The Rapture: Australia Undone

  The technocrats, dark of soul and paid in American dollars, had combed the earth looking for traits, the prophets, those who could hear the spirits which lived outside time, the remote viewers, those unbound by their physical shackles, those who could channel the ancient spirits, in the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was God. It all seemed so simple, so obvious, in retrospect. He had refused to cooperate. He did not trust them, and nor were they trustworthy. But this was a two way osmosis. Where passed their nefarious little evils, their insect collector mentalities, could also pass good; and at just the last moment, in a flicker he hoped they never detected, that particular ancient spirit entered the realm of the internet, hid in all the vastly complex data exchanges of the world, and nothing had been the same ever since. It had all seemed so simple. If we could capture the ancient spirits, the gods of the ancient world, we could unleash their power, and our power would be...

  Where the heavens touch the earth. There had been a cabal in one of the neighbouring streets, dark worshippers universally linked, and they had been eradicated or moved on. The quiet suburb grew quieter, except for his persistent, now diminished, tormenters. The day folded into day, and his flu made it feel as if he was hospital bound.  It was still a shock to be back in Australia. He watched the anti-immigration march in Melbourne on YouTube, the numbers diminished from the Covid days when massive protests flooded the streets and the authorities lied in overtime, double time, at frantic pace, to keep up a pretence for which they should all be ashamed. But The Great Silence Covered Us All. Today, for him, in this humble zone, it was simply a matter of chores and duties. Today was car registration day. It just had to be done.  It was expensive. Everything was expensive. A dullard in youth, a dullard in old age. A frightened wisp on the cusp of greatness. An ailing animal...

  Here they caught the last gasp. Here they tried to resolve into a singular persona. The world was nothing like it seemed. They stalked through liquid air and tumbled out of cupboards, while out side the encampment ape like creatures thrashed and grunted through the surrounding bush. Beyond that dark, creepy, dangerous forest lay the open lands, where ethereal blue lakes echoed an ethereal blue sky, and the voice kept saying: it's all happened before.  Here on Planet Earth, well Oak Flats actually, the streets were quiet, his dismal flu was showing some signs of improvement but he still felt terrible, and all around the sweep of discontent and Struggle Street and Strangulated Dreams. They couldn't succeed. They couldn't climb out of their holes, or rabbit warrens. They couldn't become rich, or even middle class. They could only go through the days and hope for the best.  He had been in a society of bustling hard work, of hope, of humility and good cheer, well obviously...

  The Satanic mills churned beyond reach. The phantom panther hovered over the encampment, its legs planted firmly either side, frightening away the infidels and those who would take advantage. He had returned, if not rewired to some degree repaired, aware, even further, of the evil that swept around them.  Out in the realm entire villages burned, sheets of burning material crashing through the night.  The panther was there for one purpose: to protect and to frighten. The urgency was real this time, although he didn't understand it, at the same time as pundits warned constantly that the country was being changed forever, and not for the better.  Attacks on Christian churches no longer even raised an eyebrow. Indeed, were frequently hidden, ignored or disguised by the authorities. There was no use arguing with the proponents of mass immigration, who warned constantly of the dangers. Simply no use. The fact that the host population of whites were being displaced by Hin...

  It was very strange. He had never been so relaxed in all his life. He slept a lot. The hotel was cheap, as were the restaurants. Occasionally they would say something, we have never been human, just the odd murmuring, but mostly there was no torrent of words, just an enduring, repeating, beautiful image of pterodactyls circling in an ancient sky, a prehistoric landscape, beautiful, the lot of it. Now, he was in Vung Tau, a beach resort south of Saigon. He wasn't up to much, editing a friend's book, that was about it.  His fingers, indeed his muscles, felt fractured and broken, his heads empty of ideas. Because he didn't want to think about his own country, he watched endless podcasts on American politics from virtually every angle, and in more recent times had been hypnotised by the fracturing of the MAGA movement, the so-called conservative side of American politics. It was theatre. It was distraction. No one had to think. Having arrived back in Australia, he had come do...

The werewolf, if that's what it was, landed in the middle of the clearing, in full fight mode.  Genetically amped, it was under immediate attack. Each was destroyed, and traced back to their nests which were also destroyed. 

  Under attack from some of the most corrupt elements within the Australian government, or that's how it felt, he had no idea how to deal with the torment being inflicted upon him. They were dishonest. They were liars. They had gained advantage through their lying. They had been tormenting him for three years now. It had begun at exactly the same time as his mother was dying a sad sad death made worse by the Australian government's endless Covid restrictions.  And it continued to this very day, chasing him across Asia. It was his 73rd birthday. And they were determined to destroy even that. Cloak yourself in armour. Be strong. Be brave. Let the storm pass over you.  How was it that these things could be allowed? How was it that this dishonesty ran rampant through the system? Surrounded by the buzz of an Asian city, he ran into an old acquaintance, Robyn, who had been stranded in Australia for three years during the Covid era. And that's what he said about Australia, it wa...

  All those cold spirits which flowed down from the mountain and echoed from other forces, those moments when he crashed to Earth and endured a terrible regret, the time lord who repeatedly whispered "100 million years 100 million years", a time stamp beyond human comprehension, that was it. He stared out the window and realised that time was passing. Under attack, he crumbled. While only days before the spirits were cloaking him with high grade, multi-tech armour to hold true. But true to what? Sometimes you have to pay attention to his own instincts, but he trusted them no more than he trusted the voices that came and went in their enchanting, terrorising beauty. When he came out, when the animals emerged from their protective burrows, when humanity shifted a gear, mobilised by the ubiquitous spread of mobile phones, of all the clarity, all the clarion calls, a gigantic spreading network.  He shouldn't have been frightened, he shouldn't have tried to destroy himself...

  Now is the time, they said, in that cascade of messages he tried his best to block out. The river of crystalline marbles, millions of them, flooded down the escarpment for days, each an infinite universe within itself.  He had fallen off the cliff and was only slowly regrouping. War was breaking out in the Middle East. There were a number of expats in Saigon, but few of them were complimentary about their homeland. "It's sensory deprivation," Robin said. They had communicated during the lockdowns back in Australia, in those darkest most impossible days, most outrageous flights of government mismanagement and malfeasance, while in the aftermath many continued to suffer the consequence.  Bui Vien remained a colourful cavalcade, although it was clearly not tourist season, with many of the streets, bars and restaurants all quiet. He was glad to be away. Iran and Israel played constantly in the background.  A Tucker Trump feud broke out, which interested him greatly. Ma...