Malaysia's political and economic systems and transform his nation into a model for the world.

He spoke at the United Nations time and again of a Global Movement of Moderates, of which Malaysia would be the leader. He spoke of Malaysia as a tolerant nation that respected all religions and races.

In contrast to former PM Dr Mahathir Mohamad, whose trips were primarily to Third World nations, Najib actively courted the United States and European nations - the lands of Mahathir's dreaded "orang putih."

Backing all of Najib's efforts was a multi-million dollar international PR operation, paid for by the taxpayers. It was aimed at swaying international opinion. It spent untold millions on PR firms Apco and FBC Media. Their job was to puff up Najib and tear down the political opposition, along with anyone who dared to tell the truth about what was really going on in Malaysia.

And most of the outside world believed what Najib and his PR machine had to say.

But for the past few years, there were a number of people outside Malaysia, myself included, who tried to tell the world what the truth was - what really was going on in Malaysia. That Malaysia was no longer the country they thought it was, and that they should not believe Najib's paid propaganda agents.

We wanted people to know that there were two Najibs. There was the fake Najib, the international Najib, the Najib who talked a good game overseas. That Najib was backed up by millions of dollars in PR fees. That man even fooled the President of the United States into a game of golf just last Christmas.

The real Najib

And then there is the other Najib, the real Najib.

He is the "domestic" Najib, the man who stifles freedom. The man whose police force tear-gassed people in the streets for demanding free and fair elections. The man who has arrested scores of opposition politicians and dissidents under the Sedition Act.

He is the corrupt Najib, the man who arranged the over-priced purchase of non-functioning Scorpene submarines, and most recently, the man behind 1MDB and its missing billions.

He is the Najib who received US$700 million into his personal bank account.

He is the Najib whose wife's many Birkin bags and multi-million dollar emerald necklaces were the subject of a three-page expose in The New York Times.

Today, thanks to the most prestigious newspapers and magazines in the world, the whole world knows who the real Najib is. Now the world understands that there is only one Najib.

And it is not the dapper, suave, reformist Najib that they believed in.

So, it is game over for Najib Razak internationally.

On Saturday, tens of thousands of Malaysians will march in Bersih 4 to protest Najib's authoritarian rule.

It is certain that Najib, the man who brazenly stood before international fora and proclaimed himself to be a reformer and a liberal, will send his police force in to break up the rally.

Najib will deploy tear gas, chemical-laced water, and police batons to ensure his rule.

The whole world will be watching - and finally will realise what kind of man he is.

It truly will be game over for Najib.

---

JOHN R MALOTT is former United States ambassador to Malaysia. Reproduced from Malaysiakini as a public service.

Colonialism, Empire and Neo-Darwinism (repost)

For years the Orang Asli Affairs Department has gone around to the indigenous communities warning them about the "dangerous and subversive NGOs" and human rights activists who have been using the Orang Asli to promote their own covert leftwing political agendas.

Speaking to some Jabatan Orang Asli officers, I can tell they fervently believe the official line about assimilating the Orang Asli into the mainstream, modernizing their attitudes, and eventually bringing them up to economic and academic par with other ethnic communities.

Okay, so they think the Orang Asli are best served by embracing Islam and regarding themselves culturally as Malays - after all, Islam is the ONLY valid belief system (as any "good" Muslim will attest) - but they never doubt for a moment that the government they serve has only the best interests of the Orang Asli at heart. They're moral troopers, brave and selfless missionaries bringing Progress and Development to the rural areas - and they're facing an uphill task because Orang Asli are just so... recalcitrant... so resistant to change... to all the benefits of the consumer culture and cash economy!


Well, Orang Asli are certainly happy to be given loads of cash that they can spend without a thought for tomorrow (they must be natural "Christians" who totally believe in living as the sparrows do and the lilies of the field) - but they are well aware that Orang Asli Affairs personnel have for the most part profited greatly from their role as intermediaries between Orang Asli communities and loggers, miners, developers, and other wannabe ecocidal entrepreneurs. As the official "protectors" of Orang Asli interests, the JOA is well placed to collect "commissions" while facilitating logging licences and so on in Orang Asli reserves.

It all boils down to the issue of CONTROL. Every bureaucrat views CONTROL as his or her god- or government- sanctioned right - nay, sacred duty! The opposite of CONTROL is... ANARCHY! CHAOS! THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT!


Well, that's how the majority of humans view the Anglo-American Empire's behavior in Afghanistan and Iraq - indeed the behavior of all monster corporations whether their shareholders be American, Jewish, British, French, German, Japanese, Korean, Chinese or Reptoids. The US of A operates as a corporate entity with an ultimate agenda of global dominance, so can you not see that it is doing to the peoples of Afghanistan and Iraq (just to mention the most recent atrocities, without bringing up Vietnam, Chile, Ecuador, Salvador, Argentina, Nicaragua, Mexico, Panama, and so on) precisely what the Orang Asli Affairs Department has been doing to the Orang Asli for more than 50 years?

Mainly COLONIZING them in their own homelands! You say it's "survival of the fittest" - it's a dog-eat-dog world and so on. Hey, that's only a belief system used to justify cold-blooded predator programming as "natural." That's how it goes, kiddo, how the cookie crumbles, human nature... ABSOLUTE AND UTTER NONSENSE!


That's hoodlum talk. Only those with strong pirate, robber baron, Jehovian-Anunnaki genetics feel that way about life in general. That only the streetsmart and savvy are fit to rule - it's a cosmic law that the "strong" will always bully, exploit, suppress, devour the "weak."

Well, who's "strong" and who's "weak"? If you use money as a gauge - then of course YOU are "stronger" than ME. And the US is "stronger" than, say, Bangladesh.


But how do you rank when you replace purely financial measurements with, say, capacity for empathy, love and understanding? Perhaps you'd then find yourself near the bottom of the list.

