Monday, November 30, 2020

The Recognition of basic human dignity.

 From time to time one has a conversation that keeps one thinking for a very, very long time, after the fact. Long before covid19,  when one could actually shoot the breeze with complete strangers and occupy ones time getting to know people, without the threat of catching something airborne and very deadly. 

I was walking architectural building plans through the municipality to get stamps from each department, to eventually get final approval . The heritage department always has very interesting characters, who actually care enough about history to actively find a job that looks to preserve it. 

So it was on this particular day many, many years ago - I had just steamed through the land usage department and then flew through the zoning department. They then sent me to the heritage department on the 14th or 16th floor - I forget now. Anyway it was one of those council rooms in the back and beyond of the municipality building, that one could sense slow history growing on the walls, on the desk and in every corner of the room. 

One would ring the bell and wait and eventually an enlightened heritage official would make their way to the front desk,  from a place beyond the publics scrutiny. It was the usual checking of the plans, the position, the erf, the suburb - either you got sent back to zoning or through to another more complicated heritage department and process. 

For some reason when all was verified and found in order, the small talk led to the topic of "recognising basic human dignity." yes I know right - rather a BIG jump from "You been busy?' to such a meaty topic. But such is the organic nature of conversation - it can spark like wild fire in a million different exciting directions. 

Well this next story is possibly well known, possibly told differently, possibly nothing like i remember it 20 years down the line. however I'm remembering the tale told me, from many, many  years back, in a heritage department office. On a very slow day, when my mind was occupied with paying bills and trying to just survive life. Really much like today, right now. So the telling of this remembered story will have holes and I might even miss the original point completely. As I said , conversations that keep one thinking for years down the line, don't necessarily remain accurate to the telling, only really accurate to my perceived understanding, which granted might be limited.

Amongst the deep history photos and heritage items the professional behind the counter started setting the scene to what I found to be a great tale. In the interests of telling the story and not getting caught up in the current climate of political correctness, I'm deliberately just going to leave out every single name, place and any information that will spark a step left riot and then take the focus away from the crux of the tale. Which remember is, recognising basic human dignity. 

Many years ago a certain very famous world museum painstakingly was collecting and had collected much art and items of deep interest and many, many  objects from a very proud, grand and once greatly established nation. A proud peoples who have been subsequently completely brutalised by the advent of a very greedy human driven new order. In the wake of such a long , over hundreds of years decimation process, much important heritage history was at risk now of being lost and in much need of being painstakingly preserved. So this very famous museum stepped up to take on this very important and expensive task of curatorship. 

Not sure if man preserves his history for the lesson of never wanting to repeat it or because he wants  to simply remember what happened - there is a difference. 

The museum spent many millions to preserve the objects in specially built glass cases , temperature specific and light deprived housings. The incredibly vast collection of items from this now decimated great nation, was staggering and took much effort and many millions to preserve on just a daily basis.

The curator of the museum , a very enlightened great nation heritage professional, who was deeply passionate about the preservation of this fascinating material was visited by the current chief of all the great nations, who's long heritage was now preserved in this great world museum. 

Now this very old great chief , shuffled into the curators office , he couldn't speak a word of English , he was dressed in the mighty clothes of his great nations legacy - passed down from father to son, over many generations, its wear was old but still very powerful to the gaze. the curator was very tempted to try preserve the incredible history on display in front of him. But instinctively knew the difference between history and the present. 

The great chief flanked by 2 of the great nations current strongest warriors, also dressed in the clothing that represented their deep heritage. Spoke in the language familiar to him and interpreted by one of the young warriors. After an incredibly detailed very respectful interaction,  the great chief summed up what he was there for, he thanked the curator for the incredible work he had done in preserving his nations artefacts. 

He deeply thanked the museum for the incredible work it had done in preserving all this valuable heritage information. But he made it known that the great spirit that oversees the remaining members of the nation. who in a vision to him,  had told him to bring home all the items of his nation in the museum. So he wanted the curator to box the entire collection , stored in several massive museum buildings, under sensitive expensive conditions, to be ready for his collection. To be taken back to the plains of his people, to be respectfully given back to the nation and the earth that had been robbed of its incredible legacy.

The curator was completely astounded - he petitioned and implored and told the 3 nations representatives it was absolutely impossible - much would be lost in the process and it was completely foolish and would never ever be allowed. The great chief just respectfully stared and like all great men, made it clear , it was not open for negotiation.

The curator and the museum immediately solicited the countries best lawyers , employed the greatest legal minds and went into a court room battle over the validity of this completely outrageous claim. The museums legal bench was loaded with the greatest current minds they could afford. the type of minds that cost many millions just to get an opinion from. 

On the day of the first court hearing the chief arrived with just his 2 warriors - he shuffled into the courtroom  and was very present with every facet of the unfolding proceedings. Through interpretation the court wrote down every word of this great old chief,  as he spoke in riddle and rhyme. And petitioned for the return of his nations deeply symbolic heritage.

The court case went right to the supreme court in the land over much time, costing many millions in the process.  Eventually a very wise judge at the very end of a very long legal process concluded that all the artefacts indeed belonged to the great nation. And should be respectfully given back to them. so they can respect and honour their dead, their customs and their people. The full cost of the entire legal process was for the museum to carry.

The museum was absolutely devastated, the curator was completely broken. The court set a day when the start of the handover would begin, when the chief with his entourage of many helpers would arrive to start the process of packing up, boxing and taking back their great nations heritage.

The designated court day eventually arrived and the chief stood in the exact same office he had occupied many months before - the same 2 warriors on either side of him. The now completely broken curator could hardly look up as he was devastated at his life's preservation work being completely destroyed. 

The chief started talking and the warrior interpreted the wise old mans words. The curator didn't really hear much, but he did notice that the chief had arrived with just the 2 warriors, as before. The curator didn't get much from the long detailed discussion but he did understand the chiefs very last few words.

"The museum can keep all the artefacts, exactly as they have done over the many years,  exactly in the current condition they reside in at present". 

At that the old chief turned to leave the small office,  the curator was incredulous - WHY!! why  did we just go through this incredibly expensive, time consuming process , if nothing was ever going to change? 

The chief,  through his interpreter said - "But things have changed! You now know that all these artefacts, belong to our great nation and not to you."

This powerful little tale , told to you from my memory of a conversation, in a very slow day heritage office, 20 years back, has got me thinking about what's happening right now. 

Do not ever underestimate the recognition of peoples basic human dignity. And sometimes its just a simple perception and perspective change that's required. A healthy change of established thinking is more powerful than the actual moving around of structures, architecture and established precedents. 

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

NDCP - a wildetect short story

The year is 2418 – 
man in his infinite wisdom has developed a Neural Didactic Conscience Processor. (NDCP) this in short allows scientists the means to determine the immediate emotional state and mindset of any given subject. Past generations of man practiced extreme segregation along racial, financial, class and religious lines.  However When man progressed to the point where all men were found to be absolutely  exactly the same and equal in physical merit and otherwise – it became necessary to segregate humanity along other more cranially stringent control lines. So the fervent need for an instrument to measure this difference in man’s intellectual and principally his emotional state was born.

