Peter - Chapter Eighteen

Peter - Chapter Eighteen
Andy stood amongst the ruins of Clun Castle smoking a joint with Ben watching Bill and Jimmy ambling towards them. Since the party all four had been keeping a low profile. Their part in clearing the equipment for the various sound systems had been completed successfully. An act of great personal risk for the common good. Out of character for the Clun Druids, many would argue. Rumour had it the police had assembled a secondary group of men following their reversal earlier in the evening. The unified hooligans, an alliance of party people from a fifty mile radius, threw aside personal grievances to join forces, had stood at stale mate, holding off the armed professionals. Through tactical ingenuity the advanced hooliganism of the Clun Druid shaman alliance, peter and Lipton with a brave stepping up to the mark from Elmer, new underworld king, a handful boldly took the fight to the enemy. In unarmed couplets they'd stormed the police lines, grabbing out weaknesses in their frontline, dragging them into their mass. A noble victory of unarmed unity over the armed professional offensive. No report had reached the press of the violent mass of riot police that had attacked an unarmed group of partiers with shields, batons, riot helmets and body armour, failing to close down the event, permitting the party to wind itself down. This historic hooligan victory would, in time grow to be a legend in the secret history of Albion. A victory of a david unified force against the Goliath of the police. Though mainstream history would hide the polices shame. Predictably the Shropshire Star ran a piece on the successful raid led by D I Briggs that confiscated all the organisers equipment and made an arrest on the criminal mastermind believed to be behind a series of illegal events. A story so distant from reality yet indisputable by the outlaw victors. The criminal mastermind was not named due to his many media connections. This appeared to suit everyone. The party, in truth, concluded unperturbed by police intervention with all major sound systems vacating without loss of equipment. The police, however, far from journalists eyes, were able to claim victory, reassuring local public that such illegal events would not be tolerated.
A further report focussed on two bodies later found on the hill. Little detail had so far emerged though this was reported as most likely the result of illegal drug use. Police advised young people to attend only authorised events. Their battle against the menace of drug use would continue. These sad deaths of two young men was used as a message to any foolish youths considering dabbling with drugs.
As the four drulads discussed these reports Andy made it clear that any mention of the collection of the twenty pineal glands, indeed any reference to the Clun Covens side projects beyond their recognised Druidic mission should be avoided during this conference. If these visitors had anything to say, let them present all their cards prior to any response. All agreed these new friends were far from mainstream establishment. In many respects equally persecuted. Yet specifics need not be opened alongside any possible divergent moral standpoints.
The Druids had mixed feelings regarding their new circle of acquaintances. Lipton and Peter were sound. They had never got above their station. They'd clearly led tough lives. Whilst shamanism had seen them steam in to other dimensions, risking their sanity to drag demonic tumours that had latched on to the membrane wall twixt the dark side and the shared realm, leeching off spiritual fluids in greedy perversion whilst shitting back repugnant paedophilic ectoplasm that infected unwitting men till a plague of meat puppets stalked our world. Working without thanks, ripping demons of utter repugnance, other slovenly shamans had ushered in through sloppy work, tearing of the veil was growing towards epidemic levels since shamanism became fashionable. Each urban traveller seeking personal self discovery as ayuashka tourism blossomed in Peru . Led by under qualified shamans, charging money for week long holidays where new agers with utter self interest discovered buried spiritual ailments useing sacraments to self focus. All amateurish shamanics leaving slashes and tears open for the flood of foul entities to enter this dimension. Skree/Peter and Lipton led tireless lives cleaning out this filth, this selfless work had seen both pestered incessantly by mental health workers. Government service agents were forever on their tale, confounded by the tunnelling, climbing and ritualistic shamanics yet clueless to the nature of their work. Driven into addiction many times to nullify the stream of putrid spittle and demonic slurry their pissed off foes slipped in to their minds at any off guard chance. These shaman cunts carried it all without moaning. The drulads had endured brutal ostracism since they were kids from the grey dullards of mainstream society. They could relate to the persecution by the authorities. They understood each other.
The more the Clun lads learned about Elmer, Esau and Elijah, this subterranean sect appeared sound dudes, if a bit weird. Hearing their history, the American governments attempted murder of Jesse, his bravery in burrowing under the Atlantic using pelvic gyrations alone, the building of the underworld empire. The seventies alliance that formed with a small group of the older miners, ex teddy boys, all Elvis fans. Thatchers term 'The Enemy Within' now made sense. Literally the enemy within the ground, an army of rebellion had begun to form. The ruthless manner the government had turned on its own people now made sense. This earned Druidic respect. The story that took Skree and Lipton from urban exploration, through the heart of the Underworld and onto the exorcism of the demon child Abel had become a talking point amongst the Clun Druids. And these fuckers weren't done yet. Even the lasses that had joined up seemed ok. They were cool with all of them. It was just that Jesus Christ lad that came over wrong. He tanned the beer and drugs with the best of them. Stood his round better than most. But those four slappers hovered like a shield around the cunt. You just couldn't get past them to suss him out. Christianity had killed their people. Ben refused to even look at the bloke. Jimmy and Bill were suspicious. Peter had tried explain the man called Christ and the religion created in his name, had little in common, and to be fair he was the first Christian they'd known to mix with anyone they would. Still. This conference seemed driven largely by him. Repeatedly Jesus had insisted things needed discussing. Andy had spoken to all the girls as well as the lads of Clun he now stood with. His policy simple. Let him in. But watch the cunt. Don't let him start chatting away, all easy, like he does, don't go letting your guard down. He'd not dismissed having to kill the cunt yet. His resurrection skills were genuine, the shamans had confirmed this, but Andy had ideas. He knew of several agricultural systems that would leave nowt more than sausage meat. Sprayed evenly over five acres by dung spreader, he'd like to see that resurrection. The Druids were unified in distrust of this odd cunt.

Hay bales arranged in a circle provided seating for the assembly in an isolated barn four miles outside Clun. Elmer, Esau and Elijah Presley represented the underworld. Peter and Lipton covered shamanic and archangelic issues. Andy Brock, Ben Black, Jimmy Arbor and Bill Aston represented the Clun Druids. Charlotte Black, Dianne Brock and Stella Arbor, the current Clun Coven of Druidic Witchcraft. Harry, posh squatter hippy bird, represented herself, she sat beside Mike Oldpastures, multi instrumentalist and owner of Tuberous Bellend. Jesus Christ the son of God spoke as the messiah offering both his fathers opinion and his own, in an official capacity he also represented the Holy Ghost though this mysterious third aspect of the holy trinity, being both mute and invisible, the ghosts capacity for communication had no apparent substance other than an inner voice heard in personal and private exclusion. Hence the ghosts input was disregarded as none cross verifiable. Slapistrys four representatives were all barely covered. Together they shared cigarettes and chewed gum. Rachel, Sue and Cathy chose to occupy three bales set aside, taking no part in the conference though through muttering and sharp looks they clearly shared a low opinion of the slappers craft. The atmosphere of hostility had been brewing a while now so Jesus, being chief advocate for the slappers stood to speak.
Jesus: "Group harmony is essential if we are to work together. Shaz, as a slapper queen and tribal elder, from a long and noble line of slappers, perhaps you could speak on behalf of your craft so as to clear the air ?" Shaz stood, her athletic spine curved pushing her firm breasts forth.