Isn't that what fat cats fear most? That values will abruptly change and that they'll find their mountains of US dollars worth less than Monopoly money? Isn't that why denial becomes more vigorous and violent?


In any case, we're all still rooting for you, no matter how hideous your moral condition - hoping to see you experience a major shift, an opening of the heart to greater truth - beyond your own silly outmoded survival programming!

Antares
2 August 2003

[Reposted 25 March 2011]

TESTOSTERONAL OVERDRIVE, TERRITORIALITY... AND THE MALAY MALE (REVISITED)

The unmistakable stench of neanderthal pheromones that continues to linger a whole week after the Umno General Assembly prompted me to retrieve this essay first published 9 May 2009 from my blog archive. Recently, my schoolchum Suhaimi found me on Facebook and it was great to be reconnected. He's still a jolly good guy after spending his entire life as an Immigration Officer. I'll get him to check with his mates in the Department and find out who issued the order to delete Altantuya's entry details from the Immigration database... stay tuned, folks, haha.

Self-portrait @ sixteen

I was only 16 when I met Azizah at a "grownup" party where couples were slow-dancing and drinking alcoholic beverages. My classmate Suhaimi had invited Johnny Khoo and I to the party. As a fifth form student in Batu Pahat High School I was still a Walt Disney kid and as naïve as Dumbo the Flying Elephant.

One afternoon I saw Suhaimi sitting alone in the school canteen, busy rolling a balut (reefer). "What's that you're smoking?" I asked. Suhaimi winked and said conspiratorially: "We call this ganja." I had no idea what he was talking about so Suhaimi explained that in English it was known as marijuana. He pronounced it "mari-jew-anna."

I was horrified. "Suhaimi, you're my buddy and I care about you, so please listen to me and stop this dangerous habit before it destroys your life."

Suhaimi grinned and nodded amicably but didn't bother arguing with me. Nor did he offer me a toke on his glowing reefer. Two years later when I had my first joint I thought back to this early encounter with "illegal substances" and felt like a complete twit. What a namby-pamby twirp Suhaimi must have thought I was! But he was kind enough not to mock me and I'm still grateful for that.

courtesy of Sabrine

But I digress. Coming back to the party where I met Azizah: I remember her grabbing me by the hand and dragging me to the dance floor. Though I felt awkward and shy I managed to pretend to be cool and sophisticated. I was on cloud nine dancing with the vivacious and extremely friendly Azizah. To top it all she was very pretty too. Before we parted she told me she lived in the Gunung Soga government quarters. She even gave me her address and invited me to visit anytime.

About a week later I found myself driving around the Gunung Soga area with Johnny in tow. My dad, bless his soul, trusted me with his car even though I was too young to possess a driver's licence.

"Hey, let's see if we can find Azizah," Johnny suggested. It only took a couple of turns around the neighborhood to locate her house. We walked up to the front door and boldly knocked. Azizah opened it and broke into a big smile when she saw us. She began chatting with us but made no move to invite us in. A moment later we understood why.

A heavyset bloke sporting a policeman-style mustache suddenly emerged from a bedroom and sauntered to the front door. Azizah appeared a tad nervous as she introduced her fiancé Azlan to us.

Azlan gestured to Azizah and she gave us a weak smile as she disappeared into the kitchen, as if to fetch us some drinks. Her fiancé's hunky body blocked the entrance. "How do you know Azizah?" he asked curtly.

"Oh, we met at a party and she invited us to visit," I began... but Azlan wasn't listening. He took a step forward and kneed Johnny in the groin. Johnny reflexively got into fighting stance but I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "Let's leave. I don't think we're welcome here."

That was my first experience of testosteronal overdrive, territoriality and the Malay male. It was such a rude and unpleasant shock I quickly blotted the incident from memory.



Thirty-three years later I was reminded of Azizah and her possessive lover Azlan when I saw Huzir Sulaiman's dramatic monologue, Election Day, wherein he played three housemates named Francis, Dedric and Fozi. The narrator is Francis (a freelance copywriter who could be either Indian or Eurasian) and the plot revolves around "the beautiful and enigmatic Natasha" (a rich girl who is neither seen nor heard at any point but for whose affections all three housemates end up vying). Dedric is a Taiwan-educated Tian Chua type human rights activist and Fozi is a fashionably bohemian architect and one-time PAS member in Perak.

At the start of the play Natasha is Fozi's girlfriend and she has just left the house after a spat with him. The action takes place on Election Day, 29 November 1999. As the drama unfolds we discover that Dedric has a crush on Natasha and thinks Fozi isn't worthy of her. Cleverly interweaving acerbic sociopolitical commentary into his narrative, Huzir concludes his one-hour neo-existentialist drama with a chilling revelation: one of the three housemates is actually a Special Branch officer who manages to set up the other two guys for arrest and detention without trial so he can get the girl - and possibly a promotion for services rendered towards the maintenance of the status quo.

Natasha in Election Day represents the ultimate reward: the land itself, a trophy bride to show off to the whole world and in whose fecund and erotic soil the conquering hero can plant his seeds.

Was Huzir Sulaiman cynically implying that the old adage - all's fair in love and war - holds true and that only the completely amoral stand a chance of winning the game?

Anyway, as I began to recall that long-forgotten run-in with Azizah's jealous fiancé Azlan, many complex issues emerged for me to ponder. First of all, why did Azizah invite me to her house? Okay, assuming she found me rather cute and was keen to befriend me, why didn't she warn me about Azlan? Those were the days before cellphones and SMSes, so it would have been a bit harder to plan secret trysts, even if she had passed me her home phone number. Yet Azizah struck me as a free-spirited, fun-loving girl who enjoyed a wide circle of friends and didn't see anything wrong with befriending other guys even if she already had a steady boyfriend or fiancé.

Perhaps Azlan and Azizah had very different views on this subject. I wonder if she eventually married the fellow - and whether she would have been happy being under the thumb of such a control freak who obviously believed it was fine for him to have four wives, but strictly a no-no for a woman to have four husbands.