Extremely clever scientists who believe we created and pulled ourselves out the quagmire of the nothing, nothing through billions of failed  and a few successful mutations started in earnest to explore this new measurement of emotional neural science exploration.  My very limited understanding of this new science is that The EQ, for want of a better understanding is different from IQ. And therefore needed its own accurate measuring process which is completely unique. The deduction was that people have various levels of emotional ability – ones conscience determines how far you will go to get what you desire. 

People prone to very extreme anti-social behaviour register very low on the NDCP unit of measure and those who are of a nurturing nature register very high. So the need to segregate these now obviously different types of people became very necessary.  This is not segregation along race, class or religious grounds – its segregation along the pure minds emotional ability. (Emotional apartheid was born by an elite group of neural scientists) a potential of what we would be capable of based on our emotional conscience levels. Scientists who developed the NDCP believe that one’s hardwiring cannot be altered – its nature and no amount of nurture would change the hardwiring. Therefore the need for immediate neural segregation was recommended and approved by the department of human evolutionary development. (HED) this In the absolute interests of creating a superior human design end product. Future generations of man will laud these incredible minds for the sacrifices they have made now.

This process of measuring ones mental state was meant to go way beyond just face value analysis – our hard wiring according to the scientists in this exclusive field, cannot allow one to become empathetic if you have a low NDCP reading – according to the developers of the NDCP is that people with a low NDCP value are able to do very well is easily mimic and manipulate those with a more emotionally present or who register with a high NDCP score. So the need to separate these 2 types of mindsets became incredibly important – so we have a very elitist set of emotionally specialized individuals who control the fate of those of us who are less in tune with our emotional intelligence. And because of that, potentially pose a threat to mankind.

The statistics show that in the high NDCP quadrant, murder and social delinquent behaviour is minimal. However in the Quadrant which measures very low NDCP rates – murder and social delinquent behaviour is extremely high. The 4 quadrants are broken down into

1)     1 very high NDCP levels. – 75% - 100%
2)     2 medium levels – 50% - 74%
3)     3 low levels – 25% - 49%
4)      4extremely low 0% - 24%

A level above you is able to transfer into your quadrant – however if you’re a level 4, then you’re absolutely not allowed to travel to any levels above your NDCP station.
I am a very low level 4 or what is called a 02four.

People prone to murder or violence are easily distinguished early using this NDCP measurement tool.  This allows an elite section of mankind’s society to live in a utopian environment, free from those of us who would pollute the very air they breathe. We live a dystopian existence.

Once it was determined I was a massive potential threat and delinquent to society, I was immediately removed from my high level NDCP mother and placed in the care of spiritual care minders.  SCM, These high level NDCP practitioners have sacrificed much to spend time within our midst, helping and caring for us extremely dangerous to society types. “The 02fours.”

Because we are extremely unpredictable, manipulative and dangerous we wear a shock suit straight jacket a S3J – and any amount of resistance we give, we are lightly reminded that we need to behave by the SCM taking care of us.

Because the SCM are capable of high levels of empathy, they are allowed to determine the level of shock to be administered. Their pure judgments and wonderful in site into what is fair is entirely at their discretion. Every now and again a more violent 02four will be found shocked beyond return – however it’s always been determined that it has been a malfunctioning s3j and not a SCM minder. – So far all of my s3j’s malfunction routinely. It’s flipping sore and extremely frustrating to get shocked beyond any normal levels of the pain threshold.

As a low level 02four I am branded bright red – it’s a process whereby my skin cells are colored a deep red – because it’s believed I cannot change from my hard wiring – it’s not necessary to worry about my natural appearance once this diagnosis is made. It’s done to make me obvious to anyone on a level above me. The SCM are assigned to see out my days in the most humane way possible – without me being a danger to myself and others higher up on the quadrant NDCP scale. The SCM also make sure i never see a reflection of myself as they are assigned to make sure i dont develop any narcissistic views of myself - nothing is reflective in my domain - just in case i get to see what i look like.

In infancy my cells are branded and once the unusual bright red colour is administered it is permanent. I cannot change it, even if I tried. We are not allowed to have any children our reproductive processors are removed and cauterized. , the idea is a brilliant scientific evolutionary one, whereby all traces of 02four’s will have disappeared in hundreds of years of selective breeding.  The notion of a process of failed mutation forward breeding program.
So I simply exist but have no legacy. I am 02four- 8626134111

The SCM are not allowed to get to close to us, as they are very empathetic, this is a big problem for them. Developing feelings and a relationship with us is forbidden.  So they are routinely rotated as minders.

What the SCM need to determine is how best to utilize our abilities – as we are not unintelligent we are just potentially dangerous. So our usage to quadrant 1 society is quickly established. I am a designer - I particularly enjoy the aesthetic nature of design. So my portfolio of activity is to beautify practically designed items. This I do 12 hours a day –
Over the last 2 years I am also afforded access to archive information and I am on a specialized program whereby I am given impregnated or fused knowledge from previous 02fours before me. Scientists have developed a procedure which transfers, what was previously lost knowledge and experience from others. It is a process whereby other people long dead’s life’s experience and knowledge is fused into a 02fours consciousness. Up until a few months ago I had 12 previous life experiences fused within my head. This conscious blending process is extremely dangerous and that is why only the 02fours are subjected to it for now. It’s a very volatile procedure and it’s highly illegal to experiment on levels 1, 2, and 3.

So although my current existence is terrible – I have the memories and life experiences of 12 other people fused into my collective sub conscious – it is through these memories and experiences that I really can live.

Some of these fellow 02fours life experiences come from before a time when the NDCP was fully formed. To travel down the worm hole of collective memory imagery is overwhelming – and controlling the extreme business of the added experiences is incredibly difficult. Many 02fours don’t handle the fusions very well. I for some reason am able to compartmentalize each experience and relive countless memories without crashing. For this I am uniquely gifted and have become an important SCM case study specimen.

As far as I am aware I have the most fusions embedded in my mind’s eye – 12 to be exact – my nearest rival for this title was 8 – sadly they didn’t make it to 9. I am rather a celebrity amongst the SCM. And they are fascinated to see how many more fusions I can take before becoming lobotomized like the 02four who got to 8 before me.  And to tell you the truth, so am i. Lobo is the minds state when fusion saturation is reached – the entire brain completely shuts down and its easier to euthanize than repair. This happens often and many 02fours have checked out early. I would say sadly – but it’s a gift to be freed from such extreme misery that I find myself in. my need to keep living outweighs for now my need to die. So I continue to fight for life even though I see no respite in the process.

A few months back I was fused with a professor Mankindle’s mind. Fusion number 13.  Although I don’t have his intelligence levels because that is hardwiring, all i have is flashing imagery and the warm emotional bits and pieces of his memory – his collective experience memories are valuable because I can gain insight into what he has seen and experienced. It wasn’t immediately apparent to me, whilst rummaging through the imagery of his mind but Prof Mankindle is somewhat unique to me – he was diagnosed very late in life as an extreme 02four. So he lived as a level 1 for most of his life. I am not sure if I was supposed to be fused with this information – but let’s just say Mankindle had some really vivid memories. The kind of experiences I could never have imagined given the current state I find myself in. as a bright red level 4, 02four.

Mankindle had many memories however the one he played over very strongly was incredibly distinct. he played it over many millions of times. It was a strange very sad memory.  i felt Mankindle’s every emotion within the memory  , every heart wrenching feeling,  so intensely,  it left me mortified for months – even now the vivid recollection leaves me completely paralyzed with emotion.