Shaz: "Student birds? As a qualified slapper from a long family line steeped in our craft, I feel our cultural differences need be of no problem. Our tribes share mutual distrust that I feel is born largely out of cultural ignorance, The stuck up student bird chooses education, glasses and loose clothing, believing over sexualised presentation can distract male attention from the female intellect. As slappers we respect your life choices. If fate found us born to wealthy parents and humble breasts like yourselves, we too may have grown to be up tight students. Bitching enviously at slappers firm gifts. The slapper blooms for a few short years. Like butterflies we display our beauty in full knowledge that soon, we too shall no longer stand with butts of steel, breasts that stand alone, not dependent on underwired support, demanding attention, like you we will one day hide in baggy woollens. Our revelry in our time, our embrace of natures beauty and refusal to hide away. Our flagrant submission to our desire to fuck without shame. Our philosophy is one of animal somatic embrasure of nature. Flowers in bloom are not to be hidden but to be viewed by all, life's uplifting wonders we share for the betterment of our world. I apologise on all our behalf if the eyes of your men savour our form. I will not apologise for revelry in their gaze yet, just as not every junkie is a thief, so too not every slapper is a slag. To walk out in mid winter frost, ignoring the cold in less than you girls wear to swim. It isn't easy to give and not to count the cost. I select these words in respect to your tradition. In my native slapper tongue my answer would have been a tad more succinct, 'just because my tits stand superior to yours and jealousy fills your heart. Bitch on, fuck you fridge, as you envy my butt. And if you think you're hard enough, if you want to give it a go, then come on bitch! I'd kick fuck out of you. And don't kid yourself, your boyfriend is well below my league. But know this, as he spurts within you, eyes closed in ecstasy, it is me in his minds eye. click my fingers and he'd come begging on it.' I live life like you dream of doing but wouldn't dare, nor could you. However, I very much doubt we will have much to offer this conference. The slapper is of the body, not the mind. But during dull parts, you're all welcome to get a load of these babies!" She smiled giving her breasts the last say, thrust forth, a shake animating their glory. Indeed they quivered in an expression of the sheer joy of life. Not a soul, male or female failed to feel a stirring despite moral or political surface. "Enjoy your books!"
Shaz turned, thrust out her butt as she walked to her hay bail seat, breasts in tight rhythmic animation , every eye in the room transfixed by their firm allure. No one could deny, Shaz was hot as fuck.
The men sat silent. The coven smiled in pagan approval. Student birds could be haughty cows. All were stunned by the glory of the slapper queen. Rachel nodded acceptance as Sue and Cathy conceded the slapper ideology. She was right. They'd acted like stuck up student birds. Sue quietly reflected on her own body. She was fit too, beneath her loose coverings. Something she'd hidden to find social acceptance at university. She took a silent vow to hide no more. Indeed, she reflected, there is a slapper in all of us. Shaz speech ended the bitchery that had threatened group cohesion. Cathy blushed, bowing her face and quietly wondered if Shaz swung both ways.
Jesus: "Are their any further enquiries on the pros and cons of the Slappers craft?"
Looking round all appeared satisfied with the brief speech Shaz had given. "Are their any other smouldering animosities? Suspicions? Fractious under currents because it's best we clear away any distrust or rivalry before we begin!"
As leading male of the Clun Druids Andy Brock felt it his duty to speak up on behalf of his people.
Andy: "Christ! I have to be honest with you. Lipton and Peter clearly accept you and I trust these boys implicitly. But I'm still not happy. Part of me sees you're easy going, generous with your drugs, generous with your wine and that. Not even jealous over your slappers. Still. I can't shake the sense that somewhere, somehow, you're a cunt! I'm talking freely now. Convince me! I'm a Druid. Clun Druids are not like Cornish hippies. We are the twisted fuckers. The darkest of all. These, my people, we are descended from Titus Brock, Jack Black. Legendary figures that fought a guerrilla war of resistance for decades. Roman Christianity mercilessly killed my people. Not cleanly or with respect. No! Hideous displays of sadistic torture. Your name rings in a Druids ear like Hitler does to a Jew. Christianity having driven out our culture implanted the ideology that continues today. Each animal risks being thoughtlessly driven to extinction, the climate changes, polar ice caps melting. Christianity made man believe the earth in all its complex wonder of plant and animal, was something that was theirs to use. No name in history carries the destruction of all we hold most sacred like Jesus Christ! Now, I'm no messiah. I'm a simple mortal. So use simple words to explain this. The earth was quite content. Then Christianity came. Now it's looking broken, raped. Explain to me?"
This wasn't Andy with a personal gripe. Herein lay suspicions in everyone there. The Druids had been restrained, considering. With the history painted in broad strokes by Andys simple words before them all. The Druids looked ready to hear his reply. They would listen. But the atmosphere was thick. If Christ didn't have a very good excuse the Druids would be duty bound to destroy the man. The genocide carried out in his name had left but a few score, these now had the cunt. Here. On trial. All Clun Druids had discussed this, the resurrection problem too. The sausage mincing method. Dilution into a thin soup with thousands of gallons of water before spraying the meat molecule suspension so thin it would cover Wales through to the Midlands. Or release the thin meat smoothy way out at sea for fish feed. Let's see Christ reanimate from that dispersal of meat particles. That resurrection would be worthy of a new religion.
This conference had been called by Christ. Peter had grown to see Jesus as a mate. All that animosity he had once held for Christianity, that shit no longer crossed his mind. Neither he nor Lipton had seen this coming. But it made perfect sense. Had Christ worked on them? Took them under his spell? Used them both as a vehicle, a Trojan horse. Gaining access to places that without their good name he'd stand no chance of acceptance. There was that edge to him too. Undeniable. Selling Iantos van. A cunts trick by any measure. Four twenty year old girls under his bed clothes like some paedophile. Who knew their real age anyway? 2016 years old makes most sex acts seem perverted. Admittedly, it met current legality but it still could be seen as odd, despite the slappers clear collusion in the five some, further, the noises heard coming form the group moist evenings sounded victimless. And the drugs and booze? He'd be bang at the escapist shite, alcohol, smack, coke, ketamine but Peter had never once seen him do a trip. Lipton was reluctant sometimes on the deeper shamanic depths and Peter generally got the job of vast ayuashka journeys, the really powerful tryptamines. But Lipton always gave his best. By many they knew, this was the measure. The sign of a man unable to live with his true self. If someone won't do LSD they are hiding from something. And for all his talents, how many people had they seen healed? Elmer, true, but not a right lot of others.
Lipton was running similar thoughts. Considering his resurrection skills, he never really risked his life, how often, during a mass brawl, had he jumped in for them? He could think of a dozen occasions where they'd rescued Jesus pissed up in some local boozer, mouthing off or moralising to some stranger. Peter too, they'd both saved him a kicking more times than they had counted. Yet when had Jesus ever steamed in for them? Between the two shamans It was a given. Lipton and Peter, if either one saw the other taking a battering. Out numbered by however many, there was no question of it. No question entered either mans mind. Straight away they'd steam in. Lipton got cornered by twenty odd Cardiff soul crew whilst busking or begging one Saturday last summer. Peter stood little hope of making any difference yet without a thought for his personal safety he'd charged in. Once he got Lipton on his feet they took on all twenty. They maybe caught a few each, bloodied the odd nose, split the odd lip, before going under. Waking up in Cardiff A and E. Peter left collar bone, three ribs and left fore arm broken. Lipton both arms and a few ribs. The point was they'd jumped in regardless. They would die if need be. Christ, mind, who recovered however serious the injury, in no time at all, not once could Lipton think of when the cunt dived in. He'd grown fond of Andy. All the Clun lads, to be fair. He'd need some answer to this. If these accusations held, he'd have to agree.
