"MONSTER" (A short story) - Happy Halloween.

It was the 17th century poet, author of “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained”, John Milton, who wrote,

“Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep”.
Is it possible that beings walk the earth that are never seen except for the select few of the chosen?

Do mythical creatures walk the earth without us noticing…until they want to be noticed or have a specific agenda with you?

It is an old American Indian proverb that the natural creature’s of this planet can only be “seen” by us if they choose to be seen.

Quantum theory proposes that we merely exist in one universe while billions of other universes exist in our very own space, (multi-universe theory) thus collisions or lapses, causing strange phenomenon to manifest. Worm-holes appear, strange entrances can exist merging two diverse universes which some have reported to have experienced the extraordinary: other civilizations, more advanced than our own…even “monsters”

Have you ever walked out into the dead of night, doing a mundane task like taking out the garbage, the wind rustling the trees, a full moon casting its light, and you absolutely feel that something or someone is watching you?

The fright or terror is real as you run back to the door and close it and lock it just in case. You did not see anything, but your intuition tells you that there was something or someone watching, waiting, and biding its time for the right moment. You want to believe it is simply your imagination, but know deep in your psyche, that someone or something was there…


A past colleague of mine related an experience to me that was astonishing, that later was corroborated by her brother, whom I met at an Orange County restaurant, a reputable lawyer and rational man; upon questioning him about this specific incident, he became suddenly reticent over a glass of expensive scotch but re-told the story in the exact way, word for word, as his sister. He waved down the waiter and ordered a double and once the drink arrived, began his story.


“Patricia and I were living in Hawaii, our parents off somewhere in Europe (as usual) on vacation. I was attending Law School and my sister was taking care of the family home and our two cats. She was home alone most of the time but this didn’t worry me because criminal activity (minor or major) never happened on the island at the time…we were too far away from the nearest town. It was the late sixties, we thought we were safe.

My last class was cancelled, jumping in my Jeep, decided to check up on my little sister.

Pulling up the driveway, I heard my sister screaming as she ran out of the jungle that essentially surrounds our entire house. She was headed towards the front door when she tripped and fell on her knees. Patricia’s expression was nothing less than pure horror. As she tried to lift herself up, out from the bush appeared this creature. Looking back at the incident, even now, throws me into a slight confused state because beings like the one that had been chasing my sister through the forest, just do not exist”.

What did it look like? I asked.

“Let me tell the story!”

John was now agitated, obviously re-living the moment, going to a place he’d rather not go. He took a huge swig of his expensive scotch and continued.

“To say the least I was petrified and so much so, couldn’t bring myself to jump out of my Jeep to help – not even my only sister.

Patricia managed to get back on her feet and run to the front door, slamming the screen door shut. This “thing” crashed through the screen door and was now inside the house.

From inside our house, Patricia’s almost deafening scream sounded now like a desperate, final call for help.

Of course my natural instincts rose above my petty fear and I ran into the house to see this creature on top of my sister digging its claws into her forehead.

I’ll never forget the look on Patricia’s face. It wasn’t the expression of pain but kind of an hypnotic empty gaze of pleasure.

Grabbing one of the dining room chairs, I slammed it hard against the creatures back and it winced from the pain, removing its claws from my sister head.

But now it turned its gaze on me.

How do you describe something that has no comparison to anything you’ve seen before? The only “human” quality about this being was its eyes: red, pulsating with intent: I could not look at those eyes, (a voice in my head resounded) thus turning away from its gaze, and I picked up another chair and started swinging. One of the chair’s legs slammed into its left eye. It let out a tone of voice that I, to this day, cannot really accurately describe…a whelp?

But this is the strange part of the experience. I could hear its voice inside my head!

“Tell your sibling not to cross over again, because there will be consequences.”

The “thing” bounced through the broken screen door like a mutant grasshopper and disappeared into the jungle.

Turning to my sister, she continued to have that gaze of blankness and pleasure like the insane.

After a week Patricia seemed to have recovered from the incident, but we never really talked about it until many years later”.

The table had that uncomfortable silence as it seemed all of us were reflecting on what had just been said. Then John asked:

“You appear to be an open minded individual, what do you think of the “story”?”