He was being dragged away from his home and his loved ones by 2 Wergstand operatives – back before the NDCP was fully operational – many 02fours where able to slip through the net and they ended up working as wergstand operatives – wergstand was the first task force employed by the scientists in charge of the NDCP program to exact there overall plan.  These 2 officers where extremely cruel and wicked men. I  got sight of the ones full face, it will now be forever etched into my memory – the other operative I only got to see his hands and a brief side profile. Thick black hair , beaked nose. Mankindles emotional loss and state become my nightmare to relive over and over again.  The men set Mankindles house on fire and left him with the notion that all his loved ones where dead. They made him suffer cruelly – the magnitude of this event haunted every memory I accessed.

This morning I was visited by an unusually aggressive SCM operative his label read John Gray 021. He looked surprisingly like one of the wergstand operatives in Mankindles memory, I had a distinct feeling when we met we knew each other somehow on some deeper level.  the SCM call this associated memory attachment – a common process of the mind to latch onto the tangible by making sense of the jumble of information from the fused persons mind. I was confusing my reality with Mankindles memories.  It seems Mankindle had information very important to further research and science.  I was supposed to uncover it with the help of this SCM wergstand operative. I smiled at myself because a little nugget of someone elses memory gave me a chance to hate with a face and a reason.  I’ve never really felt the need to be manipulative before, because I’ve never really been in a position to be. However I think it is my hard wiring as a 02four coming out –I felt an incredible urge to control this situation. Which is silly, if you think about it. A Bright red, level 4 , 02four – what chance do I have of bettering my circumstances?  I’m stuck within this incredibly well orchestrated NDCP machine trap.

It was interesting to me that this SCM was so incredibly aggressive, he was massively driven by something beyond what was normal.  – I didn’t think the SCM were capable of being anything other than completely fair and compassionate – I desperately wanted to believe that – it made sense to my entire existence. All the SCM’s I had worked with – where incredibly kind. And when punishment was administered,  I felt very sorry for them having to overstep their natural inclination of being warm and emotionally in tune. It seemed to cut them up deeply whilst I writhed around in complete pain. I felt sorry for them having to control me and stoop to such levels of degradation.

In some instances I would have preferred to administer the punishment to myself because it pained them so very much.

Mankindles mind was a treasure trove of information – each room and compartment I opened up led me round his life. These images where different to the 12 previous subjects as they all had similar experiences to me – so it wasn’t really exciting opening up doors that led to the same pain I was so familiar with.  These memories where deep and super charged. I was left feeling overwhelmed by emotions I had never really been allowed to explore. Part of the level 1 02four program is to be administered powerful drugs. – In this induced medicated state we are more easily handled and less of a threat to ourselves. However since being fused with these memories I find I am being less medicated.
 I am becoming more aware of the world around me. I stare at my familiar big hands in front of me for hours concentrating on what can only be a marvel of design. My bright red skin is extreme – however the mechanics of the skin and underlying muscle and bone is mesmerizing.

Unbeknownst to me  in the beginning – I was actually the only subject alive who could process information and memories from others through this fusion process. The level 1 SCM felt it very dangerous to let me know the power I had – as it would heighten my manipulative hard wiring. So I believed I was 1 of thousands who did this very important work.

I only became aware of the possibility I might be unique from the SCM, I named Bob1 – they  hated  us using their names as this would risk us getting to close and then we would be able to manipulate them – so inventing a name prevented us making things personal. he wasn’t as ethereal as his other level 1 SCM counterparts. He was extremely brash, aggressive and hostile – I felt he was more a level 4 like me – but I put that thought away as quickly as it entered my subconscious. That is unthinkable – a level 1 is like a level 4 was an completely unheard of thought.  Complete heresy of the extreme kind.
The fusion process being used was not an exact science – think of the brain as a sieve – one is blasted with a type of brain wavelength from the previous subject – and what filters through and what sticks is remembered by you but cannot be controlled. Sometimes the memories are clear – most times not. Nobody else could experience what I saw, so I had to communicate minutely what I was seeing to the SCM conducting the interrogation.  
Bob1 didn’t like me at all – I was extremely disgusting to him – he was the first SCM that made me feel this way – he kept asking for another subject and it was through this constant asking he let the big red cat out the bag. Their simply was no other 02fours or anyone else who could give him what he wanted. I was the only way he could get the information he so dearly needed.  It was then I immediately started playing with his mind. I became what I was told I was.

Bob1 smacked me when he could – it was absolutely forbidden to administer a direct physical punishment to an 02four. The violence of the attacks jarred my brain to the back of my skull and left me completely reeling. When bob1 was caught hitting me, It was the first time I witnessed a SCM disciplinary process. It was quick and immediate and bob1 was gone for several days. He came back and fitted me with the most powerful S3J known to man. The shocks administered would stop a bull in its tracks but somehow it made me very aware of being very much alive. I was becoming more and more in tune with my environment. The lack of drugs, the infused life experiences and the fact I was being exercised more made me very strong. I was actually getting excited about life and being alive. My mind was running on super charge – I was a level4 being allowed to run, trot gallop. This I felt could be very dangerous as I could do some damage. Not sure what really.
I limited what I told bob1 – he knew I was holding back information that I was experiencing – so he shocked me left, right and center. I could only smile because that was the only emotion one could display to a machine such as this. What I had been experiencing the last few nights was extremely powerful dreams – where I was Mankindle and seeing what he had experienced beyond experiences. I had seen him a few times in the mirror – however his features where strange to me. I was experiencing emotion – it was extremely powerful – his memories where forcing me to create synaptic emotional responses. Ones the drugs, abuse and extreme treatment had suppressed for so long.

As mentioned as a 02four all reproductive capabilities where extracted once the diagnosis was made. I was what can only be described as an ox. And in my mind I called myself the ox with no rocks. This was the only laughing I did, which was actually real, when I laughed at myself. What had I ever done to deserve this I kept asking.

Mankindle was a complex man – amazingly astute and incredibly inventive. Seeing his approach to things was incredible. Again I was merely an observer to a movie. I wasn’t able to be as clever as the actors – only see what the mind’s eye was playing. I then needed to relay these verbally to bob1. He was careful not to tell me what he actually was looking for – and took an approach of all clever men – to out manipulate the stupid red captive in the room. I felt it safer to play to his perception of me.

Bob1 might be a level 1 SCM – but he was not the sharpest tool in the shed – what he lacked in grey matter, he more than made up for in pure spite. Bob1 was a 02four masquerading as a level 1 – how was that even possible.

I was careful to observe – I also started making  stuff up – but bob1 was a clever SCM cat – he knew when I went off piste and shocked me back to the well run tracks of Mankindles mind slope. I just smiled – the broadest smile I could muster. This irritated bob1 no end – he preferred the subject to be slobbering on the ground all subservient. Bob1 would have killed me immediately – but he needed me and that’s what kept me alive. I was valuable to him at the moment.

I kept going through Mankindles memories and I always was stuck when reaching a door in a forest. I explained everything minutely – but I just could not open that door – I could see everything around it but open it I couldn’t.
It was after several weeks of bob1 metering out the most extreme treatment that I then met 02four – 54312063.