I made an effort to imagine myself as someone like Azlan, who would shoot first and talk later if he felt his boundaries threatened. A man of action rather than contemplation who probably dismissed people like me as lily-livered bleeding hearts just because we're capable of a measure of empathy - and are therefore more likely to welcome the unexpected rather than barricade ourselves against the unknown.

If I were Azlan and one day found a couple of strange men at the door asking to see my girlfriend, what would my response be? First, I'd ask her if she knew these guys and whether she wanted to see them. If she acknowledged them as friends and was happy to welcome them to the house, I'd probably regard them as my friends too. They'd be served tea and cakes and after a bit of conversation I might find I enjoyed their company and vice versa. Even if they initially had plans to date her, they would probably be glad just to be accepted as family friends.

After all, if I'm fortunate enough to have a really hot girlfriend or spouse, she's bound to be a big hit with almost every guy she meets and they would all wish they could make out with her. And if I didn't attempt to put her on a short leash and respected her sovereignty as a conscious and mature individual, I'd trust her to always be honest with me.

It's absurd to force your partner to vow NEVER to be attracted to any other. However, it's not difficult at all to swear eternal love to somebody - as long as it's not exclusive, since one never knows what inner changes one will undergo over an extended period.

For instance, you may believe you're absolutely besotted with somebody when you're 17 years old, only to realize four or five years down the line - or perhaps even after four or five months - that it was a purely superficial attraction, and that it's time to move on. Even so, one must always be grateful for love and good times shared. It's a very positive thing to continue loving the ones you have mentally and emotionally outgrown or detached from - like your own parents or former teachers, for example.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Azlan is a metaphor for Umno's values of pseudo-nationalism, ultra-ethnocentrism, and erotophobic bi-polarity manifesting as an obsession with sex and power. Azizah symbolizes Malaysia.

As a traditional, patriarchally programmed Malay male, Azlan/Umno believes it is his God-given right to possess and control Azizah/Malaysia. The thought of somebody else - what more a pork-eating Chink? - wanting a share of his prized possession Azizah is enough to trigger a violent knee-jerk reaction.

All very basic, really: without wasting his breath by going into a discussion about the matter, Azlan instinctively knew what Johnny and I were after - his girl! - and since he was a much more mature guy than either of us fifth-formers, he simply turned into a bully-boy to dissuade us from ever approaching Azizah again. Just protecting his own interests, that's all. Nothing personal.



But there's the rub. Azlan saw Azizah as his property - not as a living, thinking, feeling, evolving, autonomous entity. Johnny wanted to punch Azlan in the face but I felt it was prudent to just walk away from an unnecessary fight. It wasn't as if either of us was seriously in love with Azizah. We only wanted to explore the possibilities of befriending this feisty, friendly girl. All very innocuous stuff, really, and it was stupid of Azlan to react so brutishly.

By obeying his own primitive, unthinking, territorial imperatives he had shown himself to be merely a humanoid biped not much more evolved than a gorilla equipped with basic linguistic circuitry. If he had had the good sense to break into a broad grin and quip: "So you guys want to chat with Azizah? Well, I'm her manager and it's going to cost you 50 bucks an hour... each! Actually, I'm engaged to be married to Azizah in three months and if you turn out to be nice fellas, we'll invite you to the wedding."

Well, such an approach might easily have won Azlan two new friends. Instead, he left me with a permanent bad taste about unwarranted jealousy, petty-mindedness and the sheer stupidity of being a habitual control freak. Indeed, I'm convinced that people like Azlan - unless they mature and mellow rapidly enough - won't qualify for admission into the heavenly realms, because we can't have such coarse and loutish souls clogging up the free flow of good feelings in those rarefied frequencies.

Nevertheless, Azlan's violent behavior was undeniably effective. I never attempted again to contact Azizah, though for me she will always represent the beauty, nubility, hospitality and infinite promise my country holds for me - and everyone else who regards her as home. And ever since that time the name Azizah has always held a mysterious appeal for me.

Azizah would be past 60 by now, probably a grandmother several times over. I fervently hope she wised up and dumped that reactionary Umnoish boyfriend of hers and married a Mat Salleh instead. In any case, I wouldn't be at all surprised if one of these days a vibrant, vivacious and extremely attractive young woman named Zamila added me as her Facebook friend, and I later discovered her paternal grandma Azizah was born in Batu Pahat and lived for many years in the Gunung Soga government quarters...

FOR THE SAKE OF SCIENTIFIC ACCURACY ~ 

IF NOT POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

Halfway through writing this post it occurred to me that the syndrome I've been discussing is certainly not defined by ethnicity or nationality, nor does it entirely apply to the male gender. It so happened that in this early encounter with "the territorial imperative" the antagonist happened to be a Malay male. He could also have been Italian, Mexican, Japanese, Albanian, Filipino, Zimbabwean, Chinese or Portuguese. Possessiveness is a fairly common trait amongst females too. 

Ego insecurity and jealousy are hardwired into our reptilian brains - the most basic, most ancient and primitive component of vertebrate cerebrospinal neural circuitry. In most species the territorial imperative serves the long-range objectives of specific genetic programs in a Darwinian selective process. 

Stands to reason that under the harsh, hostile conditions of a prolonged Dark Age, the masculine, warlike qualities would become prominent survival features. However, in an Enlightened Age, this truculent, hooliganistic, shoot-first-talk-later behavior swiftly becomes countersurvival.  

Brain supersedes brawn and heart overrides gonads as sentient beings evolve. In effect, the Azlan syndrome is really a residual behavior accumulated over thousands of years when physical might improved procreative odds. In an era when metaphysical vision becomes more relevant and significant as modifiers of human evolution, the gorillaman faces abrupt extinction as the godman takes his place as prime progenitive preference.

