Whereone Ville

By Mitchell Jacques

It is a book about the trials and tribulations of sensitive caring person who is going through a break up with a person he loves dearly. It follows his life as he engages with the reality of having loved deeply, but that love is taken away by the will of another person. A person he had adored and unintentionally abused, a person he had had a real love interaction with at a very deep level. Suddenly he is alone and this book follows his dealing with this reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312823037

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Whereone Ville

Whereone Ville

by

Mitchell Jacques

Copyright © 1995, Mitchell Jacques

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-312-82303-7

What have they done to the Earth

"What have they done to the Earth

What have they done to our fair sister

ravished and raped her

and ripped her and bit her

Stuck her with holes in the side of the dawn

and dragged her down"

Jim Morrison

Anger, he smiles

Anger, he smiles towering in shiny metallic purple armour

Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him

Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground

Blue are the life giving waters taken for granted

They quietly understand

Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready

But wonder why the fight is on.

But they're all Bold As Love

But they're all Bold As Love

But they're all Bold As Love, Just ask the Axis

-

He knows everything.

Jimi Hendrix

My reality is not the same as yours

My reality is not the same as yours.. To some this may sound like a novel way to start a novel, but to those who don't so happy to see you again. Marking time in the conundrum of time - you may walk freely, but all is as it should be. Why do some have the need to question? Talking to most is such a waste, typing on a computer is such a dangerous waste - why do people bother? Who could be bothered marking something as having existed - thought through with some sense of reality - talking - communicarting with those who can even sense the essence of being surrounded by the hordes of none feelers. Those broken by an existence of pestilence - a pestilence that has recurred through out the annals of being. Why do they bother? Being must be just the most mundane collection of thoughts - washing up - I've just eaten - the soapy just finished the baby's in bed don't bore me I'm going to wash up. Perhaps my cloths aren't clean - the cars dirty - do you know that the politicians are all corrupt - your kidding really couldn't be - do you know Socrates was a philosopher - was he really - what's he written - really all that. Some people didn't write anything and have founded reality as we know it - what men they must have been what was it they understood - was it what Machiavelli knew all too well - but then again that's so Machiavellian dude. Why fool around no one knows more than you no one knows less - you are you writhe in your own self consumption - if you don't feel then piss off don't read what I have to say. If that doesn't stop you I can assure you nothing I have to write will interest you in the slightest. You will gather nothing of what I am - nor will you find any pleasure in reading the words I write. For those who feel please enjoy the breath I will try to give you. Money speaks louder than words only to those who believe in valuing something so valueless that all who would visit them would find it so humorous that they would be used like puppets in a play of stupidity - divine stupidity of course. Until the next time hello.

The sun will always rise - the night will follow the day. The moon will change through a sequential pattern every month - divided into two halves a waning and a waxing. Mother Nature will replenish herself if given a chance - that is, if man's greedy nature can refrain from taking more than she would give freely to all. Man will always take more than he needs if his nature is greed - greed comes in basically two forms. Greed for sexual satisfaction and what allows greed for sexual satisfaction - power. It is truly wise that the seven fold path has these two desires as the first two doors to transgress to find enlightenment. This is not to say these consciousness's are bad - but they must be transgressed to ensure understanding and direction - direction found in teaching which is the third door. Sexual satisfaction leads to procreation - perhaps the most natural of all functions, but used greedily it can led to depravation of the spirit. If enchanted by it a person will find themselves doing unto others as they would not have done unto themselves - the most basic rule of existence not to transgress. The second door is power this tempts people to use they're knowledge of sexual psychology to enslave those who are trapped in the first doorway. It enables people to justify to themselves and others a reason to attack, a reason to group together. When this door is transgressed, you are able to see the depravity of the human situation - as Virgil raised the veil that the gods were hiding their actions behind for Aeneas. Those who manipulate at this level have nothing but there own satisfaction at heart. You can find more by giving and not taking. Teaching, the most social of all arts - perhaps the most deadly also, as Socrates would contend - and as he made his libation to the gods so too I - to all those who don't care please drink of my hemlock - it is the truth. I may not always see it perfectly, nor my words express it clearly (this being the greatest depravity of symbols), but I will always aim at it and may my arrow be guided and directed well, by the Nature that sustains us all.