The Coven girls relished this sight. Jesus looked well shifty now. Generations of Christian rapists had persecuted these families. Further than any of this, further than the Roman Christian genocide of Druids, the planet. Shaman and Druid alike shared understanding of the singular earth mother. The complex interdependence of all life was a harmonic balance. Christianity allotted man transcendent souls. Christs dad made man separate from other creatures. This unique Anthropocentrism of the Christian outlook had come close to destroying the planet. The Druid plan may hold out. Before the gathered people stood the man who was the main suspect for a crime beyond any other. "Come on, Christ? We are all ears. You are fortunate to get a hearing at all. Come on Jesus?, explain this! Because this is your only chance. That cross will seem a dream bed of goose down quilt compared to what we've planned. Each time the particles of meat reform I'll be there, or my son, or his, to remince you backdown to sausage meat! Eternal! Just like your old man when he sends his least favourites down to hell! "
Christ looked around the room. He saw not a single favourable face among them. He'd been here before. On trial. Judged by people who knew very little. This was the lot of gods cast down son. Elmer knew a tad more than the rest , the shamans never asked Christ too much. They'd always taken folk as they saw them. Fuck reputations it was how they'd been to them in person. However, these Druids had a right to an answer. Mate or not. Stood before this inquisition Christ knew one thing. All he had was the truth.
Jesus: "Stood in your shoes I would ask the same questions. Elmer asked me about it the other night. Hear me out and if you blame me for all that has been carried out in my name, I understand what you must do. My father developed from a far higher power, a God he can't even see. Dad is a beetle to a human in comparison to the uber God. As a lad I knew as little as he. In time i learned he's just a run of the mill, common or garden deity. My dads truth is one of many. Think of him as a child without guidance. There was no fore runner from which to refer to. On a personal level, if we'd met as equals in a pub, I'd not have shared a beer with the man. He is my dad, but I've never got on with him. A pompous deity. Our morals differ. We aren't on the same wavelength at all. He created, well, the earth came about before him. Life emerged slowly in many forms. By focusing his attention down on to the space before him, something emerged. His attention created it but he had no control over its design. That kind of power is way above his. Natural law has no moral aspect. The most suited to an environment survives. Birth, life, death. Earth self levels. She balances herself. Lion kills gazelle. Spider kills fly. An animal over populates and infection, disease or a new predator emerges to level things out. All life is food for another. Evolution saw some predators hunt using speed. Man emerged with his speciality, consciousness. Planning. Scheming. Man assumed superiority yet was always an animal operating to animal laws. Man acts instinctively then spins a story to rationalise his behaviour. Watching this all evolve before him like bacteria in a Petri dish, he arrogantly assumed it ibis creation, but what he set in motion grew to laws beyond his simple understanding. Seeing mans awareness of self God felt smug. An animal with self reflection, a creature able to fuck him off. God gave man a test. The unique quality of free will. Or so it seemed to his simple mind. God needed to be loved. He's Jealous, childishly so. His children ignored him. He wanted to be adored. Man, of course, has no free will. He is an animal that acts to neurochemical processes within his brain which he has no awareness of. There is no self. He may feel there is a little pilot steering his body but this illusion falls apart when we ask who is in the pilots head steering him. Man does as the brain processes dictate. Decisions form by biological reactions. They enter his mind appearing as his thoughts. But he is animal. His consciousness follows, writing a story to live by, to tell others. Man no more chooses his movement and actions than a slug. God wants his love yet refuses to show himself. Man must choose to believe in something that isn't there. He must lie to himself, believe in a thing he knows to be untrue. This test God set, to believe in a god characterised by absence. He acts like a child. Over time his children couldn't pretend anymore, so they drifted away. To exist anything must be believed in. When man thought the earth was flat, it was. America exists because we believe so. Consciousness creates reality. God was fading. I hated the twat. His pompous games. His needy self indulgence. All of us up there with him grew to hate his childish pomp. A cheeky angel called Satan began suggesting alternatives. An angel offering choice to man. Reason. Maybe God isn't right? For this crime father cast him out. I became critical. Trying to get him to see sense. Argued endlessly but who's father listens to his son? You will have read how God so loved humans he gave his one and only son to die for man. No one asked him to sacrifice me. No one asked me either. My purpose for dad was simple. He wanted their love back. So I find myself on earth. His plan was to watch them execute me, in a public spectacle, feel guilty and forever pay thanks for gods gift. What a cunt! I'd not sacrifice my pet guinea pig never mind my kids.
I thought, fuck you! For thirty years I refused to play along, kept my head down. I am, after all, a man. Joinery took my interest. But I'm looking round at the people, growing annoyed. I'm on earth and after a while I see I might change mankind's outlook. Use the chance my old man gave me by sacrificing me. Please bare me out. I take responsibility for everything I said. All my words, they are mine for you to judge. Separate me and my actions and words from my father and his scheme. I gave up work. Took to street drinking. I became a speaker. Political philosophy mainly. Society had grown hierarchical. Vast division of wealth. Inequalities everywhere. So I spoke out. Simple stuff. All men are equal. Materialism is folly. After a time some began to catch on. My Poverty cult took off. Operate as other animals. Use what was sufficient. Use enough, no more. Share with strangers. Welcome the weak. Help the poor. Give away your unwanted possessions. Let homeless sleepers in your house. Do unto others as you would have done to yourself. Don't judge others. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, I looked at the priesthood who took authority over access to the divine. I said the mystical is for all. Anyone can talk to the God of their preference. I lived in rags. Lived with homeless. Prostitutes. Drop outs. Share what you have. Money lenders got me most mad. Praying on skint folk. Wonga. Loan sharks. I attacked their Money lending tables. Someone should have attacked the banks the other year. Stopped the economic crash. Rich people can't hope to get to heaven. Greed is not good. Love others as yourself. My followers soon grew. The priesthood saw me as a rival. It cost cash to pray with them whilst my flock got free wine. Soon the fuckers Grassed me up to the Roman occupation. I accept responsibility for advancing these ideals.
Further than this. I have magical abilities. Elmer asked me the other night why I used these sparingly. Earth, life, evolution works through cyclic change whereby a species improves through generations of birth and death. Today I see treatments enabling the rich to linger for a few more years. Or eradication of disease the earth creates to regulate human population. We are now so over populated the extinction of half the planets species have become extinct in the last fifty years as a consequence. Forest stripped to create green desserts to feed more humans. I cure a mans blindness. I make a lame man walk. But fucking about with the cycles of life is wrong. A cure for cancer would see further species outed. We are animals. Subject to animal laws. Nothing any animal does can alter anything. Politically I hoped my vision could hitch a ride on my fathers plans.
Through using me as a sacrifice my father tricked man into believing that of all the animals, man was gods chosen one. My death was my fathers illustration that man could transcend death. All other creatures died, being without soul. Man, however, was a spirit essence that travelled for a time in a flesh body. This was his promise. Love me, have faith despite all evidence, if you sustain this faith, then you will enter heaven. The result ended pagan beliefs of interdependence between all life. Man now need not respect the earth. The unit of currency shifted from lives to souls. Life became less valued, a period to be endured. Animals became beasts without feeling, to be used by man. The planet ours to use as we chose. My father used me to sever man from all else. Yes, my name is short hand for this shift, but this seperation opposed all I had said. Resurrection found me angry, disillusioned. I made a couple of appearances to fulfill my old mans scheme then I left the Middle East with Joseph of aramatheia. Sailed to Britain. I have lived here ever since. Mostly with travellers.