In my own mind and experience, I tried to come up with some totally rational explanation: a crazy ape, perhaps a homeless person with red eyes from too much cheap wine, however, sometimes “explanations” for the irrational are more far fetched than the unexplainable.

Interestingly, those vague dots on Patty’s forehead that most of the time she tried to cover with make-up, now were blatantly obvious.

So I ordered another scotch and said it was a peculiar experience, and thanked him for telling me.

Our conversations throughout the rest of the evening touched only the commonplace and superficial – politics, sports and the L.A. Freeway system.

Pulling up in my driveway to my little Hollywood bungalow, getting out of the car, the Santa Ana winds had begun, heralding the summer months. There was a full moon, but I distinctly felt someone’s eyes upon me. Turning quickly to my right as I slotted my key into the lock, two, bright red eyes glared through the bushes next door.

A foreign voice resounded in my head as I closed the front door and threw my keys on the table:

“Stop now or there will be consequences.”

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night.

Rembrandt: too much too soon?

It is always a pleasure to visit the Victorian National Art Museum. We stayed there for three hours with the intent of only viewing the 16th century Flemish masters. What is the cliche, all good intentions are paved to Hell? We continued from the 16th century to the 20th century and by that time, my body and mind was about to fall into a heap due to exhaustion.

'I can't see anymore or I'll shut down!"

'My goodness, C, you look so pale, come on, let's go outside.'

Sitting outside with a much needed cup of coffee, next to the man-made water feature, the city air, water and crowd of visiting tourists, after a few minutes, all felt to be back to normal.

'We were in there too long, too much in too short of time.' I said.

'I think I understand what you're saying...' she replied.

'S, we should have remained in the 16th century, but we got greedy and wanted more, and there is a price for greed!"

'I knew I should have stopped with Rembrandt, all his wonderful sketches and those haunting self portraits. Really, when we come back again, we'll stay with the Flemish 16th century and Rembrandt."

She nodded her head, taking a sip of coffee, 'You're right, we didn't rush, but tried to take it all in moving at a pace impossible to do so."

My point is that one does not experience the same 'feelings' when moving through a print shop or surfing on the net, looking at representations of works of Art.

There's an energy that flows from the work that requires a response.

Rembrandt was a prolific collector of all 'things' unusual, from strange rocks to silly drawings from far away places. He would sketch these curiosities and incorporate them into his major projects. The NGV has a collection of these sketches and they're incredible.

When my friend literally carried me out of the gallery from too much engagement, I noticed a group of Asian tourists gathered around a small Picasso - a truly ugly painting - the flashes from their cameras blinking at the speed of light. Is it the beauty of the painting they were so enthusiastic about or the fact that it was an original Picasso? I truly believe it is the artist not the work that inspired so many photographs.

Depicted above is one of my favourite paintings by Rembrandt, "The Head of Christ." (?)

The expression in the eyes tells it all...

As written before in this BLOG, art is about technique, and its undefinable energy that cannot be experienced, except by the original viewer. Art is a visceral experience and one's response to the work.

When at that precise moment in time, one can actually feel the artist's intent and Beauty...that, to my mind, is truly the purpose of Art.

Musings on Sleeplessness, Climate & Evolution.

It is late and sleep is impossible as the heat and humidity hangs and permeates everything…there seems to be no escape, so I sit in front of the computer and write.

Weather affects one’s mood and our general view of the world.

When civilization began, depending on one’s certain geographical location, does indeed truly determine a particular cultures development, because heat and cold play a big part on how we deal with and view the world.

The Aboriginal of Australia, for example, lived in dry desert conditions. To merely survive was at the top of the priority list, thus their knowledge of the terrain, how to attain food and their views of existence. All their time was taken up with the search for food and shade from the heat. Because of the heat and barrenness of the landscape, there was no need to change…just survival, and the “Dream Time”.

Civilization truly reached its peak in the ancient world around the fertile land surrounding the Mediterranean Sea, and along the Nile River. However it can get very hot during the summer months around Cairo. In the spring and autumn, the Nile flows over ensuring crops survive and thrive.

