Short Story: The Space Hermit and the Chicken


The Space Hermit decided to move to The Moon.

“It’s too noisy here on Planet Earth. I want to go somewhere where I can experience true silence and peace. Then I’ll reach transcendence!”

He built a shuttle for himself, and, after undergoing a cheap, ascetic-affordable crash-course in space flight, he finally made it to The Moon.

He liked it on The Moon. The barren craters, the lunar mountains, the never-ending branches of inter-planetary caverns – The Space Hermit found them remarkable, and would spend many hours every day meandering through them; the rest of his time dedicated to deep meditation, hypnotized by the song of the stars.

One day, whilst in deep meditation in one of the underground moon caverns, The Space Hermit was interrupted by an eerie sound that sounded like a horror movie theremin. When he opened his eyes, he saw a haunting Moon Chicken in front of him. Its feathers were the same color as the pallid, lunar landscape, and its eyes radiated a strange darkness that actually seemed to glow.

This was quite a shock to The Space Hermit. He had thought he was the only life form on The Moon. But when he looked down at his body, he noticed that his skin was teeming with all sorts of bizarre space insects and microbes.

He tolerated the chicken at first. It would follow him around, clucking in a cell-phone bleeps, and cock-a-doodle-dooing every time it saw the Earth rising or setting. Generally, it was quiet enough. But as soon as The Space Hermit sat down to start meditating, the Moon Chicken would cuddle up to him, and would resume singing its eerie, theremin song.

To make matters worse, The Space Hermit noticed in his out-of-body travels, that, far from being bereft of life, The Moon was swarming with Gods, Goddesses, Spirits, Demons, Ghosts, and Inter-Dimensional beingsĀ – how could The Space Hermit ever hope to achieve transcendence with such nonsense and silliness going on?!

Thus, brushing the Moon Chicken aside, the Space Hermit returned to his shuttle, and departed from The Moon. He could hear the Chicken calling out for him sadly, as he disappeared into deep space. But he flew on, anyway. Flying on and on and on and on, until he reached the limits of the solar system, and alighted on the Planet Pluto.

“Surely there can’t be any busy-body life-forms hanging about on this out-of-the-way backwater. I’m sure to attain transcendence here!”

But the same thing happened again! No sooner had the hermit sat down to meditate, than he was surrounded by creatures great and small, both organic and non-organic, both material and spiritual. Pluto pounded with noise like a non-stop rave, and it wasn’t long before he was back in his space ship, and careening through the darkness of space once again.

The hermit felt like he was going mad. How he could he ever hope to attain transcendence with so much noise and dust everywhere he went?!

In his despair, The Space Hermit sought refuge in a black hole he saw expanding before him.

“If I don’t find true peace and silence here, I won’t find it anywhere!”

After experiencing some pretty extreme, multi-dimensional jet-lag, The Space Hermit found himself in the center of the black hole, which was empty and void, barring a room that was suspended in the midst of it. It was mostly bland and empty,like an unfurnished, and abandoned office suite, except for a motivational cat poster reading ‘HANG IN THERE!’ which had mostly been shredded to pieces. This would do the hermit very nicely. And so, sighing, he sat down to meditate for what he hoped would be the last time.

For a short while, he felt at peace. But then, in the silence, he noticed a thundering, repetitious, throbbing, that was very distracting, and starting to get on his nerves.

“It’s my sodding heart” he realized.

So, he took a knife, plunged it past his sternum, and ripped it out of his chest.

“There! Now peace will be mine for sure!”

He closed his eyes, expecting to find himself back in the void, but instead found himself at a Tribunal of Buddhas, presided over by Yama, King of the Dead.

“Why did you kill yourself?” Yama boomed. “Don’t you know it’s a sinful act to commit suicide?”

“I didn’t mean to commit suicide,” said the hermit. “I just wanted to find peace. My heart was distracting me, so I cut it out.”

“Foolish man!” shouted Amitabha, The Buddha of Boundless Light. “Don’t you know the point of silence is to leave room for music; and the point of emptiness is to nurture life? Meditation is meant to unify you with life – not cut you off from it! Now go back to the others – and don’t come back until you’ve learned to play nicely!”