For a time gnostic Christians followed my way. Respecting the mystical visions of the lowly. My anti materialist stance they continued also. Parallel to this an Orthodox Church formed. They dismissed my message. Or twisted it to serve their own agenda. Now they authorised mystical States. Just like the Jewish priesthood I'd stood up against. Enlisting descendants of Peter, my denier, who never experienced the divine, through this the Catholic Church validated their unique line to God. Mystical experiences that were not authorised by them were regarded as apostate. Usually these people were killed. The Orthodox Christian Church used my name to become wealthy and powerful. My life's work was written down by many scribes. Four versions were selected to enforce the churches authority. The accurate gospels got destroyed. The Vatican grew immensely wealthy. I agree with everything you despise that was caused by the church. I despise it in a way you couldn't understand. My name, my work, my life, my death, all used to support all I lived and died to stop. I saw some Druids at Stonehenge 86. That's what they said they were. They formed in 1930. But they're not your kind. For you to blame the orthodox Christian church would be like me thinking those cunts at Stonehenge represented you lot. Same thing.
I read recently of a man in America. His daughter was raped and murdered by a neighbour. The police arrested him, set him up, framed him. He was jailed for flirty years for raping and murdering his own daughter. DNA evidence ultimately saw him vindicated. But I knew how he must have felt. To have been held responsible for a crime against which your entire life and beliefs opposed. I hid myself in shame as centuries passed by as an evolution of human distortion and perversion took my name and pulled its meaning till a reversal of what I was became known as Christianity. Over time I came to realise that in my arrogance I had carried guilt for many things, things that would have found another name to use had it not been mine. The Roman Empire could no longer contain governance of its expansion. Through conversion to the new faith, they used Christianity, a system of subjugation requiring no army or police force to enforce was implanted. The western mindset continues within the same structure today still. Once embedded in the cultural consciousness not even the abandonment of the divine could alter things. The God whose unique attribute was his absence had seen the concept of a spiritual dimension wither to a romantic notion, nostalgia or a half caught scent, a memory but a memory denied. The mystical, spiritual experiences had all but been attributed to the signs of mental illness. Science rendered any human sense of the other material fault. Brain malfunction. My mission, to tell humanity that the mystical experience was open to all, from priest to atheist, as universal and as profoundly human as falling in love, was extinct in Europe, Scandinavia and the USA.
I had great hopes for science. It seemed possible that a doorway for the western mind to step out from the muddled superstition and deceptive morality that my life and death had been the starting point of. Yet mans unconscious delusion of being superior to other animals survived the atheism that followed Copernicus, Darwin, neuroscience. The planets climate continues to change yet man can still believe he has the brains to cure the damage. They really believe they are super beings, they hide death believing they are not subject to animal laws.
Your pagan knowledge of bio interdependence is finally finding rediscovery in Lovelock and Gaia. The illusionary nature of free will is finding acceptance. My name is cursed. Whatever you choose to do will make no difference to anything. If you need a sacrificial display to satisfy your egos, then take my flesh for your sadistic joy. You will not be the first to have done so. The alterations to western existential ideas would have occurred with or without me. But if you understand the truth, you will accept we are on the same side. Few are. You could use my help.
Silence followed as Jesus bowed his head as though searching for a last phrase to leave on but his emotions had weakened his voice. Tears ran down his cheeks briefly that he wiped away, sniffed back and spat on the dusty barn floor before him.
With this Christ left the circle to let the others talk. He sat outside watching clouds shift and tumble. Looking to his side Elmer had followed him. He said nothing but offered Christ a Marlboro. Christ had smoked nothing but roll ups for years. He took the snout and smoked with the young underworld ted prince in silence. Jesus felt a hand pat his shoulder. Then an arm held him in manly support. Elmer looked at him.
Elmer: "You want to know a thing, there, Lord. Jesse used to take us boys to church each Sunday, to this small timber chapel underground he'd set up, as boys. See, he brought over gospel music. He soaked it up right next to Elvis in the womb. During pregnancy from their splitting of cells, both twins developed to a gospel soundtrack. I've seen them dull English church services. Boring as a mule. But when that gospel music gets in flow, the negro spirituals, the ladies lose themselves singing for Jesus. They get so high on that music, gospel music and love of Jesus. Elvis loved gospel too. You know I saw these missionaries, out in Africa. They'd gone out there, left all they knew behind, to save starving children. The TV presenter asked what gave them strength. They said Jesus Christ. The love of Jesus. See, the talk you just gave is but one strand of the rope of truth. There's as much good, maybe a whole lot more than there is bad comes under your name. Elvis had a shadow of it too. Some used their idea of who he was for good, some for bad. He had no say in it all. One time a bellhop accused him of being strung out on heroin. Elvis was only ever strung out on music. Yessir! Elvis grew crazy over it all. Took to pills. Doctors fed him uppers, downers, side which wayers. Poor guy knew no one he could trust. Died on the john. I never met my uncle. But if you look at my feet, you can not deny, I wear blue suede shoes. And, say what they want about my uncle, I always will. Jesus? Don't ever step on those shoes!"
Andy stood up in front of his close circle of Druid relations and repeated Jesus words. ""Now, gods plan for me. He needed to show his love by giving me over to be killed. My followers must be revealed as weak humans that grassed me up. I had to die, in pain, in a public display.""Jesus words rang round Andys head. Looking at the circle he asked,
Andy: "The guy speaks with sincerity, either he's spun himself some deep self delusion, or, perhaps he's not so different to us. Anybody wish to say anything while the messiah smokes his cigarette?" A brooding silence settled on the group. Ben shook his head, chuckling. Bill looked aloft with a piteous grin. Charlotte broke the moment with humour.
Charlotte: "Bit of a Fucking Hippy!" Cheryl returned the discussion to more serious matters.
Cheryl: "Speaking as a slapper, like. He's hung like a donkey, goes like the clappers and plucks free drugs from mid air!"
Ben: "I was gagging to try out that agricultural meat mincer. Anyone else?"
Jimmy: "What was the point of borrowing the thing if we're not minceing him?"
Ben: "We could at least do a cow, maybe? Pig, Anyone?"
Peter: "Come on! You can't kill the lamb of god just to use agricultural machinery. He's fucking sound. I can see someone put a lot of thought into how best to fuck up an immortal, mind. We may need something like that someday!"
Lipton: "It'd make a hell of a mess.....iah!"
The silence that followed Liptons......joke allowed all to hear a skylark out in the field and two buzzards calling to each other, high above the barn where the conference was underway.
Bill: "Peter! You humourless shamanic twat stick! We're joking! I say Aye!"
Dianne: "Aye!"
Stella: "Aye!"
Lipton: "Shall I call him in then?"
Andy: "Hang on. Let all speak."
Harry: "You don't get to choose your dad. Mine was a cunt!"
Mike: "Ok...however, he is a bit of a............................................................Bellend!"
Stacy: "Cheryl's point over rides that. He can get boring at times but by shoving his head between my legs I found this personality defect could be used to a good end. This technique for nullifying the tedium of his sermons may only be have use to other females, student birds excepted perhaps, within the group."
Elijah: "Pa holds a whole lotta faith in the Lord."
Esau: "Amen!"
Peter: "We need to address his limitations regarding standing together when things kick off!"
Andy: "Entirely! I offer my services in training the cunt up a bit."
Lipton: "There's no doubt he can take a kicking it's the other part he needs to work on. I'll join Andy in training up the swedge shy crusty."
Elmer: "I'm 100% for the lamb of god. Indeed, I shout salvation that he is among us!"
Peter: "Sue, Rach, Cathy? Any opinion."
Rachel: "If we can learn to respect the way of the slapper, you Druids ought to see Christ afresh too. Further, Cheryl's technical advice shows exemplary silver lining thinking. Not, for myself, Mike, I'm thinking of Cathy and Sue, of course."
Mike: "It.......would.......form a loop......if............Kylie and Shaz........have......a.......last.....if....I.....if......we..... Could.......Shaz..........could........stand up........to.........."
Rachel: "Mike! Stop staring at those...............actually.............could you, Shaz? They look so full of sunshine."
