{ ... }

۞

  “Fascinating story, Shabbetai Tzvi.  He took Qabalah too literally,” said Psi-Qolog.  

  The king conspirator and the false messiah stood before the Beyt Din.  

  “What are your motivations for wanting to join the tribes of Israel?” askèd Kaiaphas.  

  “My Midrashiy?” replièd Psi-Qolog, “bears implications for the future of the Jewish people.”  

  “What kind of teaching is it?” said Mister Cohen.  

  Mister Cohen, Gid, was all over the shop because of the medication he was self-administering.  Continuing, self-administering.  

  “A King is no kind of thing,” said Psi-Qolog.  “Gentlemen, we know that Malach is present wherever we invoke it.”  

  “Nu, how very now that we know who malachah is and that she is present wherever we invoke her,” replièd Gid.  

  There was a pause for a second whilst Psi-Qolog clearèd his throat.  He continuèd.  

  “The work of my predecessor, Immanuel Velikovsky, clearly shows that the people Israel belong together, the north and the south to be united, and rule a nation-state as successfully as Ha'Mashiac Daviyd.  Keeping two houses united as the kingdom.  This fair Isle, old Albion, represents the United Kingdom.  There's a reason why the British Army sing Jerusalem as their marching anthem.  They know what they're leaving behind.  William Blake, too, the great poet and visionary mystic, affirms to us through his words that this is the Israel where Ma'shiach resides.”  

  ° ° ° Nu? ° ° ° they wonderèd.  

  {collectively}  

  “Nu?  How now,” wonderèd Kaiaphas.  

  {his head coverèd}  

  “The Final Solution to the Jewish Question is a fundamental numerological Christian problem.  Absolutely all of them,” said Psi-Qolog.  “The United States of America represent a Danian tribal consecration supporting the tribes of Benjamin and Yehoudah.  I don't need to humour you gentlemen about the lobby for the reconstruction of the Third Temple, do I?”  

  “We're a Reform congregation.  We don't believe in it,” said Mister Cohen.  

  {uncovering his head}  

  “Our understanding of a Hebrew transmission accords to all classes of tribe definition,” replièd Psi-Qolog.  “History has misled us.  History has scattered us.  Persecution has displaced us but most of all the diaspora has gathered us in strategic locations around the world.  The red, the white, the blue, between me and you, nu nu, stand for the lost tribes' Two House theology.  Surely, it is the conclusion of an entire history.  The beginning of an end.  B'reyshiyt ha'sof hayah m'dabeyr.  In a manner of speaking.  We have to invest in this idea.  We have to rewrite the history of the Israelites.”  

  Kaiaphas seemed to agree.  Kaiaphas thought about Shabbetai Tzvi.  

  “Fascinating story, Shabbetai Tzvi.  He took it upon himself personally,” he said.  

  “Fascinating story, Shabbetai Tzvi,” replièd Psi-Qolog.  “He went on Hajj for the dowry.”  

  The small Quorum burst into laughter.  

  ° ° ° But we do agree, he was the messiah ° ° ° again they did wonder.  

  The small messianic meeting ended, without any hysteria.  

۝

{ ... }

۞

  This is Maximillian.  Maximillian has authorization.  Authorization to press the button.  It looks more bloody red than Kaiaphas's bloody red phone.  This is Maximillian.  Thanks-a-one.  

  Maximillian addresses no one.  

  “Ezekiel 3:18 … If I say to the wicked, You shall surely die, and you give him no warning, nor speak to warn the wicked from his wicked way, in order to save his life, that wicked person shall die for his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand.”  

  Maximillian condemns all and justifies it with scripture.  

  “Matthew 10:21 … and brother shall rise against brother.”  

  °We're about to nuke the entire continent of Africa° Maximillian does ponder.  

  {looking at the red button}  

  °Fire regenerates the earth° muses Maximillian, then recites …  

  “2 Peter 3:10 … And all the elements shall burn with fervent heat … ”  

  °3 … 2 … 1 … °  

  {red button}  

  ° … °  

  ° … °  

  ° … °  

  Maximillian appearèd as a spectacle, adjusting his precision glasses.  Rayban on-the-side.  