I guess what I’m getting at is that I miss the four distinctive seasons living in Melbourne Australia. Please don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved Melbourne’s erratic weather – four seasons in one day is not just the words to a popular song but actually true.

It was the Explorer and adventurer Sir Francis Richard Burton who, in an article he had written, attempted to persuade his reader’s that climate determines a particular races development. At the time of the writing, Darwin had crept into “scientific” circles, thus the hierarchy of man – White Anglo-Saxon at the top, (women because of their smaller brains) somewhere around third and down it goes from there, depicting other cultures as “savages”, “Non-Human”, (see Darwin’s book, The Descent of Man) thus justifying the genocide of the Australian Aboriginals, the American Indian and other inferior races like Jews, using Darwin’s theory as fact and justification for mass murder.

Appalling.


Sir Richard was truly onto something but did not have the opportunity to delve deeper into his hypothesis, flesh out his ideas. (Too busy translating (The Perfumed Garden).


In the Northern Hemisphere there is a plethora of natural resources thus the particular “races” development, adapting to the climate, (four seasons) and therefore having the time to pursue better technology, better infrastructure, etc.

When the human has no worry of where their next meal is coming from, there is time for innovation, art and the development of civilization.

I am extremely surprised that so many “educated” people consider Darwin’s entire theory scientific fact. In a word it is not, and remains a theory because he and other scientists have yet to discover the so-called “missing link”: that is to say, the link between, Neanderthal man (Ape) and Cro-Magnon.

Personally, hot, humid weather does nothing for my creative sensibilities because it’s too damn uncomfortable.

As far as other cultures and races are concerned, the “survival of the fittest” theory does not add up because the human is a highly adaptable being and will use resources that are available in their specific geographical area for survival, (the climate of the area is a significant factor).

Darwin was an intellectual but a 19th century misogynist, which, by the way was, is and has been a common view of men for thousands of years.

On that note, I’ll return to bed contemplating where my next meal is coming from….

The Beautiful Beggar in the Parking Lot. (A Short Story)

We have to the end of the 20th century, a full decade, too and Christmas is upon us once again. The decorations are unpacked and a few thrown away, as they have become too moldy living a whole year under the house. Then the flood might have had something to do with it, but Simone sorts them out, washing some, throwing away others, to then hang those decorations that survived on the clothesline…to dry. Simone has been a great friend and roommate for years.

What I love about Simone is her abounding energy at Christmas – for she is, as a human being, a naturally giving soul – this time of year is her opportunity to Give in abundance and she takes this time of year far too seriously.

“Will I forget someone, will someone get disappointed?”

My friend’s intentions are pure, but it is her day to day love and giving that ‘counts’, not a day chosen by the Roman Emperor, Constantine, to make the pagans and the Christians settle down in an effort at a compromise to avoid more bloodshed between them, more than 1500 years ago.

Leaving Simone to her Christmas decorations and cooking, I decided to grab a few beers at the local grocery store.

Not just one but four musicians held a spot in front of the entrance of the store… all playing with all their might, four different Christmas songs at once, their music sounding like a cacophony of indiscernible…noise.

Checking my pockets, to make a donation, they were empty: ‘I’ll catch them on the way out’, I thought.

It was then that a woman of about thirty years of age, not bad looking, though one could see her appearance was not her top priority: she began spinning a yarn at me at breakneck speed, about not having enough money to buy Christmas presents. 

In the end she said,

“All I need is sticky tape to wrap my children’s Christmas presents.”

Her expression appeared pure and her story true.

I told her this would not be a problem and entered the store to make my purchases as she sat herself down on the bench just outside, waiting.

As life goes, I searched and searched for sticky tape but none was to be found. It was then I decided to give her the change necessary to buy her sticky tape to wrap her children’s gifts.

This woman was an unusual ‘street’ person because she did not ask for money but something very specific.

I decided to give her all my change which amounted to about 5 dollars.

Walking up to her, she gave me such a kind smile, as I gave her the 5 dollar’s in change.

“Sorry, couldn’t find the tape but this should cover it.”

She thanked me and as I walked away she said:

“You’re Jack, right?”