Just as Umno has yet to integrate the deeper existential implications of its massive losses during the 8 March 2008 election, a large portion of humanity has yet to acquire the more advanced software that will enable us to constantly be aware of the Big Picture - the larger context of our interactions with other aspects of our constantly expanding selves. Those able to swiftly redefine themselves and their own ego boundaries may be classified as "Cultural Creatives" or civilizing agents.

[First posted 9 May 2009, reposted 10 December 2011] 

Michael's dream, Sunday, 19 January 2014...

Six of us, three women, three men, are standing in a circular enclosure. In the way that some very special places can, it is speaking to us - or rather, conveying its thoughts to us without sound. Gradually it reveals itself, and its purpose. It is a small spacecraft, forty feet in diameter, with a transparent shell, which means that wherever we go, we’ll be able to see in any and every direction.

And that’s not all: quite obviously this craft doesn’t have to be flown - it will go wherever we want it to, whenever we want it to. It is not just low-maintenance, it is no-maintenance.

And as if that weren’t enough, I get the distinct impression that it also has a character and personality of its own, and a sense of humor.

Finally it says: “Welcome aboard Flightship One. Use me and enjoy me.”

The man next to me, a tall Indian or Tibetan, smiles and nods. “This is the ship that is used by envoys of God the Father and God the Mother whenever they take human form and explore this Universe,” he says. “And now it is being offered to us.”

I wake, and reach for pen and paper...

I have already confessed that with me, it sometimes takes a while for the penny to drop. In this case, several weeks pass before I realize what the above dream means. What it isn’t about is six people being offered a special privilege - it is about all of us, and what we have at our disposal:

Flightship One turns out to be nothing more and nothing less than our non-physical selves - the craft in which each and every one of us can explore time and space. In other words, our dream bodies.

Merlin used to say to us: “We need you to dream.” By which I presume he meant, “We need you to travel beyond your own limited ideas about the world and the Universe, so that you can see things as they really are. Which isn’t easy, as the Earth is surrounded by a dense cloud of gunk, known by some as “the astral planes.”

“The astral planes are the thought and emotion factories of the human race,” was my first teacher’s way of describing them. “You often complain that nothing is coming through from ‘HQ,’ as you call it. It isn’t for want of trying, believe me - but nothing can get through this miasma containing all of human thought, desire, prejudice, fear, anger, ignorance and despair.”

Our belated apologies, then, to Supreme HQ. We never stop moaning about ‘radio silence’ from you, when all the time it’s the racket coming from us down here that is stopping your messages coming through loud and clear.

Michael Dean

London

a concise but accurate & comprehensive account of the universe

PART ONE

“The Universe?”

“The Universe.”

With the resounding vigor of an apoplectic horse, the portly priest blew his nose and tossed the soggy ball of tissue paper towards a handwoven rattan wastebasket. He missed, though this escaped his notice and, wiping the tip of his nose with the back of a pudgy hand, he said:

“You will please excuse my cold. Even we physicians of the soul are not exempt from viruses, ha ha!” The laugh came from his throat and his face was still red from the effort. “Ah… what was the question again?”

“I asked what your conception was of the Universe, Father.”

“Yes, yes… but, my son, I have no conception. I am merely God’s instrument. I serve no purpose but that which He has determined for me. If you ask me for a conception of the Universe, I can only tell you that which I have learned from reading God’s Word.”

“And what is that?”

The priest carefully pressed the tips of his fat fingers together: “The Universe is God’s masterpiece in harmony. Everything that exists is purposed by its Creator. It is the sum-total of His infinite wisdom.”

“That’s most lucid, Father.”

“Good. And may I add, my son, since God is perfect, the Universe is perfect, too.”

“Perfect? But, Father, I don’t quite see how.”

“Ah, but you are young, my son, and only a mortal. For the day you can understand God’s mysterious ways you will be more exalted than the angels.”

“Do you mean to say, Father, even flies and bacteria that cause disease have a purpose; that even an asteroid traveling endlessly in the void of deep space has a purpose?”

“You have an eager young mind, my son. That is good. But as I told you, God is omniscient! Nothing He creates is without purpose; only you might not see that purpose in this earthbound plane of existence.”

“Then even death has a purpose, Father?”

“Death, and the process that follows it, is the initial step towards the ultimate understanding of God’s Perfect Plan.”

“Are you saying there can be no purpose in life but only in death?”

“No, my son, no, no… One can always try to lead a good, Godfearing life in order that death may be accepted as an occasion for rejoicing rather than mourning. Life, my son, is part of the terrible test God our Father has set for us, and the only way you can show your love and devotion is to do well in that… at… at… atchoo!” A deafening sneeze drowned his last words.

The priest dried his bloodshot eyes on the sleeve of his satin surplice, sniffing noisily. “I am sorry, my son, um, where was I?”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Father. I want to thank you for answering my questions. I was very impressed.”

"Of course, my son. I enjoyed chatting with you. By the way, I don’t recall seeing your face in my church. Are you by chance a Presbyterian, perhaps?”

“No, I’m a student.”

“Good, good, very good.” He sighed and stopped a sneeze by inhaling violently. “Well, my son, go with God.”

PART TWO

“The Universe, dear boy, can exist only when all the cosmic forces are in equilibrium.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite comprehend, sir.”

“Ah, I see.” The wizened metaphysician curled his silver goatee around a thin, graceful finger. “Ah, I see, I see.”

There was an uneasy silence as the student waited for the great scholar to continue. The metaphysician was preoccupied with trying to tie a knot in his goatee.

“Er… what I mean is, sir, well, I don’t exactly see what you mean.”

“Let me put it this way, my dear boy.” A sudden spark appeared in the old scholar’s eyes. “The entire Universe functions on a very fundamental basis of balance. In everything you can detect the same pattern, from the ultra-microscopic to the super-telescopic.”

“Pattern?”