  “People of America.  Brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, to all of our sons and daughters…

  {a steady breath}  

  {pipe below camera}  

  “We are shocked and appalled at the lowest reaches our enemies with nuclear capabilities, the Axis powers standing in arms against us, Korea, Iran, we condemn you … ”  

  {indemnity}  

  {off-camera after}  

  “Well at least the civil war's over,” said Maximillian to his right-hand man, left-hand path walker, Mister Magog.  

  “Gog and Magog, no more,” said the pious jew.  

  “At least we're free,” replièd Maximillian.  

  Iran and North Korea were already and immanently at the stage of the sixteenth day of military mobilization, making inroads towards the strategic locations that The US were occupying.  

  The President and Magog were languishing in the propaganda of the deed.  

۝

{ ... }

۞

  Kovax was a fundamental Roman Catholic, but Kovax hatèd red wine.  So, when Kovax went up to the Magister at the front of the church service, where the sanctuary light glowèd constantly, Kovax would cross his arms across his chest and ask for the blessing and not the blood.  

  °God forbid I should see any blood-shed on my rounds° thought Kovax.  

  “May Eous be with thee,” said the Magister to Kovax.  

  Mass was gnostic.  Undoubtèdly.  

  “And also with thee,” replièd Kovax.  

  “Eous is risen,” promptèd the Magister.  

  “Eous is risen,” Kovax replièd.  

  {the star rises at 5AM}  

  Kovax rose at about 5AM.  A clock rang three times …  

  {ding}  

  {ding}  

  {ding}  

  A cock crowèd three times, which always woke Kovax from Kovax's vodka inducèd sleep.  Kovax took to his Chelovyek notebook to write a Haiku …  

IT READ:  

обезглавлен

предан и убит

пропоет петух  

  Kovax always drank himself to sleep.  Kovax put his strap-on on with a hangover.  If Kovax could get airport clearance, Kovax would prolly police the world.  Kovax lovèd his undercover.  Kovax lovèd his lover Georgia under-the-covers.  Under the cover of night Kovax would walk the beat territory; looking for a fight.  

  Under the cover of night.  All is harm.  All is fright.  

  Kovax wantèd to take it further, °Of course, I'm not a virgin, but I'd love to be someone like The Pope.  Vicarious Filii Dei.  Free-to-roam.  I'd take my strap-on into Gaza, as if the robe was a fake ID° thinks the thinker.  Just another dangerous idea.  

۝

{ ... }

 

۞

  {QC thinks about democracy}

  °I'm QC.  I'll run for everybody, except Ahmadinejad's son.  Cairo Sharia Law belongs in Egypt.  We're not 'avin any of it over 'ere, thank you very much.  I'm not a Tourist.  I'm a lover and a fighter.  A real blighter.  Aphrodite over Blighty, as we say.  I'm all over Albion.  It may as well be Jerusalem for all I care.  Actually, though, we do think about foreign policy in the EDL.  Take Johannesburg, for example.  The niggers can have the bananas.  Anyway, the foreigners.  Anyone who doesn't fall into line with us°  

  { … }  

  °The law of return is ten per cent.  We know all about Mahal and our brothers-and-sisters in Israel.  But we're Ephraim and we're splendidly isolated°  

  “Commerce with all, alliance with none,” said one.  

۝

{ ... }

 

۞

  The truth is brought forth with laughter.  If only we could just banish the sound of it, sometimes.  

  Psi-Qolog was very good at peturbing his unusual sense of humour, cracking up at the best of times.  Peturbations in situations at the worst of times.

  “If you've not got a problem I can't charge you.  See me anyway,” as Psi-Qolog likèd to say.  “But, if you've got a problem or a complaint, then no matter what I'm charging you because there's no such thing as either one of them.”  

  Those that were curèd were curèd instantly if mirth gesturèd ensuingly.  If they didn't get the joke, though, patients would return again.  

  {patience returning again}  

  “I don't get it,” said one patient.  

  {returning}  

  “Call it what you want.  I'll try and explain it.  What is it?” replièd Psi-Qolog.  

  “My problem extends to a host,” said the one in question.  

  {confidentially}  

  Confidentiality meant maintaining anonymity.  