She was the first female 02four I had ever seen – she was bright blue – so the level 4 men are bright red and level 4 woman bright blue – this was amusing to me – but I soon stopped laughing because bob1 had other ideas. For some reason the SCM’s felt by combining the efforts we would get past the door in the forest. Unbeknownst at the time to me blue as I referred to her had several important people in Mankindles life fused within her conscience. It was his wife, his daughter and his mother. For a red like me and being allowed to be in such close proximity to this many woman – was unfathomable. Completely out of the ordinary. Highly unusual.

We were put into an induced coma which allowed our brain waves to align – this is how I understood the process.

In this state what happened almost instantaneously is the ability red and blue could communicate without anyone knowing what we were saying. Sure the brainwave charts went off the scale – but we were in a catatonic state. However for some reason we were both standing at the door looking at each other. Not as red and blue but as Mankindle and his wife.

We simply stepped through the door and this is where it became very interesting. Upon going through the door – we shifted into four people – I was myself, blue was there and so was Mankindle and his wife.

I wasn’t red and blue wasn’t blue – she was simply lovely – without the label and to be free in this room was incredible. Life outside this bubble was chaotic – inside this space was surreal. Prof M and his wife spoke earnestly and quietly amongst themselves – me and blue chatted up a massive storm.

Mankindle  succinctly explained what was going on – he had prepared for such an eventuality – we didn’t have much time but we could communicate without the present being aware of what the past was up to. He told us he had created a mind space worm hole where like-minded people from different times could interact briefly.

To make sure nothing left the space – once we stepped outside of the area we would remember nothing of what happened inside – this was a failsafe mechanism that proved very important. When one stepped back through the door only then did you remembered everything – but when you stepped outside the space all was instantaneously forgotten.
Obviously it would need an interaction element on one side to be set up for the interaction to the future – and the door and the room was such a devise he put in place many years before. We could communicate for now without being detected by the scientists in my time. Bob1 and the rest of the SCM would just see 2 catatonic people completely oblivious to anything lying on the slab. Their brain activity would be spiking to extremely dangerous levels.

Quickly Prof M explained what was going on – he had conceived this space for the purposes of making connection with a future time – in his wisdom in his age he realized that man created control mechanisms as a sort of controlled population dynamics. A way of controlling the masses in what would be an acceptable numbers approach. Most humans do not sanction cruelty to others – however when it’s done along religious, financial, social, scientific even racial lines then for some reason cruelty has been disgustingly tolerated. When man did away with those measures the NDCP filled in the gap of mans limited means. He explained Elitists have used this type of mechanisms throughout history really. – Prof M called it blue blood syndrome. My self and blue roared with laughter – because we were anything but elitists in our time.

Prof M was working on a way to extract us from our current time into a space in time he could manipulate – he knew he could use this space as a bridge for a few types of minds – minds that have undergone extreme abuse through a system, much like the system I was surrounded by. It was this science that bob1 wanted to get his hands on – it was this that I was being used to betray information back to the scientists in my time. Fortunately when we both came out of our catatonic states of mind we legitimately couldn’t remember what we experienced. Which was fortunate because the torture we were subjected to was extreme. And if we could remember anything we would have gladly given it up to stop the relentless abuse. All we knew is we wanted to go back behind the door. We were driven to it as if a powerful force was pulling us in.

After our last mind exploration trip behind the door , Blue was waning – I had grown immensely fond of her – we never spoke whilst in our real environment – but the moment we were allowed to go under – my time with her was incredible – a 02four since birth, like me – we concluded that we were scientific experiment fodder. Certain scientists in the name of their craft will do anything to find out more about the secrets of life. They need fodder such as ourselves to experiment upon – and we were such a group of specimens. Prof M said that nobody other than the scientists furthering NDCP ideals knew we existed. So Prof M was here to help us escape.

When I came round this last time,  bob1 was in front of me glaring – I felt happy but knew not why – he was completely irate – for some reason this particular time that we were under  was different – blue was now not responding and I was very weak. Bob1’s approach was to mercilessly shock me – only thanks to an SCM next to him did he stop. His evil little eyes wanting to inflict more and more pain – which contrasted to the high level SCM who had put an end to the treatment. I was very worried about blue, she had taken an immense beating and as they removed her from the room – I felt it might be the last time I connected with her. I called out, screamed, I tore at the fetters binding me, the loss I felt was exactly the same as Mankindles when the wergstand 2 where extracting him from his loving wife and family. – I was deep tissue shocked – the most severe form of shock treatment – it leaves scars – really – a big red creature now getting severe scaring – the irony of this kept going through my mind whilst I cried deeply for blue – an 02four that has emotion – this went against the very scientific rule book – to the SCM’s in the room I was obviously faking.  This was a manipulation tool that they had trained against.

If only I could go behind the door again without the induced coma process. I overheard the level 1 SCM talking to a colleague and putting us under again was to be way too much of a risk. Our brains where very close to lobo. So I needed to get to the room without the science. I didn’t know if this was even possible. For many weeks I tried and for many weeks I came up short – to the door and no further. I needed blue. So I tried to reach out to her – for a long while absolutely nothing – however when I did see her within the context of my mind’s eye – she was far off – the levels of concentration to get her to acknowledge me was extreme.  The SCM’s monitoring me new something was up and shocked me back whenever I went catatonic. I needed time – I just needed to get behind the door – safety. I could leave the big red encasing and go cranial.

Eventually I reached out to blue, together we walked through the door to the room again without the use of science – blue was weak and never recovered – although we got through the door to the other side– she soon had to leave – I knew once she stepped out from behind the door, that was the last I would see of her. I was completely distraught. Prof M said grieving was good and helped one learn empathy, but we must concentrate as we had important work to do – he was attempting to place me into a better environment – so whilst in the bridging area I was free from the shackles that bound me in the laboratory. Prof M said he had one last transition to do to help me transfer into a new safer environment.
I awoke, I couldn’t remember anything of how I came to be where I was - I looked at my hands. The room I was in was very Spartan.  I looked in the mirror and saw a beaked nose middle aged guy staring back at me – I had a vaguely familiar look about me.  My clothes where that of a level 1 SCM. This I did somehow understand, I know not how. 
I left the confines of the room and was met by a fellow SCM personage. They acted like they knew me very well – I played along – they briefed me on my new job – I was to interview an extremely hostile o2four for vital scientific information.

I was led through a maze of tunnels and passages – we eventually came into a locked room – the big red 02four had his back to me. My job was to extract information from this individual about some significant futuristic scientific discovery – all I knew is my life depended on the information this individual would divulge to me – my understanding of why I was here, what was going on in the big picture.  – I had all the shock instruments, I had the full weight of the level 1 SCM’s behind me. I went up to the captured o2four to start my dialogue – as we looked into each other’s eyes a realization crept over both of us.  We somehow where interlinked.