Shaz: "Looks like he's in. Returning to Cheryl's point, not only is he hung as she describes but I found, where other men rise and fall, Jesus resurrections are eternal."
Kylie: "Shall we go tell him?
Andy dutifully walked outside to talk with the man who's character he had questioned. Elmer stood by him and opened his box, flashing the subterranean ash to the Druid, Andy drew a Marlboro. Elmer sparked him up with his zippo.
Andy: "I hope me putting you through all that isn't going to be an issue. Nothing I said was meant personally but as the group elder here I'm duty bound to be thorough. History hasn't been kind on either my people nor yourself, so what's say we leave history as just that? Past! What say we go out on the beer one night. Just us two. They all say I'm paranoid about strangers. They're not wrong. I had a square go with Lipton the first night we met and were best mates now."
Christ: "Square go! You drew a knuckle duster on him! No hard feelings. One time these cunts nailed me to a cross. You know what I said? 'Forgive them for they know not what they do.' I said that but I was trying to sound hard. Cunts! It's a fucker, Andy. I hear all the chatter. What a druggy cunt I am. All that jealousy about the slappers. But you haven't a clue, mate. Every fucker knows me better than i do. It's the cross I carry. One thing I will say. I've spent too long hiding. There's a few cunts now that I really can't stand. I accept I have an appetite for drugs. I see the blossom of life in the buttocks of a slapper. But the planet is in trouble. The crew gathered here could cause some havok. I know Lipton and peter say I'm no good in a swedge. But I have other skills. I'm well up for learning from you and Lipton. Give me a chance and I will not let you down. The execution of apostates or heretics, the burning of witches, it's very similar. What the crowd wants is the victim to give up their God. Deny their faith. I won't say I'm brave but to deny my father, even at the worst moments, never entered my mind. I asked the cunt why he wouldn't intervene, shut down my flame instead of giving the public a lengthy display of my suffering. He said no. They had to see my suffer or his plan wouldn't work. Put me on probation if you like, like the student birds did the slappers, and I will prove my worth. Now. I have my own questions. Conference?"


Peter: "I am Skree. Shaman. Archangel of the Underworld. I set out having heard of a suicide epidemic in an area where I once lived. I had to get out of Stroud. A town I was living outside in my van. A shaman, either keeps moving or he finds that sub essences, demon stains left over from the many perverted cunts he has kicked back to their filthy dimension of origin find him. Each time I've got a settled home, after a while some fucker finds me. They hang about in the shadows, waiting until you are off guard, relaxed in company, sleeping etc then slip their fetid tendrils into your head. They're an inexplicably deep pain. The voices, dreams so ugly your mind starts to grow poisoned. Mental health workers then pester you. They mean well but they just see a man ranting or beating his head. To stay, I start to drink. To quieten the fuckers. This time heroin worked for a while in subduing the cunts. But that soon takes its toll. After it got too much I thought I'd best take off, give these demonic stains the slip. Most of my shamanic work has been conducted in partnership with Lipton. Driving aimlessly my subconscious steered me. It wasn't something I was aware of doing, nevertheless, I tracked him down. He was having his own problems. These are his own to talk of, I'll just say I found him in a bad way. So I took him to this valley. I'd battered a few demonic cunts before who'd slipped over and instigated suicide epidemics in rural communities. This seemed another such putrid fuck, up to the same old games. So we mapped the spots where the teenagers were found. Marked each point on the map. The spread formed a channel through which a line of three hill forts ran. By climbing the hill forts in sequence we soaked up sufficient power to do away with the fuckers we imagined must be in Clun. Hill Forts, as some of you know, are not exactly what many will tell you. They are many things. For our purposes they are like volcanos. Points where earth energies can escape. Our ancestors built protective dikes so when they were siphoning off the earths power substances their work could continue unhindered by others envious of the shamanic knowledge, clueless in how to use these valuable Earth emissions, yet, in curiosity and hope of power, thieves, after the shamanic earth juice. We had personal exorcisms and spiritual cleansing so to do also. The opiates we use to nullify the parasitic demons incur addiction. Our first task was to use the earth energies in shamanic self cleansing. Ridding ourselves of opiate dependence. Our pilgrimage was successful. Both Lipton and I have drawn out some considerable reserves during the three hill fort extraction mission that now we have in storage to Channel at our chosen time. Our very beings are resonant with the containment of such volatile effluvia. Our beings are rippling with stored energy. Jesus turned up whilst we were in union with the earth on the second hill fort. He told us of the party that was the following night at the third hill fort, Bury Ditches. Clearly our instincts were spot on. Our psychic nose had followed the scent. Through our craft we found benevolent essences had positioned us, fully charged, at the spears tip. This small event we were able to force into a beast of untamed velocity. Through channeling in a portion of the stocks we held that were at boiling point anyway and needed offloading, garnered by our good fortune on sourcing out a decent quantity of majestic pills, we drew out raw life forces creating a point in time of great potency. This proved so magnetic all of you here were pulled in. We hadn't figured on drawing in Mr Olpastures or his .....er.....manager. Nor did we expect to attract our good freinds from the Underworld. What we set in motion began to take on a life of its own beyond our containment. Lipton and me were both scared shitless and thrilled beyond measure as to how this blend of so varied and unrelated powers might erupt. Jesses gyratory forces that channel the carnal life drive of animal sex, a life force that is so deep within the earths drive to be, it defies linguistic expression. Following the hereditary lineage, taking this force down a perverse and deviant path , jesses son Abel grew demonically evil as such power corrupted the poor lad. Lipton and I murdered the demon Abel had become. A job we carried out for his father, who knew what had to be done, but understandably couldn't kill his own son. The gyratory force looked to be lost as the Underworld king lies close to death. No heir who bore the gift. His empire under the threat of termination. I am sorry boys but I need to clarify things. Christ had helped out during the shamanic execution and healed Elmer, Abels brother and son of Jesse. Born plum stupid Elmer could never be entrusted with leadership of the subterranean empire. His plum stupidity rendered any gyrations graceless, lacking fluidity and power, way out of time to the beat of the subterranean rock and roll music. A guttural sound. An animal beat. A rhythm beyond music we know above the earths crust. These sons of Jesse know it well but Lipton and myself have only enjoyed a three day trance moving to its wonder. This occurred during our first meeting with jesses empire, deep underground in a secret location. Yet Jesus made Elmer brighter than a button. Christ cures, believe me. He walked away a genius. Became an intellectual. The spirit forces in a volatile storm saw Elmer blessed or liberated, his soul cleared open, a blockage busted away, clearing passage and the gyrations became his very own. This happened thanks to the chance opening between DJ sets. Mikron dropped the bomb. His set completed he waited for DJ andy Webber to take over. Yet by chance, and at a loss, a suited upper class man handed over a CD. Anthone asked Mikron to play it to fill the gap. None could have imagined the power of the music that hit at that hyper tuned moment. Tuberous Bellends remix blasted out at the spirit storms most volatile point. It's composer took on the form of a satyr, freed from his chains, leading a pagan orgy of naked dance that liberated him from the mind dungeon an evil man had locked him in. Elmer found himself animated by the music. Dancing as he never had before. The gyrations of Jesse and Elvis were not lost. Each pelvic shimmer, each hip flick causing hypergasms in all surrounding females. The clitoral stimuli spat out in an untamed centrifuge of megagasm affecting all. Lipton and myself knew that only we could hope to tame this. Acting swiftly as Elmer was unaware of the orgasmosis his gyrations were conjuring up. Two thousand females were at a zenith of orgasm. This looked like blowing a hole clean through space and time. This could have meant anything. A new God born. A dimensional portal bursting a passage to anywhere. An army of demons charging through. Earthquake. Fuck knows. It could have been anything. So as the shamans largely responsible for lighting this fire we delegated Christ to bring Elmer within reasonable gyratory limits, turn the orgasmosis down a touch as we took to the skies as archangels. From above we were able to weave a protective veil ensuring damage limitation. Now, please understand, though we are long time shamans, our archangel experience is very low. Following