  “Does it satisfy you, your psychology?” askèd Psi-Qolog.  

  Psi-Qolog was prescribing psychogeography, long walks outside the city, a proper getaway for a Sunday in the village or the valley, and to return to work refreshèd on a Monday, rising early.  

  “You could have invented a ghost,” said Psi-Qolog, “any obsessive behaviour patterns?”  

  “A few.”  

  “Like what?”  

  “I lock my door, get half way down the hall, wonder whether it's locked or not, force myself to go back and check because if I'm not reassured it might turn into a bad coincidence somewhere else.”  

  “Well, I can't live with that on my conscience,” replièd Psi-Qolog.  “Your coincidences, they are references to the past.  That they are recurring in the present means that there they remain, in the past, unaddressèd, stuck within the living past.”  

  The past was tense.  The present was amending the past to create an alternative in the future.  Psi-Qolog was referring to an obscure gloss over a Talmud passage that describèd the past as living.  Living, and active in creating.  

  The present environment was giving Psi-Qolog a headache.  Business was good so he was having to spend more-and-more time in the office-misrad.  

  Misrad-qatanah.  

  °This misrad needs a house-plant.  I can't treat a recurring headache any other way° thought Psi-Qolog.  °Cracking headache.  This case is a hardcase to crack.°  

  He lookèd toward his briefcase.  

  All Psi-Qolog wantèd to do was make his patients laugh but some of them weren't that funny.  The patients, that is.  Psi-Qolog crackèd up everytime, if not for the mirth then for the madness.  

  “I mean, it's not even funny.  My life is tragically empty,” said one.  

  { … }  

  “It doesn't have to be funny.  Just emote for me.  Insult me, patronize me, reach me,” said Psi-Qolog, selfishly and self-indulgently, in an attempt at transference of free association according to the Jungian interpretation.  

  Psi-Qolog didn't prescribe pharmaceuticals.  Somebody had told him that laughter was the best medicine but it didn't always work for the people.  It got his goat every time.  The scapegoat was speaking to him.  

  “I mean, it's not even funny,” she said.  

  “Just emote for me,” said Psi-Qolog.  Psi-Qolog’s hands were moving repetitiously, gesturing rhetorically.  

  °Is he ignoring me?° thought the scapegoat.  

  The scapegoat was a psychoanalytic archetype; a monstrous Jungian symbol of semiotic betrayal, one who would blame themselves for the problems of others.  Middle-class dilettantes taking on the problems of the world.  First world problems.  

  Psi-Qolog cast his mind to the Solomonic allegory.  °It was a bad day for ritual purity when the blood of the scapegoat was dripped upon the mercy seat° he thought.  

  The scapegoat was sat across from Psi-Qolog, in the seat, in need of mercy.  

  “Insult me, patronize me, reach me,” repeatèd Psi-Qolog, repeatedly.  

  Psi-Qolog was a very selfish and narcissistic managerial personality.  His ego had fillèd the entirety of the building completely.  He thought that his own conundrums, problems, complexes and illusions applièd to every one else's.  He was the master in the art of projection and transference.  

  Somehow, it workèd, even though Psi-Qolog had been trainèd as a physician to interpret it as wrong.  

  “We must understand it,” said Psi-Qolog, “no matter what it is, it's human, and that's good enough for me.”  

  “Me too,” said the patient.  

  {patience returning}  

  “You're cured.  I can't charge you.  See me anyway.  Same time next week?”  

۝

{ ... }

Fabula XII.

۞

  Kaiaphas was ranting on again about the philosophy he was struggling to envisage.  

  “The Solomonic Temple, configurèd as the human body, consummated to the earth, the burial of Ha'Shem in stone, a Jewish trap, designed to imprison ha'shekhinah in the anatomical mind's eye of its anatomical-like construction,” he went on.  

{ … }  

  This is what it soundèd like to others who listened to Kaiaphas' yiddish philosophy,  

  °Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah°

  °Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah°

  °Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah°

  Yaddah.  

۝

{ ... }

 

۞

Ismus places himself amidst the hostile to hegemony, rallies infidelity to monotony.  

Anthropos at the centre, Ismus stalking around the outskirts.  