The name on his label was John Gray 021. All I knew is that my entire existence depended on me extracting what I could from John Gray 021 – the brief mentioned that he had been fused with a Prof Mankindles research – research that would get me back to the place I knew I was from. I had to get back and this stubborn, manipulative 02four was going to get me there. And I would stop at nothing to reach my objective, nothing at all. I was a man on a mission and this 02four was going to point me in the right direction – or die in the process.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

seekers - a wildetect style story

As a child I realized when playing hide and seek, one really only needed to hide as close as possible to the seekers, whilst they were counting down. I would carefully position myself in front of them, concealed as best I could. The seekers invariably would shout,” coming ready or not” and whirl away from the position they had been closed eye facing. Which was Exactly Where I was hiding, then they would run looking for the hiders on the horizon. I would wait awhile before reaching out to the den and declaring the usual, “Nicky not on.” Or that’s what we said when we reached the safety of the selected den tree.  We are all grown up now , so this game is not played formally anymore,  however I really did enjoy the intrigue of hiding as close to the seekers as possible.

Living in a very modest home, in what could be termed a working class suburb, I have managed to eke out a living. My debt is the same as the next guy and my overheads much higher than my income. Pretty normal I suppose, I work for a big company that makes billions of dollars, however what I really enjoy most, is coming home to the normality of my everyday life. The complete fear of being hunted by the seekers for one’s wealth and possessions doesn’t over whelm me when I walk in my front door. as I am sure it does a truly wealthy man with lots and lots of possessions.

Kobus Visagie, a work colleague, pops round from time to time, we share a few beers and discuss the rugby or the issues he is facing at work. Kobus is going to make it very big one day, his dreams are massive, and I enjoy the discussion of imagining what’s beyond his horizon line. Kobus does this type of conversation very well. He lives way beyond his means and keeps company with some really rough characters. People he assures me I wouldn’t consider being friends with.  I don’t encourage his stupidity in my house.  However watching someone else making interesting life choices is an experience shared and a life simultaneously lived. All be it through a process of conversation and shooting the ol breeze moments. A simple guy like myself gets to inadvertently see what life’s like over that illusive imagined horizon line.

Kobus came to me several months ago with a sure fire scheme to, as he put it, “redistribute some of the companies wealth portfolio.”   Listening carefully to his scheme, I felt it was ingenious. I told him he needs to be very, very careful, as it sounded like serious embezzling to me. Kobus just said that he wasn’t fearful of the theft or being caught or even the police. He said what was really scaring him most about going through with the plan, was the rumors about the companies silent mystery owner. A truly ruthless individual, far,  far worse than the people he currently was friends with, (for Kobus to say this , judging the company he currently kept, meant the person must be extremely frightening)   this owner of the multibillion dollar company we worked for, man or woman, nobody had ever seen and nobody really knew who they were. It was said that whomever saw them, never lived to tell any tales.  It was also said that they were extremely dangerous. This shadowy boss had taken on an all-encompassing persona and when it came to loyalty towards the brand, “this BOSS was not to be trifled with at all.” I thought it was a strange word for a man like Kobus to use – “trifled” – I couldn’t help smiling. I told him he shouldn’t trifle with this cake owner then. I thought it was a funny comment for me to make, however the silly nuance was lost over his head. He was too absorbed about his long con that he was carefully planning. Well once we had finished a few more whiskeys – Kobus’s brilliant plan was neatly laid out. Superbly crafted and amazingly simple and effective. As I worked in the computer division of this multi-billion dollar company, I myself had a few skills and with the framework of Kobus’s plan I could clearly see the intricacies of his effective thinking. Kobus was going to be very, very rich, without too much work at all. However was it really worth the risk though?

Now that Kobus had taken me into his confidence he came round to my little house in the suburbs much more often, to discuss his master plan of action.  He had solicited the help of several other employees in his department. I told him I didn’t want to be associated with the scheme so my involvement was never to be mentioned.  I was truly amazed how easily people are swayed when the talk of big money is brandished around. Greed and the thought of an imagined materially rich future clouds the most honest of us it seems, this has always saddened me to realize.

I didn’t feel like I was too involved in the scheme, as I told Kobus time after time,  I didn’t want to share in the spoils of his undertaking. Only it was fun to fathom out his thinking process and share in the excitement of his long Con. I was just a sounding board as he counted down his plan. Much time and planning had gone into the small intricacies of his vision. To think more clearly he had the habit of closing his eyes to block out all influence so his mind could race to its wonderfully wealthy end.
I did tell Kobus that it was rumored that the illusive company owner had dealt with similar threats on the companies recourses, by somehow making the perpetrators completely disappear. After years of planning, Kobus was now ready to execute his plan. So it was with a small measure of surprise to me, when Kobus phoned me to say he had been asked to attend a meeting with this shadowy BOSS figure, who owned our multibillion dollar company.  I told him he shouldn’t go and he should resign and move on immediately. But Kobus already had the wealth greed virus really bad and nothing I could say would change his money fueled little mind.

Kobus told me he was meeting the mystery owner of the company through a series of chauffeured driven stops. The first pickup was that evening at 6pm. He was not to speak to the chauffeur who would be masked and he would be dropped off and picked up at undisclosed destinations around the country. The drive could take a while, possibly days.  He was to eventually be taken to a secret hidden away villa for a very private meeting. I begged him not to go, however it was to no avail.
I had to tell him that I was once used in the past to chauffer people as 1 part of 10 pickup and drop off drives. Nobody ever new the eventual location of the villa, except the last driver and the frightening thing was that these people where never ever seen or heard from again. Kobus was confident that he had this one in the bag. He was traveling armed and totally ready for business.

It was with slight amusement for me when Kobus got into the car at way past midnight that night.  the relief on his face when he saw it was me as the chauffeur was over whelming – he said “man nicky, am i so glad to see you, please  get me out of here, I’ve had enough and im very, very scared.”

The end

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Perceptions –a short story by quinton j damstra

Commandant Konraad Leopold Visagie was an incredibly conceited and superstitious man. Unbeknownst to him and most others Konraad had a very dark obsessive compulsive streak. He also firmly believed that his drop-dead good looks, irresistible charm and brilliant wit, made him the complete male package. When woman saw him, he felt they would either lament the fact they were married or simply wish they could have him. If not him, then a man as close to him as possible, which as far as he was aware, was an absolute impossibility. This reality floated around in his head and it was the plain and simple truth of the matter.

When Commandant Leo, his preferred name, first laid eyes on Mrs Lettie Viljoen, it was complete love at first sight. Her radiance was absolutely spell binding and for him she was a natural choice to compliment a great man such as himself. He had only ever seen her from a far off distance, however he was certain what he felt was the truth. Because one thing about being a brilliant man, it is the ability to follow through and make decisive decisions immediately. The first real opportunity he got to actually meet Lettie was going to be at the farewell 3rd battalion border party. KLV had spent 2 weeks preparing for the event, down to the minute detail of placing himself at the Viljoen’s table he even made sure he was sitting at the exact point of the table where the northern sun light would illuminate him perfectly. So when he made his usual spectacular all smiles entrance he knew he was leaving a wake of broken hearts in his trail. He made his way to the round table and his especially reserved north-facing seat at the six-o clock position. His eyes locked for the first time with those of Lettie’s and he was completely shocked to realise she was even more beautiful close up. In the brief first few seconds of their interaction KLV noted how her head delicately tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly – he even noted the colour seemed to go a slighter darker shade. In his heart he felt this look was completely reserved for him. The night went very well with KLV being the life of the table, with his well-rehearsed dialogue and animation delivery. He was even able to glean that Sergeant viljoen, like himself had a complete phobia for snakes, as that day the couple had heard of a black mamba in the compound. A long thin deadly exceptionally aggresive black snake with a gun mettle grey underside and a large upturned at the corners mouth. He couldn’t help emit a fearfull gasp at the mention of such a creature he hoped nobody at the table had noticed his pulpable fear.