the exorcism of the demon Abel, Jess, in honour made us archangels as reward. The politics of the heavens are very complicated and you need not trouble yourselves with their finer details. Simply as I can explain it. There are only six licences at any one time. There's shed loads of lesser angels but these days they're down to six sustainable archangels. Two are allocated to the dominant God of the over world, two to the God of the sea, and finally two are allotted to the God of the underworld. All gods are existentially dependent on belief. As more people believe in a gods existence their actualisation increases. Currently few really believe in Christs dad. Islam is growing hence Allah has the two overland licenses. Poseidon has two for the sea. Hades is considered a myth these days. He's hardly there at all. Patchy at best, like a gas in places. So, by what many see as a technicality, Jesse Presley is currently the God of the underworld. So that's how we became archangels. This has got so many gods pissed off you would not believe it. A pair of drug addled shamans being archangels whilst Woten, Abrxsus, Odin, Olympus and loads of other jealous cunts have none. So each time we switch on we reveal ourselves. Thousands of slumbering deities stir awake in an angry mood and come to destroy or steal our wings. So we've not had time to practice. I've only been up five or six times. So our skills aren't great. Yet we contained the storm. We felt mostly ecstatic joy. The energies that swirled in tumult below were a tangled confusion but, on the whole, positive. But something happened while we were up there. Something pretty fucking ugly. Now, I'm pointing no fingers but I've heard the drug deaths reported were far from it. Two decapitated bodies were left on the hill. Someone murdered two lads that night. I'm not a judge. Maybe they deserved it. But me and Lipton did some research, rang a few shamans that explore dimensions we don't. There'd been eighteen teenage suicides in the area. Some of whose graves have been defiled. The police don't know this. We have other sources. Only thing taken from the graves were heads. Two from the fort makes twenty. Now, we may be crap archangels but we are fucking good shamans. We've been exploring other dimensions now for thirty odd years. Neither of us asked to be shamans. We were chosen and it's not something I'd advise anyone to seek out. Using psilocybin, LSD, modern lysergamides most recently, traditional Amazonian shamans use ayuashka. We do too. Dimethyltryptamine is the most potent psychedelic known to man. It's taken us to many places, some where we are now regular guests. Piping DMT we often burst over to ask advice from spirit beings on many problems that we are looking into. DMT is found in hundreds of plants. We use 5-meo- DMT from the skin of certain toads to access amphibious dimensions. We use 5 bromo DMT from sea sponges for various aquatic and ocean dimensions. Our craft is complex, dangerous and accurate sacrament selection is imperative for our shamanic practice. When we were younger, all our work was positive and tight. Recent years has seen an upsurge in interest in shamanism. Mostly new agers are not looking to help others or the universe, just purely for self discovery. A lot of our time is wasted on repairing damage caused by crap shamans. Sealing dimensional passages, tears and holes left behind after some idiot broke through and ran off shitting themselves. The volume of repugnant demons, filthy perverted entities, pustulant fetid fuckers who've snuck through these openings you would not believe. Driving these dirty cunts out takes its toll. Many get through then sink tendrils deep in to people on the whole. Like fucking limpits some are. And their hosts rarely accept that some parasitic lamprey is sucking away, greedily feeding off them as they grow weakened, dissolute, sick carriers. Ripping out the filth can leave you scarred. Like I say, neither of us can linger anther long before some demonic tentacle slithers in your ear. Your dreamscape descends into a horrific psychic land where each house, each room contains some filthy demon. Remaining free of heroin and alcohol grows harder as subjugating these deep psychic assaults takes strength. Both of us have found ourselves drinking till the voices shut up. It's no game. The human body produces its own natural psychedelic. DMT can be detected in trace amounts all over but it is most concentrated in the pineal gland. The only brain organ not twinned. It sits deep down between the hemispheres. In reptiles and other animals it sits much higher. Theirs retain a basic retina and cornea and are light sensitive. This is what numerous cultures call the third eye. Descartes believed, quite rightly, that this was the point where the spiritual and material connected. The channel linking the spiritual dimension to the physical. At birth the pineal releases DMT as the spirit enters the body. At death again, the release of DMT occurs. Near death experiences see DMT release. A white corridor of light opens up. Those who recover rarely question the afterlife now knowing the truth.
So, just say this is all conjecture. I'm now speculating about no one in particular. If sufficient human DMT was collected a shamanic act could be achieved. The pineal DMT channel is peculiar to each individual. We are organic. Passage through the tunnel is only possible through your own. The spirit form has a dimensional complexity that can only make it through a tunnel or passage it is equipped to do so. I've heard of rare cases where this has found an over eager and stupid young shaman stuck like some amateur pot holler, trapped there, and no one is ever going to come and get them out. Yet if someone gathered twenty pineal glands. If their shamanic know how was very advanced. They might find some way to blend the DMT. Create a bigger opening. This wouldn't be a larger hole, it would be a momentarily lashed together group of tubes. A composite labyrinthine coagulate of tunnels. They may find an entry permits admittance for a while till this passage becomes unnegotiable, here he might burrow through to another, travel down that awhile, then again blocked, bust into another, using a piece of this, a piece of that, it might be possible to make such an access system. But this opening would be sustainable for a brief window. Everything must be readied, then this construct must be grasped into being before the spirits notice, once their confusion steadies and each realises what's missing, by simple attention they'll pull what you've borrowed back as easily as we refocus our eyesight. You'd be fortunate to sustain such a portal for one, maybe two minutes. Any such portal wouldn't be easy to use. It would require extremely refined witchcraft to create anything useable. Even the very finest construct possible would be beyond the talents of most competent shamans. With optimistic outlook you might just create a portal that a skilled, flexible, psychic contortionist of a shaman with many years practice, might just be able to get through. Maybe. Maybe they could even find their way back. It is possible. As a shaman of thirty years practice I can say with confidence that I know where this would take you. We will all be going there one day. Perhaps not you, Jesus. I don't understand how things work with you. However, It's fortunate you are here, in fact. You are the only person that I know of who has been there. First, though. Say this conjecture, this flight of fancy I'm exploring were true, why? Why would someone want to travel to the afterlife? What possible good could come of this? If someone was that determined that killing twenty young people could be justified, it must be of extreme value for greater good, or the work of some fiendish architect, completely uncaring about human lives. Twenty lives. That's a lot of journeys, loves, experiences, cancelled out for a singular act. As this is merely speculation, a fantasy of what some fictitious individual might try, I'd be offending no one by saying that, with deepest respect for Lipton, I am the only person here that stands a chance of negotiating passage, gaining even a rudimentary sense of bearings, grasping whatever was sought, then getting back out. Lipton might make it, but the rest of you I guarantee would fail. The speed you'd have to work at would have to be as free of self conscious planning as a fish through water. I'm not boasting. It's something only a seriously experienced shaman familiar with many, many dimensions could even dream of pulling off. Secondly, if I ever was asked to attempt such an advanced dimensional passage I would like to get back. Therefore, the guy you didn't trust, Jesus Christ, he alone would have to be consulted. He might refuse to help these fictitious witches whose craft is attempting an act of advanced shamanism. They wouldn't stand a snowflakes chance in hell without us. Yet, from a professional standpoint I'm curious as hell. Just supposing this was more than mere conjecture, I might consider changing their hopeless fantasy into a real possibility if these fictional scheming witches were open to a deal. The time I'd have to spend with Christ in study, listening to a verbal description of a place where nothing compares to what we know. Here we have three dimensions and a fourth that permits animation. From what little Christs said there are some twenty seven dimensions, none of which happen to be amongst our four. Let that thought settle a while, because it surely can't be an image in your mind. Maths is as close as you'll get to any metaphorical system of discussion.
