Wave of Mutilation

 

LRV-6874low

 

Waves crash

 

Somehow, the houses seem closer together now

While people draw further apart

We husbands and wives sit alone-together

In shrinking rooms

Nursing our vulnerabilities

Pensively viewing events

Through windows without walls

 

Curtains are drawn closed

Against a world beyond our control

Doorknobs bleached for good measure

We scurry to our mailbox for dispatches or cheques

And eat our boredom ‘til our pants get too tight

 

Every mind is an abacus now

Calculating exponentialities

And checking the odds like touts at the track

We watch the goalposts receding

Towards the distant horizon

Counting down as the numbers rise

Feeling like time is dragging too fast

Sleeping later each day

To avoid the feeling

We’re not in Kansas anymore

 

We are small and

Insignificant

Oh, wave of displacement

Pass us by

 

We are small

And do no harm

Oh, wave of retribution

Pass us by

 

What day is this?

 

 

 

 

©2020

 

Words and image are my own.

Ain’t necessarily so

 

 

A fine fellow she was

 

So

Did you hear about Pulaski?

He

May have been a she

The father becomes a

Mother

That dashing, tragic warrior

For whom we named a Highway

In the sky

Shows us that understanding can

Be subverted

And that history

Is not a dead language

General Pulaski

Mother of the American cavalry.

 

 

 

You can read about this interesting development at

NJ.COM

 

 

 

Starman

 

 

main_st_1950s
Main Street High Bridge in the 1950’s…
IMG_7936.jpg
…and today.

 

In 1950’s America an interesting phenomenon occurred. Hot on the heels of the ‘flying saucer flaps’ (as they were then known) which had been occurring since 1947*, a small group of people went public with claims that they had both met and travelled with men and women from outer space.

These ‘contactees’, as they came to be called, began going public with prophetic messages and dire warnings about mankind’s future which they claimed originated with the men from Venus.

The first and most famous of these was George Adamski who went from dishwasher in a burger joint to millionaire after the publication of his book about his ‘encounters’ with space people but he was not the last. There was at least a score of others peddling pretty much the same line in space dust.

 

Howard Menger bl.jpg
Menger.

 

One of those who became almost as famous as Adamski was Howard Menger of High Bridge New Jersey. Menger claimed that when he was a young boy back in the 30’s he encountered a beautiful woman sitting upon a rock in the woods outside of town. The woman revealed herself to be from Venus and told Howard that he would meet her again at some point in the future.

Menger, in his book From Outer Space to You, claimed that this proved to be the case when, in the 50’s, he witnessed a spacecraft which landed in a field outside High Bridge. Menger alleged that one of the three figures that emerged from the craft was the very woman he had met 20 years before. Furthermore, he claimed she had not aged a day in the intervening years.

It seems amazing to think that people bought into Howard Menger’s tales of encounters with Venusian amazon women but many did. Howard claimed that many beside himself also witnessed the craft he frequently saw and filmed. However, even a cursory examination of his images leaves the modern viewer more than a little unconvinced and wondering what his so-called witnesses thought they were seeing.

Among Mengers more outrageous claims is that he was taken by the Venusians to Earth’s moon and that it had an atmosphere and horticulture. He even claimed to have brought back a ‘moon potato’.

If this all seems rediculous, it’s worth noting that Howard often spoke to very large gatherings of devoted believers (some of which took place right here in High Bridge) and he appeared often on the radio where he waxed lyrical about the teachings delivered by the Venusians**.

There are still people living in High Bridge today who claim that Howard was a hardworking and honest local businessman who was well liked and respected within the community. His own wife, Connie, met Howard when, as a local journalist, she came to interview him about his experiences with the Space Brothers. Connie was so impressed by him that she married him, quit her job, and started preaching the message too (something she continued to do even after Howard’s death in 2009).

The contactee movement has been chalked up largely to the extreme paranoia of the ‘A-Bomb Generation’. Many people (intellectuals among them) were convinced that mankind was on a fast track to annihilation and the thought of benevolent and technologically advanced beings intervening in our affairs like protective parents must have held a lot of appeal for those traumatised by their fear of the bomb.

I’ve watched some of Menger’s filmed interviews and there’s no denying he was charismatic and seemingly sincere. Perhaps he actually believed what he was saying or perhaps he just needed to believe it was true.

 

 

 

*It’s probably not a coincidence that these ‘flaps’ occurred as the paranoia of Cold War was gearing up.

**In later years (once space exploration had proven that the other planets in our Solar System were hostile to humanoid life) Menger and the other contactees claimed that they had misunderstood their Space Brothers as to their point of origin.

Menger claimed he now believed they merely had a base on Venus (or maybe Mars) and actually came from outside of our system.

 

©2018

Ship of fools

 

I guess this is the same deal as last time. A little four-pager that will probably never see the light of day if I don’t put it up here.

This one’s a gruesome little SF tale of human exploitation on some distant, godforsaken world.

 

Caravan page 1a colour lr

Caravan page 2 colour lr

Caravan page 3 colour lr

Caravan page 4 colour lr

 

 

The story and characters in this graphic story are the exclusive IP of the creator and may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of same.

©2018

Highway 31

 

23135038_375159916237571_1365115117_o.jpg

 

Hydroplane

 

The drum of the rain

So loud on the roof that

It near drowns out the stereo

The mad cascade and

The reckless red blinking of

Cars weaving through a white-out of spray

Kids silent in the backseat

Locked into the blue glow of their screens

Then everything

Lurches

That slippery fish movement

The center of gravity shifting

A sense of going over

Somehow

She jerks us back from the edge of the tip

Another shift and we start to go again

On the other side

All drunken sailor like

She stops fighting it

Her hands let go the wheel

And the whole world spins us into the guardrail

Facing back the way we came

 

The trooper that stands at my window

Looks sixteen

“Everyone OK here?”

“Fine.”

She hands him her license

“I’ll need yours too, Sir.”

“He hasn’t got one,” she says

“He’s Australian.”

 

The actual song we were listening to when the SHTF.

 

Words and image are my own.

 

©2017

 

 

 

True sea

 

IMG_4963a

 

(i∂̸ – m) ψ = 0

 

Two souls/systems/bodies

Interacting for a time

Then moving apart

Though separated by miles

Or even the Universe

Can no longer be described separately

They become a single soul/system/body

It is the most beautiful equation in physics

What happens to one

Continues to affect the other

No matter how distant

quantum mechanics does not recognize a vacuum

There is no emptiness

And If two souls get entangled in a wave

They will remain so

Forever.

 

 

 

Word configuration and image are my own.

 

©2017

Ant music

 

neuroptera-antlionpit.jpg

 

All unaware

 

There is an antlion at the center of the world

Poised hungrily at the bottom of a slippery slope

We ants march unawares

Assuming naively our footing is secure

Then the sands begin to shift

And gravity takes hold of us

We tumble

Slide

Towards the jaws of inevitability

Without ever understanding

Why this doom has overtaken us

We are humble strivers and builders

We have no notion that others prefer to build traps

Even as the jaws close about us

We largely fail to understand the nature of our demise

Cursing as we go the cruel randomness of fate

Ignorant

There is no chance or luck to this design

Even if we blindly avoid the pit

Another waits beyond and another beyond that

And we small ants keep marching

Serene in our purpose

Trusting our place in the order of things

Fools.

 

 

Don’t tread on an ant

He’s done nothin’ to you

There might come a day when he’s treadin’ on you

Don’t tread on an ant

You’ll end up black and blue

You cut off his head, legs come lookin’ for you.

 

Words are my own. Lyrics; Adam and the Ants. Image; randomly acquired from the internet.

©2017