The Angolan border was an exceptionally dangerous place – terrorist insurgents were constantly attacking from the north and the attacks were brutal. Sergeant Viljoen proved to be a very brave and clever man, who constantly showed brilliant skill in the face of the enemy. It was during a routine op – the terrorist insurgents performed an anti-trek manoeuvre and completely disappeared. The trail and all traces of them totally vanishing into the landscape. The detailed report showed that a single shot fired at 18h00 from directly south, hit sergeant viljoen in the back of the head, killing him instantly.

It was 2 years after the fatal incident on the border – commandant Leo was now very happily married to Lettie. Every day he pinched himself at his luck to have secured such an incredible prize. Konraad was still in the army and living in the compound house he had secured many years before. His financial status had increased considerably when marrying Lettie, however he insisted on remaining in the army because of all the benefits. The cicadas were screaming out a cacophony of sound as he walked through the front door of his north facing compound house, at promptly 6pm. It did strike him as very strange that the doors and windows where all closed and lettie was not in the kitchen humming gently while preparing the usual evening meal. A strange ice coldness permeated the space – which surprised him for such a hot African highveldt afternoon. KVL did not at first even see what caused the severe pain in his upper left arm. It was only once his eyes adjusted to the light of the passage that he realised he was staring into the eyes of a large thin black snake. The head looking strangely oversized for the size of the thin body. It was standing up on a small part of its tail enabling it to look directly deep into his eyes. The large upturned at the corners mouth opened in an instant to reveal a black inside with large fangs. KVL clutched at his arm whilst whirling panic stricken, frantically screaming, as a wave of complete nausea consumed him. a renewed intense pain struck his right back shoulder as he raced for the door. He fell by the closed sliding door as his breathing started to constrict. What felt like a cold slithering sensation kissed his skin. He felt the weight of a full grown black mamba on his chest. In this bizarre moment he noticed in a strange slow motion Lettie looking in through the clear glass sliding door. She was holding an army report , her head was delicately tilted to the side, her usually large eyes had narrowed ever so slightly. Just before slipping away forever he was sure he noted the colour of her eyes seem to go, a slightly darker shade.


Tuesday, May 12, 2009

H1virusM2 - the mankind flu virus

Are we earth’s virulent virus. Is Man a virus destroying his host?

We operate under the guise that we are a very advanced creature. However we do not act very advanced. We appear so insecure that if there were a more advanced creature on earth, we would have set about destroying it along time ago. The threat would have been far greater than trying to understand our advanced neighbour.

Like a type of cancer our suburbs erupt, blighting a once perfect landscape. Black tar and concrete oozes over once pristine fields. Monoxide blankets the once clear skies. If this is evidence of advancement, then we are really just fooling ourselves. Advanced systems or species create environments of self-preservation first; this is not what mankind practice. We act more like a virus as we parasitically stifle the fragile life systems of this earth. We are hell bent on self-destruction and we are actually getting it right, something we do well. Like any virus we kill our host and hope to god another one swings by before it’s to late.

Our cities verses cancer cells
When analysing mankind’s cities one cannot help but wonder how far removed they are from the beautiful landscape that used to be before the onslaught of man. Our cities ooze tar and concrete all over a once abundant life filled landscape. Where once thousands of creatures and plant life lived and died, now a fraction of different, introduced forms of life inhabit. For us to inhabit a space we change completely the natural order of the Eco system. We do not find a way around our environment; we obliterate all that was once the environment.

Man and his present system appear to be a fast killing virus. Mankind’s very small time on our earth and his ability to wipe out functioning Eco systems instantaneously, make man an extremely dangerous virus. The earth is millions of years old, with Eco systems equally as old. We have managed in a split second of time to bring these environments to there knees. Even viruses that prey on us don’t kill their host as fast. Given the age of the earth and the time man has been on earth. When comparing our life span and viruses that effect us. The virus that is man would kill us in 0.000000000001 of a second. Making us the worst form of parasite yet. As understanding increases of our fragile earth a small part of mankind is stemming the tide of wholesale abuse. Imagine if cancer had small parts of its collective that thought altruistically. We would need only to encourage the growth of that small segment of the collective in order to overcome the threat on the human body.
To bring about change in human perspective is difficult. To try and educate people to stop abusing our fragile earth is impossible. Man will always have the element of self abuse within his ranks and to try and control these individuals is not really the answer. Man will only effect change when his life or resources are coming to an end. We are simply very selfish and will only leave our ingrained habits when the water rises above our heads or the heat of our own fire starts to burn our own flesh. That moment is fast approaching.
Where to from here?

Our city architects have expounded their wisdom and our builders have touted their talents. We have many examples of mankind’s superior talents. Man does not try and live simply within his means. We have plastic , tar and concrete up to our eyeballs. We use every form of soap and insecticide to sanitise our already sanitised living spaces. Few cultures and human forms of life leave little or no scar on the landscape.

What could be our answers?

First and foremost we need to humble ourselves and stop thinking the sun circles around us. By this I mean we need to stop thinking we are the smartest life form on the planet. If we where so smart we wouldn’t have a fraction of the problems we do. We are one of the only life form that practices wholesale abuse on an unprecedented scale. (Compared to Earth’s other passengers) If antelope or squirrels showed as huge degrees of difference between individuals, as humans do, we would have desert squirrels living at the bottom of the ocean. in little dry suits. We have a vast amount to still learn and we need to acknowledge this lack of knowledge, unpack our existing city building processes and start rebuilding our environments with the sensitivity of a few select cultures,  who have understood clearly our place and space in the universe. these select few ancient cultures sadly have been destroyed by what people thought where more advanced civilisations - but very sadly proved to be just more aggressively destructive.

Our structures and cladding could be a living entity , nurtured and cared for. We could develop architecture that protects us but it itself is a living entity. So when this living fragile structure starts dying we can immediately address fundamental issues. The structure itself acts as a thermometer to our destructive tendencies. We need to grow our structures as a shell grows around its organism. The individual organism is responsible for its own sometimes-living shelter. When we work with organisms like the organisms creating coral in our oceans to create our shelters, we might have advanced to the next level of our survival on this planet. We might start to understand the synergy we where designed to live by.

We think to permanently about our homes. Homes must provide shelter for us today not necessarily be around in 10 000 years time. Each successive generation should have the privilege to build their own structures. Learning from past endeavours and improving on future concepts. Our structures at the moment are permanent fixtures. Along with the scar of the quarry that the stones for our homes where hewn out of. Our building materials must be alive; they must provide an unseen energy, which flows through our human experience. The only type of construction on earth I can think of at present that fits into this thought process is the polyps of coral and the small creatures that create them.
This form of construction using living building material will form an early warning system to potential environmental issues. Like the rose trees at the edge of a vineyard detect problems before the vines fail.

Mankind will reach the next level of his advancement when his energy to put back into the universe is greater than his energy to take out. We are incredibly destructive creatures who need to stop feeling where the top of the food chain and start realising we are in actual fact a very, very small part of a massive system. Of which we have not found our correct place in yet. It appears through instinct, wisdom most of the planets other passengers are able to get along without interrupting the natural flow of things. We can learn so much from systems around us – and we have the wisdom to find the best system that will best suite our needs. Unfortunately we are still quite far from this point in our history.