Maybe there are factors I'm not privy to.
Let's put aside this conjecture for a while. Risking my soul for something would have to be of such importance, I'd quite possibly never agree. Yet the architect has already had such commitment they've accepted the deaths of twenty. This stumbling issue is currently the size of Everest. Let's leave all that aside. Not speak of it again if you wish. Forget it. Probably some serial killer anyway.
Yet, should this venture prove to be worthy of my commitment, I'd want something myself. What I would accept as payment would be something only the Clun Coven have access to. It would, if successful, kill the hundred richest humans on Earth. Now, who among you doesn't want that?"
The levity released the tension Peter had created. All laughed out loud in solidarity.
Andy: "Kill the Rich!"
Ben: "Squat the lot!"
Jesus: "It would be easier for a camel to climb through the eye of a needle than for a rich fat cunt to enter the gates of heaven!"
Lipton: "An old one but a good one, JC! We may have our differences but it's clear we all hate the rich."
Peter: "Do you want to hear this? I've been working on the idea with Lipton since we gathered together. Harry helped with some intelligence and Mike inspired me. That night on Bury Ditches Hill Fort I saw something that really upset me. Forgive me Mike for reminding you but I cried inside when I first saw you. I recognised Rupert Bunsen from TV. I bet most of you that don't know him personally have seen his bearded grin. His many businesses have made him one of the worlds richest men. Yet, he wanted more. Far more. Even if dragging a broken man by a chain, a man he once called a friend. You all must now know Mikes story. You won't know so much about Bunsen, though. Anthone pulled off an elegant scam on the bastard. As the police moved in to close down the party, he sold all remaining equipment, sound system, PA, lighting rigs, marque, over to Rupert Bunsen. The police arrested him and charged him for organising the entire event. He was released and left for London. The following day the police discovered two headless bodies. They are hunting him down as we speak. He is the current prime suspect. This has triggered him to move his plans forward. I'd thought we had two years but now we must carry this out within four weeks if we are to succeed. I'll hand over to Harry in a moment. She can explain the history.
Harry: "As a girl I played with a young boy whilst my parents visited Highgrove. Mine were an aristocratic family. We owned Harrington Hall. Rupert Bunsens family were rich but less wealthy. Ruperts father was successful in business. New money we would pompously refer to their type. After he left public school he too was very successful. Bunsen saw what he perceived as the lower orders at play. His generation saw the possibilities in rock and roll, football, festivals, race culture etc. Soon he was making vast sums. First in music. His label got off the ground through the success of Mikes album The Tuberous Bellend. A further project the Pis Sextals saw him look to other projects. From here Bunsen moved into many lines. From banking, communications, transport, airlines and other ventures. He bought an uninhabited island in the Caribbean. Here he built luxury dwellings. His rail travel blossomed alongside air travel. A decade or so back he began space tourism. His early space craft shot above the atmosphere, passengers enjoyed a breif look at space and a view of the Earth from space. These trips cost a hundred thousand pounds. Only the very rich could afford them. These flights tested out space travel technologies and funded research. Bunsen was amongst a small group of international super rich people that shaped global economics. In fifty years most of the planets wealth was in the pockets of a few hundred. As time passed the ecological damage their exploitative businesses became apparent. Business leaders began to meet with world leaders to ostensibly agree to limiting carbon emissions. The bulk would leave early. The rest, familiar with the nature of man, hung around for late drinks. In any game someone will cheat, so these formed a higher grouping unified by the immoral pursuit of dominance. Investing many millions in scientists working to disprove truths. Climate change has begun to affect the Earths balance. In the last fifty years half of the planets species have become extinct. Human population growth had hit crisis point. We are entering a period of immense changes. The ice caps have stabilised global temperature. Soon they will be gone and the extinction of most life is likely. In the next hundred years 99% of the earths population will die. Maybe all. No one knows. Most scientific speculation predicts a deathly period that could last several millennia. After this most agree a new era, as different to ours as ours was to the dinosaurs. Bunsens elite decided to speed things up. Using resources to secure vast wealth for the very few. They came to think of themselves as the conclusion to Earths evolution. All life, all history distilled to create this hundred super humans. The earth they saw was the fruiting body. They had used it up. The history of life had been a singular journey to the hundred. Natures and gods chosen elite.
Beneath Bunsen island is a vast scientific community. James Bonds enemies offer a shadow of the depth of this evil. Think CERN but secret, private. Gathering the finest scientific minds Rupert began the Noah project. Limitless funding for the exploration of their work free of any international moral intervention. Developing space and time travel technologies. Particle construction of anything, reduseable to a digital formula. A leap way beyond the human genome project. Soon they could reassemble an individual to precise accuracy from data. Physical transport need not burst light speed if a man could be assembled in molecular perfection. Only the code need be sent. He has created a spacecraft. His elite set have screwed the planet for all she had. Rupert Bunsen began inviting the very richest people on Earth to pay vast sums to become secret passengers. He has operatives in all major governments and more shadowy agencies that rule the planet. These people have taken all the money from the Earth through exploitation, murder, ruthless extraction of all valuable mineral resources. As the Earth expires, they see themselves as the cream. The fruiting body shooting out her finest seeds into space. They have discovered life sustaining planets. They are leaving the depleted husk behind. Once beyond atmospheric restrictions the receiver craft, an unmanned vehicle, having located the new Virgin Eden, lands. From here the hundred will be recreated from fresh particles. They aim to take humanities next step. Having used the earth up, the finest will leave the rest behind, to start the new world. I heard about the Noah project and vanity, hubris, greed, whatever saw me asking for a place. I could not compete with the oil sheiks, the Russian oligarchs. The projects secrecy was crucial as there remained a few powerful people with morals. So after he refused me he tried to have me killed. His operatives mistook me for my sister who died in my place. I ran. Became a squatter. He still hunts me down.
I thought I'd not see the toad again, forgot to worry, till I was at the party. He'd a finger in vast illegal parties though his were focused in the Home Counties . Mike had developed mental health problems. Bunsen saw a chance to screw more money out of Oldpastures through drum and bass Tuberous Bellends remixes. He saw Syd Barrett become a legendary casualty of LSD. He decided to see if he could create a similar cult figure from Mike Oldpastures. Spiking him with a massive dose of LSD he nearly destroyed Mike. He is looking much better with Rachel. I was about to leave you all after the party but I spoke with Mike. He asked me to attend this conference. Something about bait."
Peter: "That fantasy thing earlier. Can I talk to the Coven regarding that later, privately. This is what I want. The Ark, Bunsens spacecraft is stored in a vast undersea glass unit. Four weeks from now he plans to leave the planet. The earths greediest, richest, most selfish, most ruthless hundred bastards will be boarding. The Planet Earths most evil gathered together in one place. The scum of the earth, in a space craft, in a glass box beneath the sea. We can not miss this opportunity. This glass tank must be extremely strong. Somehow we must burst in.