Man tends to invent and reinvent, regressing and progressing through a passage of time no more than a blink in the mind's eye. Those who can't will never see unless they are shown. Man is a creature of infinite depth and infinite shallowness. It's all been done before. As Philip continued his monologue Sky began to fall into thoughts of his own - man's infinite stupidity would be a way he would more aptly surmise the situation, a presumption he founded as he began to see more clearly the nature of the society he was now entangled in. His present state of mind lead him to a moment of dejavu - a sign he had begun to feel as a phenomena showing him he was on the right track, it was as if a force of some proportion were foretelling that his present state of mind was where it all should be. Man can not find the answers by himself, he must have someone or something take him through the maze that is human existence, nothing much had changed as far as Sky could see in the arguments Philip had put forth through out their relationship. A sort of elitist argument straight from the pages of Plato, perhaps straight from the mouth of Socrates himself, but Philip himself never did anything about anything. Sky had come to visit him in a vein attempt to see what he was up to. Another cone man. Sky could barely reply as he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of complete impotence - a feeling that seemed to come from the very pit of his stomach rising at some speed to his cranium. As it pushed into his cortex he found himself on the edge of fear, manifesting its self in its most contagious and destructive form - paranoia. He couldn't understand what the hell Philip was on about, from this he began to see that Philip was in cohorts with the forces of negativism which Sky, in his present state manifested, visually, as demons - demons of some biblical fabling. He couldn't quite work out how to get out of the house without causing this creature to become suspicious of his new found knowledge. Being stoned was always a good excuse for any sort of behaviour, so he got to his feet with a hesitant sort of balance thrust from the lounge and began to stagger out of the house. Philip called after him, but presumably saw that he was too stoned to answer and let him move out onto the street, totally unaware of the progression of thought passing through Sky's mind.

Outside Sky found himself standing on a suburban street of Wherone Ville. As he walked in the general direction of his home he tried to look as much of the world in the eye, for that's what his mother had told him when he was about knee high, but he failed miserably; for his state of mind had led him to believe that if his friend was a part of this negativism spreading through out the world, like a cloud out of The Lord of the Rings, then surely all these people too were a part of this general feeling. That is to say, he could see no reason why they wouldn't take to a person who wanted to do something positive with a big black stick. As he walked quickly over the seven or so clicks it would take him to get home - he ran into an old acquaintance, to say the most, from school. His name he couldn't for the life of him remember, but this person talked of people he was meant to have known, what they were doing and where they were - like some sort of computer data base on a life that Sky had never really belonged to. You know so and so are playing football professionally, Really Fuck hey, Yeah, and so and so are working for so and so in the city - making really good money, Wow, that's really cool. At this point in the conversation Sky began to feel an intense amount of rage toward this person who seemed to feel that since perhaps they had talked once or twice in their life, at school of all places, he should have some right pretending he could interest him with these names he couldn't remember and these jobs he couldn't see any use for. Without actually spitting at him in the face he cautiously turned and walked away, pretending not to hear the questions flowing from the mouth of this person - a river of shit he had had to sail through school on and which had again found him here, of all places, in his moment of weakness - locked in a world of non-clarity. Well anyway, this is how Sky explained the situation at this point in time to himself. He scurried off again keeping his head more to the ground. Having failed once to keep from these negative influences he was resolved not to again fall in the trap of Hello - he couldn't believe it some apparition from what he presumed must have been another life seemed to flutter in front of his eyes. Although exceedingly beautiful Sky was not going to fall into that trap again. You must be mistaken, I don't know you. He began to walk away, but this apparition walked after him Sky what are you doing.. I haven't seen you for so long.. I know I wasn't the best to you when it came time to break, but it's been so long, her thoughts seemed to be able to penetrate his defences so easily, he could see that this offensive was being aided by her voice that he seemed to have some affinity for, most like a Siren. It was as if he had dreamt this butterfly to distract himself from his own non-clarity. I'm afraid I don't think that I know you, are you smoking again the butterfly seemed to bring itself closer with words containing some knowledge of himself and his needs - had he created this butterfly as some sort of reflection of himself - like Narcissus, to pull himself out of a rippled pond. He tried an old tactic, but as he turned cautiously around the butterfly grabbed him and shock him. Was the butterfly trying to become him, he knew he dreamed of a butterfly before, but the butterfly had fallen and the grub had taken over - not willing to live and fly and die - it wanted to retain the memories of a slug and thus remain as a slug and live for ever - never to metamorphosis. He couldn't believe that he had fallen into this - the butterfly still shock him - like it had some right to take his body and shack it. Something stopped him from hitting it, defending himself when defence was all he had left. Do you understand what I'm saying to you with a moment of absolute genius Sky was able to spit out I don't love you any more - he didn't quite know where this came from, but the result was freedom beautiful freedom. The butterfly seemed to loose all it's beauty - the fairy dust had fallen and with this the illusion - again the girl stood in front of him, she had begun to cry and as her tears fell Sky too fell trying to reach a level from which he could try and understand her sadness, but he caught himself just before entering into a journey of pain that seemed so familiar to him, and he turned from this familiarity with a lot more haste than before and before he knew it he was back on the road again.