To be absolutely honest, I had never seen or met this young woman before. There was not a note of familiarity about her in the least. But she gazed at me as if we had been friends for many years.

I found this to be disconcerting and strange.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

She turned and walked away from the store never looking back once.

Driving back home with my six pack of beer, the image of her face and the circumstances, sticky tape and beauty whirled throughout my head. Then I thought:

‘Happy Christmas to you, beautiful stranger and your children and I hope the five dollars can help in this difficult time of your life.

And you will always be a Christmas mystery to me.'

Caravaggio’s Saint Jerome

This painting by Caravaggio (1571 – 1610) of Saint Jerome deep in study surely is one the painter’s best examples of his use of deep, rich colours and his attention to detail.

Why most renditions of Saint Jerome by painters and illustrators find him in his study is that he was commissioned by Pope Damasus the 1st to revise the Latin text of the Bible, known as the ‘Vulgate’ that is still in use today.

Saint Jerome was born to a pagan family circa 365 C.E., to later study the law and become a lawyer. He soon later changed his subject of study to theology where his true conversion to Christianity occurred. He was also baptised around this time.

Saint Jerome is not so much remembered for his scholarly works but for the incident where he came upon a lion with a thorn in its paw. He removed the thorn without any protest from the king of beasts…and as legend has it, the lion remained at Saint Jerome’s side for many years.

He lived the last thirty years of his life in the Holy Land more or less a recluse, continuing to translate texts, write prayers, biographies and collected a vast library of scrolls.

Because he was a scholar of the Church, his patronage include: archaeologists, archivists, Bible scholars, librarians, translators and school children.

Saint Augustine said about Saint Jerome:

What Jerome is ignorant of, no man has ever known.

Caravaggio’s life was short though full. To my way of thinking he was a true genius with a hot temper, a love affair with alcohol, and was often described as “extremely crazy”.

This painting is not one of his best however reveals his genius for colour and “realism”; now considered the founder of the Baroque period where his emphasis on deep shadow contrasting blinding light is the art movement’s definitive trademark, so to speak, and made him famous at the time.

Some art scholars have written that it was only in the early twentieth century that Caravaggio’s work had come back into vogue. I find this astonishing considering the man’s genius.

This painting of Saint Jerome has to be one of my favourites of the artist’s entire body of work.

THE LIST (A Short Story)

The day began like all the rest.

A list made the night before, too long for the most ambitious person to accomplish, as usual, over these last several months my life has spiralled out of my control; my eyes open and the clock reads several hours beyond the intended hour to awake – slept in again.

Checking the mobile, there are three unanswered voice mail messages and one text.

The text message is the one that makes me cringe and want to roll over and fall back to sleep. Pushing the button, the text appears and because my glasses are no-where in sight, I read it as,

Why do you sleep when it is necessary to rise and meet the world? We’re over…and please don’t call me for at least a week. You disappoint me so…
Love, C.

Holding the phone at arms length does not make the characters clear to the eye.

Thinking I need to wake up, forgetting the blurred message, make a coffee and settle into writing my list, which reads as follows:


1. Wake up early.
2. Drink coffee.
3. Examine list.
4. Tie-up all financial obligations/write note to Chloe
5. Shower, dress in best suit, and wear best cologne.
6. Stand on railway tracks and…preferably Box Hill Station.
7. Must be peak time, and as train moves into the station, fall gracefully below the wheels/ kill yourself.

The time came to cross off number four on my latest list. My financial obligations have always been in order: bills paid on time and a hearty savings account. Thus task took little time. Good. Now, to the note.

Dear Chloe,
You know I’ve loved you for years and I cannot stand you mad, or more particularly, ‘disappointed’ in me. I know we’ve had our troubles, but your last text message put me over the edge. I can’t deal with disappointing you anymore! Please try to understand that without you life is not worth living. So I’m going to end it tomorrow…so by the time you read this I’ll be gone forever. Always remember that I LOVED you! And I will never disappoint you again.
So long,
J. xxx
P.S.

Have transferred all my accounts to your name. It is a grand sum and I want you to enjoy it…take a holiday to Europe…whatever. XXX

Ok. Making good progress on this list. The letter has been mailed and with certainty can put a line through the task.