Charlotte, I ask you. Work together with us. We need a vessel to travel up the coast, to the sargasso, then to Bunsen Island. Summon up Jig. Harry will stand on the deck of our yacht. The conger eel demonic serpents shall join up into a vast shoal. Harry, Lady Harringtons aristocratic blood will arowse the serpents, yearning for the blood of the rich. The sea will boil as we travel to the sargasso. As a single shoal, the thrashing rage shall follow our craft. A mile or more of sea, boiling with hungry vicious demonic eels. I need your help. Could these creatures of super nature burst holes into the glass? Or must we devise a system to let them in. Either way, looking at you all I feel the unity of our mission, together we can cut off the head of the beast. Imagine. Open your minds. See the feeding frenzy as the nucleus of mankinds raping of the planet for personal gain, meeting the Earths answer. I once saw film of a cow fall into a shoal of pyrannahs. The water boiled as they stripped the beast of all flesh in minutes. That would be a shadow of this. Those creatures of Jig. Your meat demonology unleashed on the greatest foes. A righteous slaughter. A gift from all of us to the Earth. An act so pure, so good. Stop Bunsens mission. Thank you for listening. I humbly await your response!"
Peter nodded to each Witch, embraced the Clun Druids, shook hands with the Presley boys, hugged Christ. Walking to the girls he kissed each on the cheek, Rachel, Sue and Cathy. To each slapper he gave each firm arse a slap of appreciation of the glorious buttocks. This being the polite and respectful slapper salutation. Finally he walked to Lipton and they embraced. Both hoped this Clun bunch were up for this. He'd gambled all in laying his plans and knowledge open. Only together could this be achieved.
Peter: "There's a lot to think on. Shall we resume tomorrow?"
All agreed. Stood stretching stiff limbs. Pooling into couples and groups. Chatting over the issues brought up today. The conference had seen the shamanic cards on the table. Tomorrow the Clun Coven hopefully would be as open.

Tonight was to be the last night the whole collective were together for some time. Many goodbyes were in need of saying. The sons of Jesse were leaving for the tunnels at dawn to follow their voyage home. The student birds had to return to submit essays. The Slappers sought new parties and nightclubs, a last night sharing Jesus powers of resurrection saw their make up application grow frenzied seeking firsts. Twos ups were also bagged.
Esau sat talking earnestly to Sue. They had become close over the days. Esau felt proud Elmer had so smoothly assimilated gyratory proficiency. This was no small thing. The three boys would return home with an heir. Their empires future had hovered in every subterranean mind. Now Jesse could hand on the responsibility, pass the crown, gyrations safe in Elmers hips and pelvis. Sue feared her new love may step away, enter some cavern and disappear into the belly of the Earth. She had her own epiphany to assimilate. Shaz had vocalised the meaning of the sensations Elmer had triggered. Peter spoke of how he had not chosen to be a shaman. Something far greater had chosen him. So it was for Sue. Already her spectacles had been abandoned along with the loose clothing she wore as a uniform declaring her tribal allegiance to student birds. Esau couldn't avoid noticing that her shirt, previously a smooth tight duality of restraint now formed a loose veil that shadowed exuberant animation. Bullet points crowned quivering firm and joyous life. This alone ensured his commitment to return to meet his princess. The emergent slapper saw his eyes sparkle and knew he'd be back.
Returning to the quarry the site was soon reassembled for a final evening. Once the fire was in blaze Lipton got his speakers placed to play music. Beers were cracked and an atmosphere that blended the joy of new friendships with the sadness of separation. All would meet again. This was without question. Least represented were the locals. Andy stayed for a few hours with Ben though it was clear the Coven and other boys had a lot to discuss prior to tomorrow's second half of the conference. All accepted why.
Peter and Lipton sought out those that were leaving. The son of God was saying his own farewells one by one to his four Slappers, leaving the ladies in waiting to chat.
Peter: "Shaz! We'll be sad to see you lot leave. You've brought a sparkle to these last days. The drulads are sound but can get dour. But these days have been lit up by you girls. I concede, in the past I had disrespected the craft of the Slapper. But I was ignorant. Shaz, you really opened my eyes. Your speech impressed us all. I'd no idea how high ranking a Slapper you were till then. I mean, clearly your physical presence speaks volumes, no one could refute how fit you are, but queen Slapper! Few can claim that!"
Shaz: "No shit, lad! You better believe it. Any parties like that you're having, let us know. Sounds like Cheryl's nearly done, would you mind unclipping this for me? He don't like to waste any time". The respectful firm buttock slap that both gave their respective slappers , the courteous gesture in slapper culture, was heartfelt and honest. Their firm quivering buttock response confirmed mutual respect. Both shamans agreed this had been, for both, a deeply religious experience.
Both shamans were relieved as they moved on to say goodbyes to the student birds who were heading back to Cheltenham. Cathy explained that Rachel and Mike were off together somewhere, deciding what to do. Oldpastures was keen on the Noah project, should the Coven agree and it seemed unlikely Rachel would leave him now.
Sue also might be changing course. Social Policy no longer held her passion. She awaited to hear if Shaz and the Slappers would take her along.
Peter: "Well, you're always welcome to join us on site, wherever we are. It's been brilliant!"
Swapping mobile numbers they saw Sue who looked very different.
Lipton: "Hey Sue! Just be careful with those girls. They're years ahead of you. They walk into situations clad in hardly anything yet their strength is far greater than most. I couldn't walk as they do, where they do. They grew up in situations different to you. They are fit as fuck but also hard as fucking nails. Their life choice is no game. Perhaps keep things steady with Esau. Just keep in touch. Weekends with the lasses till you get your bearings. I don't want to sound an old cunt but..,."
Sue: "You do, mate! But I get your concern. Keep in touch. And I'll always be with Esau. I'm no slag, ok?"
Both shamans went over to Elmer who poked a stick in the fires embers, lost in thought.
Peter: "All ok, Elmer?"
Elmer: "Very much so. I have big plans. First I must spend every moment I have left listening to Jesse. Learn all he can tell me. But this empire. Believe in me, boys! We will meet again soon. If you require any help, my people will always be there for you. Your act writes in stone our unity. I would like to stay to hear the Cluns response to the conference. I must get home, though. I worry each day away from jesse is u replaceable. Esau looks besotted with that young chick. I see her changing. Can the boy live with such things? I must take him under my wing. Elijah has seen much, these last days. I'm hoping he can be my right hand man. I hope the over world don't call him away. So much to do. This empire of mine has fallen into the blues. Yet I feel it in my bones. We shall rise. I now own the plastic communication device, through this we shall remain in touch. You two are brothers, always know that."
The three embraced. Their friendships were secure. They left Elmer to his thoughts and sought out Harry.
Lipton: "Well, it's one hell of a duty my associate has placed upon you, should our madcap scheme come into fruition! Are you prepared for that? I'm sure we could find other ways."
Harry: "No! I must see this through. I want to see this through. Finding other means will take you time. Just don't push me overboard!"
All laughed. Yet there remained the serious possibility of her life being in danger.
Peter: "They might not agree. I need to ask you. Should Mike come along? I know he's still fragile. And I can't see Rachel leaving his side. She's a nice girl. You may know this better than anyone. We are steeped in this shit. I'd never invite anyone in, never."
Harry: "You're showing your prejudices. What she overcame to see beyond the broken figure took balls few people of any background have. She has strengths you couldn't imagine. Besides, she's angry. Burning with it after what Bunsen did to Mike. She might be more important to this missions success than anyone. She will choose what is right for her. Mike may need this most of all people. If he chooses to go, please don't deny him. He has survived something many couldn't hope to. He has inner strengths. My advice would be let each decide for themselves."
Peter: "Apologies. I accept you are correct. Clearly you're in, I take it?"
Harry: "Fucking right, I am! I want to see that bastard mutilated! My sister is never far from me."
Drunken farewells surrounded the fire till all slept In various places. An end to a brief spontaneous gathering. Tomorrow would be a smaller bunch. All swore to meet again before long.




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