The Other Places

There are many different stories of how things began, when questions were asked, not least of all the one that says: 

"There was everything and then there was this place"

Let's start this breeze with the following one:

"Born from a Mother like all things (but where did she come from? Wait, we will explore this also together).

The Mother of some kind, in this place we don't know, instead of a child as we would understand, began pushing out matter, seemingly nothing to the eyes,then gas, gas, gas, then rocks, rocks rocks etc.

We don't know for sure but we feel like it all came out in a steady, fast but orderly speed (if you imagine grabbing the end of a thin rug (the size of a dinner mat)) and pulling it towards you,fast, we mean that kind of speed).  But who knows how long that took.  A long birth to get out a world".



                                                                         “Bareback’s sandwich: dark brown, semi-liquid, with meat in it.” Bone Daddy

Bareback began as a monstrous egg, bathed in light from the seventh sky...

It was the mountain people of Fisty who witnessed his beginnings, and a tiny couple picnicking on their day off who noticed a flat faded cloud, shaped like something washing its hands with its arse, over a sink, and again a week later, in the same spot, and thicker like the ghost.  Many others could not fathom out the washing hands with the arse bit, and the couple still could not explain it with words or the with 3 drawings that were made and posted around the village.  

This cloud moved like others, folding out, wafting away, a single movement of a puffy thread causing each fibre to shift and assist.   They noticed the other clouds all move away, folding and changing.  But this one didn’t.  It had begun to brew into a marble paste.    And it was when dark came, its centre ballooning heavy, that fear began to tumble for those who believed..  

The elementals said it fattened on light and dark equally, but to the mountain folk, it was only at night that it moved, sinking upon them.  

They say he was cloud bound.

The leaders sent out their weather women with instructions, "are we making friends with clouds now, or is it a threat?"  The weather women reply with "patience and salt" and place both beneath the cloud's centre. 

They sent out cloud busting parties to force it back or inside out and prepared for heavy wetness.  Each night its belly centre tumbled out further, and down towards the ground, now like the white of boiling meats, growing ever thicker.

Preparations were made. 

The Bald Guido, a hairless creature and thus often cold, that skinned what it could from the hides of its prey to wear for warmth around its gleaming cold body, was hunted for its collection of coats for extra protection from whatever one could expect a cloud to throw at them.                                                     It had the steadiest paws, and the shiniest of bald heads.  Some upon seeing the Guido had a feeling of irk, and spit, and a sticky tongue thing that led to much clacking of the mouth.  But its pained search for warmth was what lingered.   It could often be seen skipping away from a fresh kill, but still shivering, with a new coat already wrapped around, still too cold.  Hardly ever warm.  If other creatures killed a Guido, they had access to its hides and a level of luxury found nowhere else at the time.

  Over 12 days the mountain people lived with this, until it fell so low it began prodding the ground around them, hitting then receding, again, again, faster ...  

Something falling from the cloud – a blur – . Nothing to get your eyes into,

The people of the mountain were scared. A little bit. 

From its wispy arse a something is coming

- Where?

- Its egg shaped

- Where, I cant see it

- Follow it, to the bottom right, like it’s it’s arse, the wispy bit

- “it should not own things like this”

and then, all saw.

From what was relatable as a behind, something slipped out, a blur as it fell, and when it reached the mountain, there was nothing there.  And then the rains came, falling only from the cloud, not hitting the ground but hovering, a gathering ball of wet points… and then they moved, curving, revealing, an egg shaped egg, made not of egg shell, but encased in a constant rain … and the shell rolled on.

The egg of rain moved slowly around,  rolling with the tendrils of the mountains as the people gave it a wide birth and prepared pack lunches in case of the worst. It washed soil, and all manner of tiny ones.  Some birds and others supped from it when it had a rest.

until it finally stopped. The rain shell, folding in on itself. Something partly buried in the ground.  It was child ish, and very still,   and it was only when they approached that it began to slowly, and through the earth, like it was swimming.

The mountain people saw this gift from above, and sought to care like they would one of their own, with food, warmth and shelter. 

Removing it with big gloves and testing touch.  

It responded both to the warm and the cold, and its cries could as easily be calmed by sticking it in the path of wind than within a blanket upon the chest.

The child seemed to eat anything.  In the early days it even took a fingertip or 2. But each time, when the finger-tip-less person showed pain, it would spit out the chewed up tip, even ensnaring its own gag reflex if it had had a little swallow already.  The people felt that although this thing ate everything,  its sicking up of fingertips showed it meant no harm. By their estimates, it truly was a good un.

Whenever chafe approached the child, it responded to being submerged in mud best of all, and even the dry soil seemed to moisturise the shit out of the dry that loomed.

The mountain people, though not negligent carers, they do do things like submerging him in different things to see what’s best for him, like in wood shavings, and brine..and ever, ever,  so softly, so slowly,, squashing him against solid things, just to see if he will merge with anything again.

p.s his toilet bag, was always full but always he was extracting everything from his foods...



This section concerns the investigations of a man, a scientist, I came across indirectly to begin with, and his controversial theories on the history of cats, and humans, all stemming from an ancient burial site, which was publicised and documented in the news.

He published some of his findings and gave talks sporadically.  I was fortunate enough to be exposed to both, and so I have begun to piece together from both sources, an account of these fascinating theories to help look at what is fact, what is fiction and what is in between.

This is the first entry I will make, as more will follow.

An Investigation into a secret history of cats and humans.

A burial site has been unearthed in Cyprus.  Inside were the remains of a man and a cat, and much more.

What follows are the first recordings of discoveries found and the first translations from the unusual writing sources in the dig site, which totally destroy preconceived ideas about the earliest writing sources.  

First estimates put the burial at 9500B.C, which immediately caused excitement as it predates the preexisting idea of cats as pets by the Egyptians, by around 5000 years.

The findings which we will investigate are written on what appear to be oversized giant whiskers, man made, undeniably luxurious to touch and still intact.
There are numerous writings about "Caticus".  The 'tiny one so soft he would dry the rain and wet the ground'.  There is talk of him scorching the air with claw, light and sound, and to reside in those spaces was to be still and afloat, both in and out.  Not wanting to be worshipped he disappeared.  But these scorched areas are alluded to as still remaining, and there are numerous repeating promises of guides and instructions to lead you there.

One of the things that has stuck with me, has the been the main inscription, guarding the rest.  

It reads "Cats were not born of whiskers and meows".

End of part 1.


A Language Beginning

The language began in a tiny mouth within a tiny cave, sat upon a giant thing, a thing that caves sat upon.

If you could prove that you could not 'do' the accent of another group, then you could prove you did not know their kinks and could freely adopt and adapt.

The lists of what was been used are scrappy.

No, No Lists,

No writing

They all put it to the trials, to see what people took up and would use.

In and out the breath went, using more and more to try out the latest fashion.

Where sound and voice were a finite gift/option

To move and generate worked to yield more, moving to speak, rolling the shoulders one after the other.

Like rubbin batteries to the electric ones.

Born with the gift?

A certain amount you made, then that was it for the day.

The ones who learnt through bloody silence, or bloody constant talking.  

The nature of it.

Wonderfully unexplainable.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for sharing such wonderous imaginings and realities