She Came From the Wood

She came from the wood.

She came from the wood man I swear to you; I'd been smoking the sacrament in praise of Almighty Jah and listening to my brothers in Bad Brains.

I was just seeking my muse - I get fed up with the pretentious writing on those e-zines but they like my chocolate skin: guilty of feeling guilty about slavery.

They wanted me to write in patois but I said "Doan you know patois jus Inglish bredda?"

But they still insist on me reaching deep into Africa; like I'm Marcus Garvey. Bloodclart.

I guess I shouldn't moan because I get to break dem rule that you honkies don't get to break, except everyday I'm limited by your prejudices. I just want you to know that - then you might believe this truth that I am about to write.

Hollywood started the wars because it needs all the oil for its movies: forget about car consumption of gasoline; that's not too high. You know that supermarkets (all stores) keep their heating so high that you can go in, buy, and get out quick.

We all know about wireless listening devices that use laser to hear us from up to one mile away: if you don't believe me, go to the spy museum in DC. Watch out for the politicians.

These truths she told me when she peeled out of the wooden laminate on my walls. It was freaky; at first I thought it was weed psychosis - you know what I'm saying? Probably not? Most people stop after one and go to sleep. Whitey. I smoke for my King Jah Rastafari. It's not something to mock.
So I was smoking and dancing to I against I and she came from the wall, and sat down next to me.

I asked her: "Can you do magic?"

And she said: "What did you just see?"

I wanted to say what I thought I had seen, but it sounded so ridiculous. So I said nothing. I just turned off the music, put on the television, and opened the windows.

Whilst I was doing this she just smiled. I'd be blown if I knew what to do. Just pretend that she wasn't there. But she just found it amusing. "Why don't you believe in me? I won't just go away."

"Why did you come?"

"Because your subconscious dreamed of me?"

Did it?

Crazy man. So I decided to take a walk; everywhere I went she followed me. In all reality I did not mind as I was getting bored of fitting into a stereotype, and she liked Bad Brains. She was confused that I would not drink wine but she came to Kennington with me; we walked to Coldharbour Lane while I explained a few things to her - then we went to get some food. She wanted wine but she started losing her clothes: it would have been ok if she hadn't had blue skin. A wag shouted across the road; something about a weirdo. I told her not to worry. She asked me what worry was.

Then she started to become a real liability: her touch was death. And she killed two police officers. They pulled up in a panda mobile and asked her to put her clothes back on - all the time they were staring at her svelte shape. She hypnotised them and they aged before me and then shattered into one thousand tiny pieces. I learned that the eyes were always the first to go, popping like paper bags. Ah well this is Babylon after all.

Did I feel inspired to write more? No, I felt inspired to live my books first but these bloodclart editors don't understand that.

"What is your name blue lady?" I asked respectfully.

"Velouria." She replied.

"Like the song, by the Pixies?" I questioned.

She was dismissive: "Don't you know that pixies don't exist?"

We continued to walk down the long road into the heart of the city; she was still naked and blue but people seemed to have stopped staring. She informed me that she was invisible. When I asked her what we were to do she just smiled and replied that it was my heart's desire.

I was mystified by this but she saw through my frown and conjured up the music that only I hear. The sound of the island that my grandparents once called home before they were herded into Clapham on the bullshit promise of a better life. How did she see what I wanted? When I raised that she just said: "I have been in the wood for a long time and I like your sense of fun."

So there we were: firstly she sent the eye rolling down the river, and whilst the rat slaves screamed she fired balls of fire across the river towards the houses of irresponsible government.

She had to dig deep for the fire and was soon exhausted; I had to help her. She fell to the ground as the pandemonium continued.

"What can I do for you?"

"Your beads. I need strength." She whispered so faintly.

Eventually I realised that she needed to return to the wood to recuperate, and I scratched through the laminate so that she could find a temporary home in my necklace. One puff of smoke and she was gone.

How was I going to explain this to the filth?

I was put in maximum security in Broadmoor with those who see the light and are proudly proclaimed mad by the Babylonians. They took my beads away and I wondered if she would ever find me again. But I had no reason to doubt the elemental. She came to me the next Spring. I was under heavy medication and left to rot in isolation: for many months they had said that I was going to be prosecuted for treason. Even the liberals had turned conservative when they thought of me. Praise Jah for human rights - thank you for your new testament.

Madman Escapes!

Citizens urged to be wary.

The nation has been urged to be on full alert today after the terrorist dubbed "Most dangerous man in the world" escaped from maximum security prison Broadmoor last night. Chris Martell, who also uses the name erase, staged a remarkable escape that left guards baffled. Prison spokesman Jon Boring urged the public to "be on your guard." The prisoner, described as "extremely dangerous" was roaming the streets of Britain in order to continue his terrorist campaign against the civilised government of the western world. When pressed on how this lunatic escaped Mr. Boring made no comment. However citizens have been urged to avoid any contact with this thug.

Prime Minister Deville made a statement urging the public to remain vigilant and to call the police if they spot anything suspicious. Martell is approximately 6 feet tall and of slim build. He has a shaved head and wears a moustache, although he may have shaved this off. The Toilet's reporters spoke to the great British public to gain their opinions on this madman.

Ron Racist from Sarf London said: "Nuttahs like that ought to be shot, and then shot again."

Doris Dumb from Kent said: "Who? Oh yeah. Scum like 'im ought to be strung up by their short and curlies."

Mr. Deville what are you going to do abaht it???

*

What chance did I have? How could I explain? I must admit that I was beginning to lose my faith at this point.

Velouria found it all amusing, and laughed at the idiosyncratic hypocrisy of the nation. I didn't find it amusing especially as I was freezing in the middle of Dartmoor. And then she kissed me - for a short while I forgot my worries. When I awoke I was ashamed of my nakedness but she smiled and introduced me to her friends.

Blue, purple, crimson, orange, browns and greens: colours that I have never seen. All shapes, sizes and textures: some seemed solid, some were little more than vapour. The battle for Babylon had only just begun. I was about to realise that freedom and ideals could be reality. Everything I had believed to be irrevocably true was to be exposed as a lie. The other side of the paradox was to be seen for once.

I mouthed: "But why?"

There were many smiles that day: I had to give praise. The gods were back and the people were sorry for their sins. It came like a stranger in the night. There was no big bang; no armageddon; the chaos was organised - just imagine if terror morphed back into the gentle beating of a butterfly's wings.

Ideal.

- written by Duncan