Making lists has always been my passion or as Chloe constantly reminds me, my “obsession”. This could be partly true but making lists is a practical activity ensuring everything in one’s life gets done. Added to this is the feeling of deep satisfaction when a single task is done and you can put a thick line through it. For me, really, the feeling I get from this simple action is better than sex. Maybe this is why my relationship with Chloe has fallen apart…who knows, but lists keeps one organized and I desperately need to be organized.


The time in the shower was longer than usual but I can afford this little transgression. In fact # 5 on my list should be enjoyable. I shouldn’t rush through the task to just experience the visceral satisfaction of putting a line through it…save it, make it last.

Dressing in my best Armani Suit, a dark blue $3000 garment, on special the day I purchased it, down from $5000; what a bargain. As I remember, finding a bargain on a suit was on that particular list as “Top Priority” and putting a line through the completed task almost sent me into spasms of frenetic joy; yes that was a great list accomplished to my complete satisfaction.

My $200 bottle of Hugo Boss cologne, applied to my face evenly, of course, would complete #5. Excellent, now to put the thick line through it…ah, that felt divine!

The day is overcast, and fitting for the final task on the list. Though really, come to think of it, the sky should be pouring down with rain, thus the affect greater on my fellow travellers.

Finally reaching my destination, the number 2 platform on Box Hill station. Excellent, I can put a thick line through # 6. Whoa, now that was terribly good!

It is crowded today, I suppose because the children are back at school. Looking down the platform, a sea of private school uniforms in a multitude of colours and patterns, crowded together on the platform awaiting the arrival of the train, my train.

Suddenly a terrible thought comes to mind: how will I put a line through the final task on my list… if I’m dead? Then the solution comes to me, as my body falls under the wheels, I’ll quickly and adeptly scratch the line through the task, a nana second before the final, crushing moment. Ok. Very good, J, a marvellous plan!

I can hear the train approaching.

Oh outstanding, it is not slowing down, because it must be an express train, shooting through the station at top speed. This is pure, unmitigated luck! I’ll put my pencil at the start of the line of # 7 on my list, just in case...

Here it comes…ready…ready…JUMP!

The well-dressed man falling in front of the speeding train caused the morning commuters to move into a minor frenzy. Although an express train, the driver applied his brakes, creating a high pitched scraping sound, finally bringing the steel beast to a complete stop. Unfortunately for the morning commuters, as this was a blatant suicide, a death of a human being, it was The Transit Authority’s policy to hold all trains for the entire morning shift. Therefore a local bus service is called to provide transport for all their passengers.

Coincidentally, at the same time Chloe is reading J’s suicide note, there is a knock on the door. Two uniformed police officers, trained to deliver terrible news, walked into Chloe’s small apartment. She shows the officers the suicide note. One of them hands J’s mobile phone to her that was recovered from the scene, and she opens the ‘inbox’.

“Oh my god, he didn’t have his glasses on when he read my last text message. I can’t believe it. This was all caused by some miss-read message.

The text actually read:

Don’t sleep in and miss the world. We’re over at the Green Pepper Café. Call me next week if you can’t make because I’ll be gone at my Grandmothers. Don’t disappoint me. C.

When J. thought it read:

Why do you sleep when it is necessary to rise and meet the world? We’re over…and please don’t call me for at least a week. You disappoint me so…C.

After the police officers left the apartment, Chloe sunk into a chair and began to go into shock. Then her mind began racing… “What will I do, J. had nobody but me. I’ll have to make all the arrangements, there’s the Funeral Director, the funeral and all the invitations…how will I manage it all…
Then it dawned on her:

“I know…I’ll make a list.”

Ends.

Break the Chains of Routine: Wake Up!

Journeying into the unknown, assuming the mental state of adventure and serendipity, can present the most interesting results.

All too often we are bogged down (without realizing it) in our day-to-day routines: bed by 9:30, rise at 6:30, drink coffee and take one’s vitamins; drive to work seeing the same people on the road because they leave at the same time you do; work hard and drive home, seeing the same morning drivers; drink the happy hour cocktail and eat dinner at the same time you’ve eaten for many years. Rise in the morning at 6:30 and…you get the point.

