Welcome To Hellville - Part 9 contd By Rich Mills 22nd November 2040

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I think about the Universe and how it's constructed in all its facets. I model it in my mind, spinning its green-screen 3-D vector graphic image around in a virtual space I've created inside my cranial cavity. My doughnut theory of the Universe is not quite complete though, it has a hole in it I've yet to fill… I'm drifting from my focal point in this diatribe, notably the work of the philosopher Baudrillard and the eastern faith of Buddhism, in relation to the transparency and ever changing fluidity of identity as a philosophy, within both social and cultural discourses, through subversion of perversion.

Baudrillard, Buddha and Big Brother, a thoughtful consideration of our cultural, spiritual and socio-political selves…

The likes of Orwell and Huxley created literary masterpieces. Their individual perceptions of dystopian futures have now blended to such an extent that they are becoming a mutated mutually exclusive self-fulfilling prophecy. It's as if the-powers-that-be (who ever 'they' are) read these books and realised what great ideas of social control were contained within them… Even back then people could see the writing on the wall, and how society was to become that dystopian nightmare written about so long before. Why did no-one do anything about it? Why did they let it get to the state that things are in now? Why has God forsaken us? Not that I have a religious bone in my body, but every now and then I like to hedge my bets.

I do have a fascination however for religious tat, my favourite being my plastic wind-up Jesus. I do also have an inexplicable interest in angels.

Mum reckons it stems from when I was around two or three years old. Apparently if ever I fell over and grazed my knee for example, I'd cry and cry until someone handed me an angel feather. Now it was much more likely to be a pigeon feather, or some such winged urban scavenger. But I firmly believed as a child that these feathers were from the wings of angels, and had special healing powers. Mum says that as soon as I brushed a feather over the grazed area then I'd stop crying, and all was well with the world again.

Even more interesting is that sometimes I'd be handed a feather, and I throw it back screaming that it had run out of energy. Mum and Dad would then have to scramble around for another one that did have the necessary healing energy I required left. Mum learnt quickly to keep a collection of feathers always to hand. This wasn't difficult as I would go around the streets picking up every one I could lay my hands on. Strange the things we believe as absolutely real as children. We lose that sense of there being a mystical world beyond this one, a place where fantasy and reality sit side by side without the need for explanation. Children are the most questioning of creatures, while at the same time the most accepting. An odd sort of typically child-like contradiction that we adults could learn from.

Continued Welcome To Hellville - Part 9 By Rich Mills.. Next Page

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