The bird whisperer - copyright 2009

Konraad Jacobus Smit was an intensely quiet man, introspective reflective to the point of being extremely rude. To Konraad, peripheral talk did not interest him at all. He enjoyed his own company and chose not to speak, let alone meet people. The very thought left him feeling cold and in a strange way violated. His small holding was a suitable distance from the Karoo town he chose to settle in. He never received visitors and his trips to town were short and decisive. When the townsfolk tried to include him initially, many years before, he made it known in no uncertain terms, he wanted to be left alone. So for 40 years he lived off the interest of his parent’s substantial inheritance, not knowing or caring about whatever happened to the family home in Stellenbosch and the holiday homes dotted around South Africa. Konraads parents passed away disenchanted by their only son, who was lavished with attention, only to reject all emotional advances unequivocally. From a very early age he willfully shunned all forms of human interaction. Now days the only time Konraad interacted with anyone was when he gruffly walked into the institution that had been managing his financial affairs. He cared not for the entire amount or for the wealth of the full portfolio, only for that which sustained him at present. Konraad knew exactly what was happening around him, he was aware of what was expected of him. For reasons not even fully understood by himself, he just did not want to give up his thoughts, feeling that every thought or notion was a valuable piece of treasure. A treasure that would get depleted with every word carelessly spilled from his lips.
Konraad had a mysterious gift, a gift his parents could never understand. Where did Konraad receive this gift, this strange but wonderful ability. They fathomed over the meaning of Konraad’s gift, whilst he sat silently wishing only to be left alone with his thoughts. He watched owlishly the numerous professional people who tried to unpack and unpick the sacred trove of his mind. Reverting ever further inwards into the deep dark recesses of his inner sanctuary. Simply put, his strange gift was that he could call the birds. Konraad would sit outside on the grass and make a gargling rasping sound with his throat. A single bird would flop down from the sky and land close to him, not so close as to appear startling. The bird would appear drugged and confused, staring transfixed at the source of this strange sound. Within a short space of time birds would appear from all over. It wasn’t just the shear volume of birds but the variety, all mesmerized by the strange little man quietly gargling and gasping. The trees surrounding this spectacle would become heavy with birds. Konraad would tilt his beaked nose this way and that, perfectly mimicking a clucking chicken. Konraad would keep this charade going waiting for his favorite bird to make an appearance. The beautifully green malachite sunbird would dart this way and that through the throng of feathers, its beautiful plumage catching Konraad’s peripheral vision, before disappearing in another direction or behind a more drab, dull counterpart. The sunbird perfectly reflected his own mind and thoughts, with concepts racing through his mind, out of reach. Konraad read thousands of manuals for appliances, cars, "how to books", mathematical reference material and scientific journals. He would inevitably have better ideas, more advanced concepts than the ones put forward. He zealously guarded these concepts, however, squirreling them away like a crow, to be recalled at will and ripped and pulled apart at his leisure like a giant bird of prey. He would chortle and chuckle to himself , budgie like, for improving the relativity theory or a mathematical formula. He knew he had the answers sought after by the great minds of the day, but he would not impart with his nuggets. They were safely stored in the vault of his mind, never to escape the tightly sealed chasm, never to see the light of day.
There came a point in the calling of the birds that a single sunbird would hover effortlessly infront of him, beating its tiny beautiful wings thousands of times a minute. He would sustain this moment for as long as he could, all the while staring transfixed at the tiny frail bird in front of him, taking in the extraordinary beauty of this truly magnificent bird. The 2 creatures locked in a strange frozen moment , with thousands of onlookers.
As he reached out next to him, he reflected how ironic it was that he had been given this unusual gift. He continued to marvel at his ability and the trust this tiny bird put into him, a strange cold hearted creature, like a moth to a flame. Konraad was still enchanted by his extraordinary ability and the irony as he took aim at this little bird and squeezed off a single shot that exploded the entire mass of birds into a flurry of activity. The vortex of this turmoil left Konraad with the slowly fading flapping of wings and thousands of tiny feathers , mostly green, slowly , silently drifting to earth.

Monday, February 16, 2009



Bentley Carneson was in serious debt, the 25-year-old son of a very wealthy 17th century ship merchant, he had squandered his family’s wealth to near nothing. His family’s predicament did not really bother him, not nearly as much as the London underground who were now demanding in full their paid promises. He was starting to doubt the word of his accounts manager Ernest Smythe and his business partner Charles Radcliffe. The year was 1815 and through various missed deals, lost opportunities and shocking advice, Carneson found himself in Ceylon India, trying to salvage the last of his father’s lucrative empire. His reputation, which was starting to precede him, stated simply that BC’s hands were never dirty but his heart was as black as coal. There was a certain Machiavellian imagery to this that appealed to the dark recesses of his inner being. As his financial security fell around him and his business relations dwindled, a vengeful spiteful streak started to overwhelm him becoming an all-consuming hatred. He put the blame for his financial demise at the door of his 2 closest business associates. He would stop at nothing now to see they ended up in the same foul waters he was finding himself submerged in. even if it meant getting his hands filthy dirty.
When Carneson booked his passage back to London on the East India ship the Arniston, he knew he was facing complete financial ruin back in London. His very life would be in danger if he couldn’t manage to make good his debt. This worried him but the plotting and the scheming to undo his 2 accomplices kept him from jumping into the cool clear Indian Ocean. He already felt the cold foul waters of despair overwhelming his thoughts. So the natural extension of this was to quietly let the Indian Ocean deal with his carcass. This was a far cry better than the polluted Thames river, which had quietly received many such as himself, willing and unwilling over the years. To his mind the ocean would be a pure washing of the blackness which was overwhelming his vision, it seemed a fitting end. The first part of the journey was uneventful, however as the convoy of ships progressed, he became aware of the long tentacles of his debtors. As is always the case the bully boys form part of the first wave of intimidation and it became apparent a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean, was still well within reach of his other life. He was aware of being followed by someone for the last year. in a dark passage near the galley steps, his doubts were put to rest. He could talk away the bruising to the face as the ship was rolling and many a wrong foot on the stairs led to nasty injuries. So it was that Carneson found himself in the first class lounge more often than not, raking up a debt which in itself would take years to pay back.
It was a viscous storm and a tragic event, which changed the course of his life. The Arniston broke away from the main convoy during the storm and was driven to its resting place on an impossible stretch of the South African coast . Out of the 279 passengers 6 men where reported to have survived. It was fortunate for Carneson that he washed ashore much further down the white sandy beach. He was not alone; one of the London underground toughs had stuck to his job impeccably and had also washed up alive, nearby. Obviously Carneson was worth a lot more alive than dead. To an observant rescuer something might have seemed amiss when a man’s body was found above the high water mark. The man had Carneson papers in a tweed jacket 2 sizes too small for him. There was also the imprint of finger marks on his neck and the sign of a huge struggle etched in the white sand. The single set of footprints with the intermittent drops of blood leading into the dunes where quickly being erased by the wind. This was lost to the mortified rescuers who had the grim task of burying the wreck’s unfortunate passengers. The papers back in London pronounced the death of B Carneson who’s body is buried on a remote stretch of beach in South Africa.