With that declaration, Yama cast the hermit back into the realm of mortals, and into the cycle of life.

Reborn, The Space Hermit found himself in a cramped, white universe, with an oval sky. He realized he was in an egg. So, he utilized his newly-grown beak, and started to peck himself out.

The first thing he saw, after hatching, and breaking himself out of the shell, was the Moon Chicken he had left behind.

He ran to her and cried.

It was most the beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Dream Diary: Reuben and The Deformed Man


I am in an American TV show funded by a friend of mine, though, for the duration that I am in it, it is also reality. I visit a hospital/restaurant/motel. Meandering through the warren of hospital beds, I pass a patient who recognizes me from another dream. He is hideously deformed, with gangrenous flesh, his body a mass of bed sores and abscesses. He has an ugly, cyclopian third eye in the middle of his forehead, mostly occluded by a green eyelid.

He calls out to me piteously.I am reluctant, but I go and hold his hand, moved by compassion. My partners – (I am in the police force or part of an investigative team?) – call me to leave. I promise the deformed man I will return to visit him at a later date. The revelation of my departure causes him immense distress, as if his consciousness weren’t already typified by enough searing pain.

In the kitchen, stoves are burning everywhere, and there are Chinese gods graffitied crudely onto the steel surfaces. I start dancing with a very cute Chinese girl, play-fighting, and doing ridiculously fey imitations of martial arts moves. Some one points out that she has a wedding ring. When she sees that I am disturbed by this, she begins to cry. But I assure her I am happy just to be her friend, and we share a sweet, prolonged embrace.

Later on, I visit a rock-climbing center situated on the edge of a jungle ravine. It is very perilous, and I film an intricate movie on its precipice, which I later review with the rest of the crew.

Poem for Marion II

Purple leaf

As a leaf that has fallen
From the Tree of Life
You have withered to
A magnificent tyrian
To add splendor
To your eternal roots
There is a chamber in my heart
Where you used to reside
You demented old hag
Don’t you know that I’m your husband?
So put down your cardiac arrest
And your absurd notions of mortality
And come into my arms forever more

Poem For Marion


Mourning under The Oak Tree
I nuzzle into its bark
And avail myself
Of its warty comfort
Surrounded by seeds
And the rays of the sun
Yet all I can think of
Is your passing away – your transmigration
What I loved of you
Has not been erased
Now you’ve been transformed
Granted a new face
May the Buddha’s lift you up
To the highest heaven
Whilst I ruffle your white hair
One last time
And kiss you into infinity.

Poem: Bells Through the Fire


Bells through the fire
Make the madmen perspire
Elephants grow goatees
As I hand out wicker baskets

To smother

My own alien offspring
We’re on the hunt
To kill them
Before they kill us
Seminal tadpoles
And deformed, humanoid
Crawl through the wastes
That grows beside the train tracks
Stick a tooth in the coffin
And my teeth will chatter
Until the snow chokes the aisles.

Short Story: Reuben and the Octopus


After being shipwrecked, I woke up with an octopus wrapped around my chest. I started into her molten, goat-like eyes. Her gelatinous body was the color of the rust and red tree fungi.

I asked her what she wanted with me. But the octopus just throbbed and buzzed, emitting a devil drone that both terrified and pacified me with its malefic magnetism.

I lay on the beach like that for a while. The waves playfully molested the sands, and my feet began to freeze as the tide rolled in.

By the time it was midnight, I was violently cold, and my body was convulsing in a futile attempt to rescue itself from hypothermia.

But the octopus remained unmoving, her golden, glowing eyes lamp-lighting my face, so that I could never forget who was allowing this to happen to me.

After I had died, my wife lifted up her veil with her tentacles, and kissed me with her suction cups in the moonlight.

“Why did you have to kill me?” I asked

“I always hate it when you don’t come home,” she said.

We spent the rest of the cosmos frolicking in flames.

Poem: The Winter Mushroom


Love may be infinite
But it’s expression can be as perishable
As a Winter Mushroom
Not every spore produces a toadstool
Any more than every longing bears fruit
From imagination
To germination
The heart looks for fertile soil
In which to ground itself.