“Yes. Definitely. Existence is possible as a consequence of the equilibrium produced by conflicting forces: Life and Death, Light and Dark, Black and White, Abundance and Scarcity, Good and Evil, Truth and Falsehood, Happiness and Misery, Male and Female, Mountain and Valley, High and Low, Large and Small, Hot and Cold, Yin and Yang… can you perceive the pattern?”

“Well, yes… vaguely.”

“Can’t you see? It is the constant conflict of all those Forces that result in the balance essential to the very existence of the Universe. The ultimate aim of every single existence is to attain that perfect state of equilibrium - inertia! Yes, inertia! The very basis of being is a ceaseless struggle to attain inertia. Continuity, perpetuity, coiling and uncoiling. The completion of the circle. Inertia.”

The metaphysician broke off in a spasm of dry, convulsive coughs. When the attack was over he took a long sip from the glass of sherry on his desk, muttering an excuse that it was good for his cough. Clearing his throat, he continued:

“Can you not grasp the inexorable pattern that governs the Cosmos? Does it not overwhelm you to merely think about it?” He broke off, coughing again.

“Forgive me, dear boy, I am at a loss for words. I cannot help choking with fulfilment each time I see the vast intricacies of the Universe fall so effortlessly into one immense, awesome, sublime pattern…”

“This is certainly most fascinating, sir. But what exactly do you mean by inertia? Isn’t it a continual state of being?”

“You may call it that if you wish. You see, an object that is immobile wishes to remain so; one that is in motion is reluctant to change its course or to stop. Similarly, a person who is alive desires to remain so, but once death puts an end to his life, he has entered a new state of being - or non-being - and will desire to remain dead. And since death is, to all intents and purposes, continual, death is inertia.”

“You said that everything in the Universe strives for inertia. Do you mean that everything desires death?”

The metaphysician uncurled his goatee and allowed it to spring back to its original position. He scratched his chin, and a thin smile crept across his ascetic face. He coughed goodnaturedly.

“That, my dear boy, is a good question… however, I’m afraid I don’t feel at all my usual self and shall have to interrupt this absorbing dialogue, much to my regret, and get some badly needed rest.”

PART THREE

“When we speak of the Universe, we are of course referring to the lifeforms that occupy it, no?”

“Lifeforms?”

“The Universe is nothing without Life. So don’t you agree that in considering the Universe as a Whole…”

“As a hole? I don’t really follow you there, doctor.”

“Jcchk, I mean to say… instead of considering the Universe as an abstract concept, we might be better off discussing LIFE, per se, ja?”

“But how about the billions of lifeless stars and other celestial bodies that comprise the Universe? Don’t they matter?”

“Definitely. You are assuming, no doubt, that there is no life outside of the planet Earth. In the study of biology that could be a most misleading assumption. We must think of life in other forms besides those familiar to us, you see.”

“Yes, I see what you’re getting at.”

“So you understand what I mean when I say we should think of the Universe in terms of the lifeforms that inhabit it, am I correct? Okay, good. Now, everyone knows that survival is the greatest aim of all living things, no? Nothing exists if Life does not exist. Therefore, Life is the most important urge in the Universe. You will further observe that in order to preserve Life by perpetuating their species, all living things undergo reproduction of some sort; and then, to ensure the survival of their offspring, these living things die, so that there will be no lack of space and the cyclical regeneration of nutritive matter can occur. It is a neverending process which has gone on, and will go on and on infinitely. Life… then death… and life again as a result of death. Astounding, no?”

“Astounding, yes!”

Clucking affectionately, the biologist focused his microscope on a glass slide where an amoeba was wobbling along determinedly, trapped within a drop of fluid. “Ah, my little Mabel - she is a veritable miracle of unicellulation, ja?”

The student bent over the microscope to take a look.

“And yet,” the biologist went on, “she is the unique epitome of Life itself! She need never fear age nor senility, for she merely splits in two, then four, then eight. She knows no death… unless, of course, the water bubble she is swimming in evaporates without warning.”

He reached for a glass of drinking salts which had ceased effervescing; a powdery white precipitate lined its bottom. “I have the acid in my system,” he remarked. Then he licked his lips, made a face, and carried on:

“Alas! With multicellulation, complexity, and what we call evolutionary sophistication, death has entered the picture. No complex lifeform can expect to live indefinitely; and, the fact is, its struggle for survival benefits not itself but its offspring. And the same goes for its offspring: they fight to exist for the sake of their offspring, and so on. Sad but true, Life cannot be without Death. This is the Universal Paradox.”

The biologist seemed pleased with this statement, and gulped down the rest of his drinking salts without a grimace.

“I’m sorry, doctor, but I don’t believe I understood that last bit. What you said about life being an offshoot of death. Is that what you mean?”

“Life springs from death. Death springs from life. Ach, but who cares, after all, ja? We limit our consideration to Life only. That is a much brighter prospect, no?”

“Yes, I agree, but I’m still puzzled by what you said about there being no life without death…”

“Or no death without life, put it anyway you like. It is the same, I think.”

“Let us talk about your conception of death, then, doctor.”

“Ach, ach, no, no, no! Remember, biology is the study of living things. If you wish to know about death, consult a mortician, ha ha ha!”

PART FOUR

The Professor’s face was crimson. He wasn’t angry. He had high blood pressure, and everyone kept saying he ought to take a rest. But he was an obstinate old coot. “My work is more important,” he insisted. He was fond of defining and measuring the importance of things.

“Oh, good morning, Professor.”

“Yes, yes, good morning, if you say so. It’s much too humid for pleasantries.”

“Er, Professor, I’ve done the research. Here’s the paper I’ve written.”

“Ahhh. Your thesis. Let’s have a look… Hmmmmm, a little on the short side, I’m afraid." He shook the paper in the student's face and continued: “Short indeed! A long way from what one might classify as verbose, hmmm. Extraordinarily compact, in fact. Hmmmmm, let’s see…”

The student self-consciously lit a cigarette and tried not to notice the strange expression on the Professor’s face as he read the essay. But he couldn’t help observing that the old man’s face had reddened even more. He half expected the Professor to explode with something like: “This puerile jest fails to amuse me!”