The next year or 2 of Carneson’s life was unimaginably difficult. Every step was made with the all-consuming vitriolic hatred for the men who had put him in this insufferable situation. His will for revenge was always stronger than his will to live. He learnt how to survive in the wilderness between the wreck and Cape Town. Being detected was not an option and anonymity was vital for this next phase of his life to work. The altercation in the white sands had left him with a broken nose and a ghastly slash across his face. The wound and the disfigurement untreated left him with terrible facial scars. Hardly recognizable as the once dashing Bentley Carneson he hoped to shadow back into society just long enough to inflict his venom, what happened next did not really matter. Getting back to London was never going to be easy. It was a cold June 1817 morning that saw a disheveled spectacle make its way across the Cape flats to Cape Town. By this time Carneson was heavily bearded, a fraction of the imposing 6.2 man that had slipped from society 2 years previously.
No questions asked, none given – Carneson started begging and eventually found casual work at the harbor as a carpenter’s assistant. He found, his grossly disfigured face prevented people from asking questions, being to embarrassed too look at him, let alone engage him in conversation. This suited him just fine, Carneson slowly built up his financial resources, he also to his own amazement became an excellent ships carpenter. And his skills became needed on most of the new ships calling into port. It still was his absolute hatred that kept him from slipping into the cold waters of the Atlantic harbor sea port. It was the year 1825 and carneson now Jack Smith had amassed a tidy sum and a solid reputation. In the Vasco Da Gama pub which he frequented he had actually made a few valuable friends. He found he enjoyed the hard work, which often took his mind from his one and only mission. It was a July morning when he lit upon the face of Sophia. She was a beautiful woman; her eyes sparkled with her smile. Surprising even himself with the vitriolic hatred that cursed through his veins was what now seemed to be the capacity within all this to discover an equal but opposite capacity to love? He found himself staring and thinking of her obsessively. She worked as a maid for a wealthy British family near the docks, when Jack did eventually engage with her, she appeared to look past his appearance and became a genuine confidant. A spoilt, self-obsessed man such as Carneson lacked the capacity to see beyond himself. But lowly Jack Smith, disfigured and disheveled was capable of turning a black heart red. The days were spent working and thinking of his new obsession. His previous reason for living was shoved to the back of his mind. He was actually becoming happy and contented, he was definitely going to ask for the hand of Sophia and he knew she would say yes. If it weren't for the arrival of the 20 gun British man o war ship, HMS Martin, Jack Smith would have probably moved on from his vendetta in London and lived an accomplished simple life as a ship’s carpenter with his beautiful young bride.
The HMS Martin was a British man of war ship, which arrived in the Cape on her way to Australia, in 1826. She needed a few carpentry repairs. Jack Smith was the expert carpenter chosen to oversee the reparations. Normally a man o war does not take on passengers but whilst working near the captains cabin Jack heard recognizable voices. The HMS Martin was secretly carrying 3 passengers to Australia. Now usually this would not concern him or even bother him. However in this case 2 of the passenger’s voices were well known to Carneson. Whilst working undetected in the cabin next door, Carneson over- heard their mission. Smythe and Radcliffe were on a top secret mission for Her Majesty to infiltrate the Australian underground. It appeared both were Queen’s men and infiltrating established crime syndicates was their job.
Carneson’s rage went to a white-hot level. All the hatred and vitriol solidified in his cursed veins. He needed a plan; he needed retribution, he wanted revenge. He carried on the repairs as best he could; he had no worry of bumping into Smythe and Radcliffe, if that was really their names. They were well hidden and it was fortuitous he had stumbled upon their meeting with the captain. His nights were spent conceiving his plan. It all came to him simply enough, he would sabotage the ship. It seemed the entire British fraternity conspired against him. It was fitting that the establishment would pay in full for their deed. Being an expert carpenter he felt he could undetected weaken areas of the ship’s woodwork. In so doing the first big storm would send her to a watery grave almost immediately. This was a suitable end , which almost mirrored his own previous demise perfectly.

The last part of his plan would need to be done just before the ship sailed , he wanted to weaken the rigging on the main mast. He planned to sneak on board late at night and do the necessary and then slip into the shadowy night undetected. He would then comfortably resume his Jack Smith persona, marry and live happy and contented for the rest of his life.
Carneson gathered his bag of tools and headed for his date with destiny. He had a jaunt in his step and the air was crisp and clear. He loved Cape Town at this time of year, he loved being here and he loved Sophia. His life was good and once he had accomplished this sinister deed he would symbolically remove the foul, wretched stench of Carneson from his memory forever. Approaching the docks he thought he heard a noise behind him. Turning around he saw a harbor rat the size of a small cat slip into the black water. Creeping on board was easy, as the men had exhausted themselves in preparation for the huge ocean crossing. Carneson set about sabotaging the key areas of the rigging. It was early morning as he slipped over the side, dropping into the harbor waters. The cold Atlantic Ocean seemed to cleanse and cool his hatred and as he stepped on shore he was now completely the phoenix - Jack Smith.
Jack watched the HMS Martin set sail that early 1826 morning. A wry smile pursed his lips. He watched her from Signal Hill and once she had disappeared from sight he left to go find his true love. He had a tidy sum of money stashed away; they would live in a cottage he had been eyeing near the harbor, kids would be great and maybe a dog. Life was really good that morning; Jack Smith was a truly contented man. The bones, the rancid flesh of Lord Carneson had now been laid to rest forever in his mind.

If you walk up near the top of Signal Hill, there is a lone tree set apart from the rest. It is a gnarled twisted tree, grown in an impossible spot, exposed to the harsh Cape storms and searing African sun. The seedling had been put into fine soil but as nature would have it, it had been washed into this impossible spot, growing into this hideous apparition you will now see before you. If you look very carefully at the branch facing the setting sun, you used to be able to see a rope burn, but that I think has grown over now.

In late 1826, the accountant Willaby Smythe and businessman Charles Radcliffe still in London, read a very confusing note sent from the Cape. The note simply read, "your voices now over whelm my every waking moment". Signed Carneson.  Smythe simply threw the garbled note in the bin – vaguely  recalling a distant business acquaintance called Bentley Carneson, who recklessly squandered his family assets.

You see, Jack Smith made his way to Sophia’s house in the Bo Kaap full of expectation, her mother was surprised, shocked to see him. She informed him that she had said goodbye to Sophia early that morning. She said Sophia had followed him to the docks the previous night, she had seen his travel bag and she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving without her. She had rushed back and packed a few things and said she would stow herself away on the HMS Martin. She was prepared to travel to the ends of the earth, where-ever in fact, Jack Smith might eventually go. Her mom had begged her to stay , but she said she saw not the apparition but the incredible man whom she loved.

The end

Shipwrecks along the South African coast. – parts of this story are true - however the characters are definitely not. ive tried to keep whats true separate from whats just a story.
It is not only the Waratah that went to a mysterious watery grave along the SA coast. Numerous other ships have completely vanished along this treacherous stretch of coast. The HMS Martin was one of the first large ships to disappear without a trace after leaving Cape Town harbor in 1826 on her way to Australia. The wreck of the Arniston claimed 273 lives in 1815 with only 6 known survivors. 25 of the victims were regrettably children.