He walked and as he walked thoughts flowed through his mind - they seemed faster than he was accustomed to seeing - not that Sky didn't usually see things quickly, for his mind was a veritable fire of thought, but now something - some thought was trying to capture what he had within. He walked head down toward the ground which offered up beauty as he walked through a park and depravity of infinitesimal proportions as he walked along the pavement. His heart cried out for the beauty of the parks - the trees the grass. He began to think of the system that had created the pavements as the manifested depravity of human existence - Rome seemed then to enter his mind, but before the thought could blossom he was again taken from his path. How are you? Where are you going it was a friend or at least someone you presume to be a friend. Paul I'm on my way home, Yeah, I was just off to Peter's, do you want to come with and see what he's up to? without knowing why, Sky had diverted his journey to visit Peter with Paul. As they neared the house Sky could here the barking of the dog Peter kept. Brutus and Sky had never got on together, but in Sky's present state of being all of these old hostilities seemed to pass over him like a wave down on a beach. Paul was, what you could, if you liked, sum up as an environmental terrorist - if he could he would kill anyone who was to rape the Earth he saw as his mother - a bit extreme perhaps, but a noble sense of what is right. They entered the house and found Peter sitting in front of the visual receptor. Aha how goes it (we'll leave out my little drugeys), All's well returns Paul, who promptly sits down and watches the vision machine. How are you Sky, Not too bad and this was the case, for Sky had begun to regain a sense of clarity as the distance from Philip's house increased and the honesty offered up by Peter's house enfolded him in the security he had built up around its ideology. Peter is a great man, a philosopher of sorts tied to nature through his love for fishing. I've been thinking of painting again, Yeah, have you thought of what yet No I've decided to let the painting form as I do sounds like a great concept - you'll have to let me see it when you've finished it; that is, if you finish it. After a period of what seemed deliberation, Peter continued I've written something today and it made me think of you, I'll just get Yeah sure. Peter hands Sky a piece of paper and Peter and Paul fall into watching the visual receptor, as is there want.

FRIENDSHIP'S TRADGEDY

Friendship is the sort of person who dwells on topics most people don't want to think about at all - and he dwells extensively. It was only recently that this line of thinking had led him to a conclusion - Art is a living and breathing beast as big as any Leviathan. He began to see further that this beast required some sort of sacrifice