However, the Professor was quite restrained, knowing how important it was to keep calm. His white, brittle hair stood out in stark contrast with his flushed face.

“Aha! Aha! What’s this? Quote: There is no Universe without Life. Life is a glass of wine and death the dregs that await at the bottom. The Universe is the wine, the dregs, the glass, the drinker, and the Thirsty Soul that oscillates between ecstasy and despondency, replenishing her vessel in perpetuity. Unquote…”

The Professor’s wry smile was almost humorous. “Which reminds me, “ he said, looking up from the essay and reaching for a bottle of port from the tray beside him. “May I offer you a tipple?”

The student politely declined, clearing his throat somewhat neurasthenically. He had a maniacal urge to leap out the window and get away from the Professor and his stuffy office.

“Life is a glass of wine, eh?” said the Professor, lifting the glass of port to his lips with a raised pinkie. He let out a weary sigh. “Rather interesting, I must admit. Even poetic, but I’m afraid rather inconclusive and vague, to say the least. Hmmmmm…”

The Professor turned the glass round in his heavily veined hand, absently studying the ruby liquid. “You have omitted a very important thing no essay should ever be without. You have not specified the essence of your concepts relative to your allegorical argument, and this seriously weakens your thesis.”

The Professor sighed again, as though in pain, and said, more softly now: “Body… and substance… that is what’s lacking. Rather inconclusive, I’m afraid.”

Then he gulped down the port, which ostensibly cheered him, for he looked up at the student and smiled his usual sanguine smile.


Text & Illustrations © Antares, 1967 & 2015

Joseph F. Martino, Jr in 1968

Joseph F. Martino, Jr (who studied Literature at Cornell under the tutelage of Vladimir Nabokov) taught creative writing at West Essex High School, New Jersey, in the 1960s. 

As a 17-year-old exchange student I happened to enrol in Joe's class in the fall of 1967 and this was my first attempt at a short story. It now comes across as a naïve and pretentious foray into the nebulous domains of epistemology and ontology, but since Joe very generously gave me an 'A' for it, I'll be brazen and publish it here for archival interest - and as a tribute to a truly dedicated mentor I shall never forget.

I THANK THEE EACH DAY, CHARLES FORT ~ a poem by Antares

i’m looking for a needle no one ever lost
in a haystack that never was,
a haystack that never will be

influenced only by my own inertia
trying to find the why of because:

i watch the blood fall from the sky
i see angels rise from the mud;
like fish that swim in an ocean of pain
people drown themselves in pleasure

too much of everything
and too little else
is enough for me and more,
is enough for me and more

all should be well,
all should be heavenly,
if I didn’t have to go through hell,
if I didn’t have to go through hell

sniffing roses in the garden at sunset (sniff sniff)
plucking daisies in the morning dew (pluck pluck)
there’s a vast black thing poised like a crow over the moon
there are things that are false and things that are true…

i found you in the nick of time
you left me at the crack of doom
all alone in a lonely world
the oyster dreams of a pearl,
the oyster dreams of a pearl


19 June 1979

Quite a few lines are borrowed from, or inspired by, Charles Fort - eccentric genius, independent researcher, ephemeralist of the highest order. 
He wrote three books: Lo!, Wild Talents, and The Book of the Damned.

MAGICKFEST ~ 13 YEARS DOWN THE LINE!

MAGICKfestation 2002

December 30, 2001 - January 7, 2002

The 9-Day Magickfest turned into an 11-Day Elohim Portal Activation, Celebration, Releasing Session, Sacred Ceremony, Love-In, Jam Session and for me the Most Fantastic Farty I recall (yes, it was a gas-gas-gas from the word GO!) since Star-Borne Reunion #8 in March 1993. Indeed it was a Monumentally Metatronic Marathon of Music and Mad Joy!

JOY, FREEDOM, and the happy fusion of WORK and PLAY were the keynotes - and something profoundly significant was accomplished that was totally unforeseen and reality shifting beyond our wildest expectations. I don't know if I can find a way of sharing in words what transpired without diminishing its sacredness and significance or appearing to crow about it.

I don't know how I can begin to describe the magickal transformations some of us felt as the Magickfest progressed - or if I even ought to attempt it. So much was going on, on so many levels... at first I felt it may be wiser (and easier on lazy old me) to simply post a very brief and general report on the resounding success of the event. But then I figured that everyone associated with Magick River or who's stayed on the Magick River Network would want to join us in celebrating this epochal event which was witnessed by only a few of us who were directed by Spirit to stay the entire 9 days and not succumb too much to sleep.

I believe that those of us whose physical presence was essential to the process were serendipitously brought together just so that this could happen. (Heiko and Selina, for instance, were drawn to the event through a series of remarkable synchronicities: in 1995 Selina had come to my wedding party and I recall that she had given me a wonderful massage with an egg-shaped stone. Then she vanished from view until a few months ago when she emailed me out of the blue. She later explained that two months earlier while shopping at the Mid-Valley Megamall she had flashed on a vision of that strange man who lived in the hills - but couldn't for the life of her remember my name. Somehow she felt she had to locate me. During a subsequent releasing session, a spirit healer identifying herself as "Lady Elantra" made contact. Curious to know more, Selina ran a Google search on "Lady Elantra" which took her directly to my starsister Soluntra King's website where she found a link to Magick River and me!) Well, I guess a full-length report is in order...

L-R: Ahau, Antares, Anoora, Lia, Lami, Nadia, Emanar, Selina, Heiko, Shane, Sabrina, Freddie, Michelle, Johnny 

DAY 1 (Dec 30): My daughter Belle came up with her family (for the first time in years) and I led a small group of first-timers, including my then son-in-law Marcus, on a pilgrimage to the Mother Fall. Among the party were Heiko, Selina, Robin, Michelle, Ee Ling, Jasmond and Johnny Chewbacca (a shorn wookie and agent of the Ashtar Command who had arrived from Penang the previous night high from Lord of the Rings). The weather was GORGEOUS and stayed gorgeous throughout the Magickfest (the shower that broke on the evening of January 6 was received as a cool and cleansing blessing).