Ismus attributes human characteristics to humans.  When Ismus sees an inanimate object, such as a jug, or spoon, Ismus condemns the jug's sloth for being so ornamentally sedate and the gluttony of the spoon!  

{places the spoon inside of the jug}  

Ismus, already notèd for his penchant for the use of the word absolutely can be known to say it most when a fund of people gather together to oppose the political doctrine of absolute rule.  

The Dictator.  

Ismus was falsely accusèd as the initiator of Antiblackism.  This was merely a reaction by ultraleft-wing-orthodox-brown-eyed-people, covetous of his affection for the Albino race which Ismus created from his lack of colour.  

Everyone has red eyes in a photo.  

In fact, Ismus was never anti anything.  Not anticapitalist, nor anticlerical, neither: anticolonial, anticommercial, anticommunist, antielitist, antirevolutionist, antifascist, antifeminist, antiferromagnetist, antihumanist, antiliberalist, antimaterialist, antimilitarist, antinepotist, antinomianist, antiquarianist, antiracist – … hey, I might not agree with this one, says Ismus, but I have seen your sons and daughters die for the rights of the White Supremacist to enjoy his views and the Black Panthers to call each other N**gers … – antiradicalist, antirationalist, antirealist, antireductionist, antiritualist, antiromanticist – … heaven knows why they exist! – and antiterrorist … … if I was, remarks Ismus, they wouldn't exist, get the jist?  

In fact, Ismus has been present at all the demonstrations to oppose these groups.  Ismus encounters his twin sister, the archetypal goddess Aphor.  

Vanity of vanities!  All is vanity.  What is not is not counted.  

Ismus accidentally gave birth to the notion of apocalypticism due to a love for the sound of alarm clocks.  

The promptness of it!  

Ismus became addictèd to the look of fear in people's eyes as they were rudely awoken from their peaceful slumber, but because Ismus had to present himself before the alarm went off and his ethereal presence began to interfere with their dreams.  Visions of the end of the world aboundèd and were suddenly realizèd with primal fear at the jolt of 6.30AM.  Before that, anyone who was thought to predict the end of the world was just plain crazy!  

While everybody was caught worrying about the end Ismus was hatching a plan to avert the ontological mistake.  Ismus couldn't help but notice a Western trend of travelers searching for that most elusive rite of awakening.  They didn't really know what they were looking for or where they were going so he sent them to the Amazonian jungles to be initiatèd by the shaman-peoples.  Once set into an hallucinogenic trance Ismus appeared to them in a pixie form to reveal to them the beginning of the end and so the Archaic Revival was born in their hearts and minds.  Doomsday avertèd.  

When Ismus saw what that Pythagoras was up to with the wicked mathematical cult and their crude angles, Ismus cursèd them all with muteness.  History would come to vindicate the phenomena as Pythagorean wisdom, the vow of silence, and the secret society.  

{successfully invoking a deity}

Just like the alarm clock incidents Ismuses meddling had had repercussions.  People meeting in secret to undermine the open society botherèd Ismus so he had had to present himself at every clandestine fellowship since the days of Pythagora.  This weighèd in heavy on Ismuses busy schedule.  In order to lighten his workload Ismus sent in the most beautiful of foreign women as moles to the conspirators to intermarry and have families which would assimilate the deceptive dogmas when their children would demand that they go to public school.  

Whenever Ismus caught somebody being too reflective or introspective he would ruin the succession of memories, especially the most happiest of ones with a sudden realization that they had to be up super early on Monday morning.  

°5.30AM° thinks Ismus …  

{rubbing hands with glee}  

And every time a businessperson instructèd a lawyer to write a contract and the lawyer markèd a clause with an asterice Ismus would cry, What type of thaumaturgy does this!  

– while witnessing another celestial body flee from its constellation.  

Out of space and onto the spare page!  

However, the main consequence of the Archaic Revival cover-up by Ismus happenèd to be an evolutionary throwback where human fetuses were showing signs of growing tails!  As if the reptilian brain wasn't bad enough.  Ismus began to realize that every cause had a reaction and the Taoists were his least favourite espousal.  

The Atheos sect were always Ismuses favourite espousal.  It simply meant that Ismus didn't have to bother with them.  They could be left to their own devices.  

۝