Breaking the chain of habit is a difficult thing to do. For some, it can be almost physically painful because change of any kind, for many, means death.

Many, including myself, find routine a type of security blanket, no surprises, and no sudden changes, just more of the same equals comfort. But is this so-called “comfort place” the place you really want to be in?

Similar to the man who has the proverbial paper bag over his head, does not know the difference because he knows nothing else. For many it takes courage to change and sometimes a tremendous amount of effort.

Then, of course, life throws you a curve ball, change is thrust upon you without mercy, and there’s no choice, you have to change and adapt. Some never recover and withdraw further into their self-created caves of desperate solitude. The again, some have the stamina to meet change head-on, like Jacob wrestling the angel, life is designed to be engaged with, getting one’s hands dirty, so to speak, otherwise what’s the point?

The reason I bring this topic up is my experience this morning. I decided to go to a different shopping centre than the usual one to do a little clothes shopping. Bought a few items and then decided to have lunch. Rather than going to the usual cafe, I decided to drive in the opposite direction, heading towards the countryside. After too long, continued to drive admiring the landscape - olive groves and wineries abound.

Only about 15 miles from where I began, came across a local pub. Walking into the place reminded me of the country bars in mid west America. It was if I was transported back in time to circa 1978, live Blues music filled the air from an old guy on the stage who sounded like the country music and Blues artists of the fifties and sixties. He played that guitar like a third arm and had the perfect gravely voice that gave his music an authentic quality like I was hearing the real thing…

The lady tending bar, a middle-aged ex-hippy suggested I try the local wine and set a big glass on the bar. Wow, it had to be the best tasting Cabernet I’ve had in many years. Her smile would melt the hardest of people and you simply felt welcome.

My steak was excellent for a meagre price; and the wine alone, worth the trip.

Although the sound of the Blues filled the air, everyone looked to be very happy, eating and drinking, enjoying the sunshine in the leafy open area out the back.


Unfortunately it was time to go because of my habitual obligations and daily routines.

Change can be rewarding and necessary in order to merely stay awake and appreciate what one has and what one is, mindful of the moment.

I broke the chains. 

It felt better.

I felt awake.

A Lovely Evening: Beauty vs. Table Manners

Dinner with an old friend tonight at one of our favourite Italian restaurants; as it had been a hot day, the evening breezes from the sea wafted over our table, giving us that needed relief, sitting outside watching humanity walk along the boulevard.

Once the meal had finished, sat back, glass of wine in hand, listening to my old friend tell me about his new job and his latest marks from University. He is doing well.

My eye wandered across the courtyard to see a group of women arrive and sit at a table directly in my line of vision. They were a group of three with a baby carriage. I deduced three generations of women: an older woman about seventy, a lovely head of blond-silver hair and another attractive middle-aged woman, dressed elegantly and fussing over the newborn. She looked young for her age, blond, tall and slender. Next to her was her daughter, a blond extremely attractive woman around the age of twenty five. Four generations of stunners, including the newborn, truly beautiful women out on a warm spring night.

All three women were dressed casually, bright cotton dresses, styled hair and tasteful make up – men walked by their table and would inappropriately stare, however it seemed they were used to this show of admiration as it did not appear to bother them in the least.

My good friend continued to fill me in on all and sunder, when I noticed the waiter serving the stunner’s their dinner.

When they began to eat and continued to “eat” over the next twenty minutes, I could not believe what I was actually seeing: the most beautiful of the women, the new mother, would stuff as much food in her mouth as humanly possible, then chew and talk at the same time, bits of food escaping her mouth a falling on the plate below. Her mother, the slender attractive and seemingly elegant one, did the same, stuffing too much food in her mouth, chewing and talking at the same time. Grandmother too, would fill her mouth with food, too much food, and chomping with her mouth wide open. It got to the point that I couldn’t look over there because the scene did not make sense: three beautiful women, three generations in fact, eating like drunken sailors after a big night on the town.

Beauty and basic manners do not necessarily exist in the same space, at least in this place, on this almost perfect spring evening.