Everyone exulted in the joy of playing in the rejuvenating waters of the River of Life and soaking in the beauty and perfection of Gaia-Terra, the hologram of Heaven on Earth. Sabrina the 5-year-old chatterbox and her mummy Emanar arrived with Freddie (Emanar's Internet friend from Sweden). That night we stayed up till past 4 a.m. joking, jamming, clowning around, and celebrating our soul-family reunion in the glorious glow of the full moon.

DAY 2 (Dec 31): Another day spent relaxing and swimming and eating and horsing around. Ancient and modern friends came up to celebrate and bask in the wonderful magick of the river. Nothing had been planned or scheduled and everything unfolded with spontaneous perfection. In the evening friends (and friends of friends) began arriving for New Year's Eve bringing food and drink and more music. Though we only had Robin's portable CD player (apart from our own musical instruments), those who felt like dancing let their hair down and worked up a sweat (Garry, Mr Banjoman, you'll be happy to hear that Shooglenifty was a smash hit amongst the Magick River ravers).

Just before midnight we assembled down by the river and gazed in silent appreciation at the silvery moonlit scene, listening to the neverending riversong. There was no formal ceremony or ritual but everyone was introspective and receptive to the divinely delicious tingle in the atmosphere. Then someone softly said, "Happy New Year!" and the hugging and kissing began. A few of us jumped joyfully into the river and relished the invigorating sensation of swimming in an ethereal luminosity that evoked elvish memories of Lothlorien and Rivendell. All the dimensions intersected and I felt the subtle shift in the magnetic field as the Elohim Gateway began to activate. We partied till people began dropping off to sleep one by one wherever they could find a spot to curl up in. Some fell asleep on mats watching the stars.

DAYS 3-5 (Jan 1-3): By early afternoon most of the ravers and revelers had departed, leaving a tranquil, dreamy atmosphere in which to recharge our batteries. Heiko, Selina, Robin and Michelle had originally planned on moving out on New Year's Day but after a brief pow-wow announced that they would like to stay the entire week. This was welcome news indeed. I had expected that the Magickfest would be very quiet after the party animals returned to their jobs.

It was good to have a core group holding the frequencies throughout the entire 9-day celebration. As I said, Heiko and Selina are Awakened Starry Ones I reconnected with only a couple of months ago. Robin and Michelle I met through them; over the next few days we released a lot of old programs, remembered our mythical lineages, and emerged as a unified soul-family of love, light and endless laughter. Others holding the frequency were Emanar (a rapidly awakening starpriestess and keeper of the Aquarian codes), Shane (our resident nature mystic and future franchise owner of McDhall Rice), Kaiel Ashtar aka Johnny Chewbacca (who first visited Magick River briefly in 1997), Anoora and Ahau (my hillbilly fambly), and Anubis and Wong (the canine corps). Before retiring to our beds, all of us went down to the river to savor the crisp early morning air and we suddenly noticed that there was a powerful vortex manifesting on the hill overlooking the bungalow.

As our attention focused on a particular point between two peaks we noticed an etheric tetrahedral pyramid forming in the night sky, subtly demarcated by tiny stars. We agreed it was the apex of an immense etheric crystal wand receiving, storing, and transmitting light codes to the Mother Ship, which manifested as a huge circular tube of glowing mist. Heiko had an inner vision of an enormous floating world containing an amazing diversity of galactic human cultures and star nations. I received the message that the "actual" Mother Ship was an etheric pod many times larger than our planet containing the seeds of myriad worlds.

The Ceremonial Guardian of Magick River keeping in the flow

DAY 6 (Jan 4): It became apparent that there would be no visitors today. Heiko and Selina offered to conduct a Releasing Session for everyone present and I arranged for Anoora and Ahau to spend the afternoon at the village (only 3 minutes' drive away) so we wouldn't be disturbed. We began around 5.00 p.m. and finished around 9.00. Everyone felt much lighter, having released key issues embedded in our encoding over the aeons. I was so charged up I didn't sleep for the next 48 hours! Then the Elohim Gateway Activation kicked in and miracles began to unfold...

DAY 7 (Jan 5): Around 1.44 a.m., the generator was turned off, abruptly terminating the Celestial Awakenings cassette Selina was playing just as the "Kodoish, Kodoish, Adonai 'Tsebayoth" chorus ended. I suggested we walk down the steps to the river to check on the vortex. It was still visible, indeed, it had grown since the previous night!

I was prompted by Spirit to show Heiko and Selina the tetrahedral cleft in a nearby rock which had fascinated me since I first spotted it in 1992. I had suspected it was the seal of the Elohim and I had telepathically received the formula, "Elohim Alayu" which I used as a Magick River credo without fully knowing what it meant. Heiko, Selina and I had been discussing J.J. Hurtak's Keys of Enoch and we had discovered archetypal resonances linking us through the Melchizedek-Metatron-Michael trinity as well as through our mythogenetic resonances with the Enki-Enlil-Ninhursag saga.

As we examined the seal by flashlight, everything suddenly clicked: Enoch was the Keeper of the Keys! Perhaps the Enochian frequency was required to open the Elohim Timelock. There was no need to articulate my thought: Heiko was down on his knees moving his hand within the cleft while intoning a formula in the archangelic tongue of the Elohim. I was prompted to chant the few Elohim phrases that came to mind: Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh and Elohim Alayu... all four of us (Heiko, Selina, Johnny and I) stood back as what appeared to be a beam of white light shot up from the cleft. I actually felt a forcefield as the beam went up. I looked around at the group and remarked that this was just like a scene out of a Tintin adventure (and true enough, we even had "Captain Haddock" aka Denis Hewitt join us a few hours later!

The rest of the day was spent welcoming new arrivals to the Magickfest, among these a group of 5 young internet witches and wizards led by Simon Soon aka Zenith. Shane led another group to the Mother Fall. It was only around 1.44 a.m. that my energy began to flag and I excused myself to catch up on some sleep. Had to get myself charged up for the birthday/epiphany celebrations the next evening.

Party Time at Magickfest 2002!

DAY 8 (Jan 6): Denis "Captain Haddock" Hewitt celebrated his 61st birthday at the Magickfest by conducting a marathon singalong of rock'n'roll favorites and rugby songs. Later in the evening I picked up a vanload of Temuan friends from the nearby village and brought them up to the Magickfest. Lami the Indonesian caretaker had cooked up a storm and everyone was duly stuffed. Then the tribe commenced their sawai (healing ceremony) and were joined by Heiko, Shane, Robin and me on didjeridoo, bongos, guitar, and assorted flutes and reeds. Low-tech trance music enhanced by shots of Tequila donated by Franny the warmhearted French witch!

Another bout of dancing broke out when we turned on the canned music, and we celebrated the fusion of celestial and terrestrial tribes. Then the Temuan ladies decided they would close the evening with another round of sawai. Anoora's mama Indah offered me a birthday song in Temuan and I was about to jam with the group when a ripple of excitement reached me from the garden where a few had gathered watching the sky, slightly misty after the shower.

I went out and saw geometric lines linking certain stars (they were pulsing like lightships) to form a huge diamond from which emerged a perfect Star of David hologram - it was a gigantic celestial Merkaba created by our combined Merkabas! Emanar pointed excitedly at the etheric Star of David imprinted on my face. "You're the Magickman!" she laughed, stating the obvious.

I drove our Temuan guests back to the village and when I returned was handed a birthday surprise: a diptych in oil crayons and glitter on clay tiles (pinched from a stack in the garage) depicting the starry events that had transpired only moments ago. Heiko, Selina, Emanar, Michelle, Johnny, and Robin (who apparently had sat in meditation all the while) had created the beautiful artwork during the afternoon - only to witness the celestial events manifest magickally several hours later in the night sky. Talk about Magickfestation!!!

Of course, my UFOria was quickly mitigated when Anoora began throwing a fatigue tantrum (she was otherwise enormously loving and kept hugging everyone throughout the 9 days) and we caught a whiff of stinky poo in Ahau's pants. I couldn't help drawing a corollary from this minor bringdown: even as we celebrate the advent of Heaven on Earth, there's still some infantile shit to be attended to.

DAY 9 (Jan 7): Shane drove the young pagans home and the place became serene. No one wanted to leave. We admired the animal forms hidden amidst the rocks and I showed everyone the Galactic Womb on Elephant Rock - a uterus-like opening large enough for someone to enter in fetal position. Then Heiko, Robin and Johnny were initiated into the indescribable pleasure of jumping the Baby Fall (Michelle did her second jump too) and Emanar recorded this transformative event on Robin's videocam. Johnny took ages to jump - but, in the end, jump he did, brave soul!

Johnny decides to catch a ride to KL with Robin and Michelle but Heiko and Selina have been prompted by Spirit to linger on a while. Emanar and Sabrina decide to stay too. The Magickfest is officially over. A few lightworker friends from Singapore have booked the bungalow from Jan 7-10 and they're long overdue. Around 7.30 p.m. they finally show up, having taken the longer route off the highway (they had also been stopping at certain spots to clear clogged energies). Interesting phenomena spontaneously occurred when one of the new arrivals began channelling the Pleiadian Alliance and the Great Goddess Isis - but this isn't the place to discuss what transpired.

The Mother Fall (Lata Chehek) by Aloisio Ferrera

Two days later I led four of our Singaporean friends to the Mother Fall where I became aware of another enormous etheric crystal looming straight up from the Diamond Pool. On the way back we stopped to look at an interesting rockface which I had long ago dubbed "the Lemurian Fort." The spot was completely overgrown with ferns and we had to push back the foliage to see the stack of boulders that looked like the remains of an ancient wall. It was then that I noticed, for the first time, the large tetrahedral cleft smack in the middle of the rock formation. But it was hard getting close to the wall without hacking back the ferns. I mentioned this to Heiko later and he immediately felt prompted to check it out. I handed him a machete and off he went. Half an hour later he returned beaming. "It's done!" he said triumphantly. And so it is!

I thank all the gods and goddesses, ancient kings and queens, high elves and low, nymphs, sprites and satyrs, witches and wizards, star commanders, retired dark lords, princes and princesses, fairies and maenads, sylphs and undines, hobbits, gnomes and trolls, mineral, vegetable and animal allies, devas, angels, archangels and ascended masters, and all the plain decent folk (meaning those who feel they don't belong in any of the above categories) who helped boost the frequencies at Magickfest 2002 - simply by being there as your most lovable true selves!

ELOHIM ALAYU!

Conscious Remembrance of Source!

EHYEH ASHER EHYEH!

I Am That I Am!

Infinite Rainbow Blessings,

Antares Star-Zan

12 January 2002

________

EPILOGUE: Having to recalibrate my frequencies to navigate 3D density after such an epiphanous experience is the hardest task now. Re-entry into the Matrix is such a drag I'm tempted to give it up for good! All that sinister and violent shit flying around the airwaves is happening in the artificial reality set up by delinquent souls who worship power as military might and money - instead of beauty, love and truth. It is our sacred duty as Awakened Ones to tune ourselves out of their frequency traps and persevere in our mission of retrieving, redeeming, transmuting and releasing the root traumas that have turned all our dreams into nightmares for too long. Let's help one another Stay Wide Awake! Doubt not that victory is already ours! The "enemy" is ultimately US manifesting our own deepest fears. There is no THEM.